ESCAPE: A Stepbrother Romance (These Wicked Games Book 2) (6 page)

The cops shout something just as Cade has regained himself and looks about to hit back.

He slowly starts to raise his hands, when the cops descend on him, batons out. “On your knees!” one of them shouts.

“It wasn’t him!” I scream. I point at the other guy, who’s just standing there now. “Him! He’s the one.”

They ignore me, and one of the officers stows his baton. He grabs Cade’s wrists and wrenches them behind his back, then pushes him face-first to the ground.

“Stop!”

“I need you to get in the car, Miss.”

“He didn’t do anything!”

“You’re not helping your brother.” She points at the car. “Just get in.”

“But—”

“Now!”

I storm back to the car. As I get in, I’m glad she told me to go here rather than sit where she could see me. I take out my phone and pull up the dialer, and my finger hovers over the numbers on screen. Who can I call?

Cade’s attorneys, but I don’t know their numbers.

I try to think of someone to call, someone who could help. But all I can think of is Cynthia.

I’d never call her. She’s probably just in my mind because she keeps texting me.

I see her latest.
Are you okay? Please call me, I’m so worried. Love, Mom.
Lying bitch. Who’s she putting on a show for? What, does she expect I’ll show her messages to the world, saying look how good a mother she is? Maybe she thinks Dad will see them. But she’s never cared what he thought before. I see no reason for her to start now.

“Fuck!” I kick the footwell. I stare numbly as they pull Cade up from the ground and slam him into the hood.

Our eyes lock, and he shakes his head slightly.

They pat him down, while the other guy, the one who pulled in front of us, just stands back and watches.

I frown. There’s something odd about that.

What is it?

I look at the officers, the man, Cade.

What is so strange?

The cops reach in Cade’s pockets. The man looks around. The officer who told me to get in the car glances up in the direction of their patrol car, then to me, then back to Cade.

They’re sheriffs! But no, that’s not it. They
are
sheriffs, but that’s not strange.

And then I see it. The cops aren’t paying any attention to Truck Guy. They have their backs turned like… Like they know him.

Holy shit. Something else registers. How did she know Cade is my brother? I never said that; I didn’t get a chance to say anything. None of us did.

And the way they went for Cade, even though they
had
to have seen it was the other guy who hit him.

What kind of cops turn their backs on someone who was just in a fight, even if they thought it was the victim?

Fake ones
, some voice in my head informs me.

My heart tries to choke me and my stomach tries to abandon me. They’re fake cops. Shit. Shit. Are they trying to kidnap us? But why wouldn’t they have done it already?

I look down at my phone. Why don’t I have anyone to call?

There’s something on the tip of my mind, someone I could call in an emergency like this. Who could help. But, who? Not Cynthia. Not my dad. I don’t—

Then I feel like an idiot, and dial the three digits.

“Yes,” I say when a woman answers before it finishes ringing once, “I think we’ve been stopped by fake police officers.” I explain to her about the accident, and how the guy called the cops and how quickly they showed up.

She sounds calm, like she doesn’t believe me. She asks for the address of where it occurred in a bored monotone.

I tell her, and as I hear her typing, she asks my name.

“Maggie Saint Claire.”

There’s a pause, the typing stopping for a moment. Then it begins again.

A second later she says she’s sending units, and sounds decidedly less calm. “I want you to stay on the line with me.”

“Okay.”

“Can you tell me what they’re doing? Are you safe?”

I look at the doors, and hit the lock button. I cringe at the noise, but the fake cops don’t seem to have heard.

“They have guns, but I’m locked in the vehicle. They have my brother sitting on the ground, facing away from me, and they’re talking.”

“Okay, just keep telling me what they’re doing. Units will be there in less than a minute.”

It’s only thirty seconds before the police show up.

I expected them to charge, guns drawn, but their approach, while cautious, doesn’t seem appropriate for dealing with someone impersonating a cop.

And the fake cops don’t seem as worried as they should be. They look nervous, uncertain, but they just watch the group of four other officers approach and make no move to run or draw their very real looking weapons.

What the fuck.

What is this,
more
fake cops?

Two of the newly arrived officers keep glancing back at me.

The fake sheriffs laugh nervously, gesture at the scene.

After a minute, one of the ones who kept looking back at me gestures to the others then turns and walks toward the vehicle I’m in.

I wave.

Like an idiot.

I see a brief frown cross the officer’s face, but then it returns to neutral. He doesn’t wave back.

He knocks on the passenger window.

“I can’t roll it down. I’ll open the door.”

The cop nods.

I open the door. “Hi.”

He looks at my attire, probably wondering what someone so frumpy is doing with someone like Cade. “You’re the one who called?”

I nod.

“You said they were impersonating police officers.”

I glance at the sheriffs, who are still talking with the other three. “They are. I thought.”

“Why is that?”

I explain to him what happened, and my realization that it seemed like a set up.

“Do you know why someone would do something like that?”

“Well, if they’re real cops… But I thought it was maybe to get money from my brother.”

“Cade Dorn.” He looks at Cade, who is leaning on one of the patrol cars now, still handcuffed.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, stay in the car for now.”

“Sure.”

Eventually another cop car pulls up, an SUV, and an older man gets out. Everyone turns to him as he walks toward the group. They listen as he talks, then he points at the sheriffs, and one of them begins talking animatedly.

After not too long, he puts a hand up, cutting the officer off, then walks over to Cade and speaks with him. He’s smiling, even laughing, gesturing grandly.

Cade’s face is solemn.

He takes the cuffs off Cade, shaking his head and saying something—apologizing?—then he holds out his hand when they’re off.

Cade looks at it, shakes his head once, and walks to the car.

“What was that about?” I ask when he opens the door.

He shakes his head, gets in, starts the car, and turns around in his seat. Then he puts the car in reverse, and gasses it, causing the tires to squeal and my head to jerk forward. I barely get my hands up in time to avoid slamming my face into the dashboard, which I don’t think my nose could handle.

“Cade!” I cry, frantically trying to get my seatbelt on.

He stops just in time to avoid slamming into the police cruiser behind us, faces forward in his seat, then peels out, narrowly avoiding hitting the cops, who actually
jump
out of the way.

“What the fuck? You want to get us arrested?”

“Right now, I could have clipped one of them, and they would have let it go.”

“What?”

“Those sheriffs. They are doing things they aren’t supposed to. They’re going to pay.”

“What does that mean? And what things?”

“Bridget sent them.”

“Who’s Bridget?”

“Burton. The cop who tried to take you to Cynthia at the airport.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Maggie!”

I jump.

“Stop. I’ll explain later. Let me drive. And think.”

“Sorry.”

After a minute, I ask, “So… Where are we going?”

We arrive at LAX and park in the familiar loading zone.

I swear to God this better be the last time I have to see the thing.

Cade gets out, grabs a bag I hadn’t noticed before from the back, then comes around to my side. “Come on.” He takes my arm and pulls me out.

“Wait.”

“What? Do you have everything?”

“I’ve got my phone.” I hold up the shopping bag. “And the new one. That’s all I have. Didn’t have a chance to pack.”

“Good.” He pulls me toward the entrance.

“You can’t just leave the car there!”

He doesn’t stop. “Why not?”

“It’s illegal! They’ll tow it.”

He shrugs.

“But it’s Amélie’s! And the damage!”

“Do you really care what happens to her car?”

When he puts it like that… “You’re just going to let it get towed?”

“Jesus, Mags, you want someone to pick it up for her?” He stops. “Fine.” He takes out his phone, hits a quick dial number, and puts it to his ear. “Arrange for someone to pick up a car at LAX. No, one I drove here. It belongs to Amélie Bélanger, just look it up. In the loading zone. By Virgin. Her info’s in my contacts.” He nods once, then hangs up. “Happy?”

“Uh, not even close.”

He takes my arm again. “I’m doing the best I can. I just want to get the fuck out of here.” He shakes his head as he pulls me toward check-in. “If there was one thing I thought money
could
buy, it was time savings. I’m quickly being disabused of that.”

“I think that’s the line,” I say, pointing with the arm Cade’s not dragging me by.

He ignores me, goes to an empty desk, and says, “I’m picking up two tickets.”

“I’m sorry sir, you—”

“Cade Dorn. My flight leaves in ten minutes.” That’s a lie, I think. “My sister and I can’t afford to miss it. We’ve had a really shitty day. Help us out.”

Her head does something between a shake and a nod. “I don’t know, I’m—”

“Sure you do.” He smiles. God,
my
heart melts, and it’s not even directed at me. “I’d be so grateful. It won’t take long. Everything’s already prepared. I just need to pick them up.” He hands her his wallet, open to his driver license.

“Well, I suppose—”

“You’re wonderful,” he pauses, and looks at her name tag—and her breasts?—and says, with a tight smile, ”Cynthia.”

The security line is long, but Cade has some card to get him through quicker. The woman initially says it’s only good for him, but he changes her mind.

It almost makes me sick, seeing him flirt with other women, get them to do whatever he wants.

But if I’m honest, it’s because I can see how much they like it, how they crave/love his attention. And I can’t help but see myself in them.

The “express” line is shorter, with what looks like a girl a little younger than me—is she famous?—and some Japanese men in suits.

As we wait in this new line, Cade says, “Please don’t opt for a pat down.”

I shake my head. “Bring on the cancer.”

His lip quirks up in a grin.

I elbow him. “Lighten up, we’re almost out of this hellhole.”

His quirk turns to a full smile, and he directs it at me.

I manage to stay standing.

His phone buzzes, and he takes it from his pocket.

He puts it back.

“Who was that?”

“My bike made it back.”

“Oh. God, that seems like ages ago.”

“It—”

“Next!” a man standing beyond the metal detector calls.

“Here.” Cade hands me a ticket.

I look at it, then slip it into my pocket.

The Japanese business men—if that’s what they are—slip into their shoes, take their bags, and then are off.

I proceed forward, setting down my bag and starting to take off my shoes.

The man stops me before I can. “Just your bag.”

“Oh.” I look at the business men.

The man looks at them, then back at me, shaking his head. “I swear, they enjoy taking their shoes off.

“Oh,” I say again. I’d think this was some minor slight, if not for the fact that the man himself looks Japanese.

I set the bag with my new phone on the conveyor belt, then move up to the metal detector. I put my old phone in the tray, then step through.

It beeps.

I jump.

“Pat down!” he barks.

I jump again.

I hear Cade groan behind me.

“Over there please.” I follow where he points, and my stomach drops.

There’s a group of three people. One is a large man sitting in a chair, playing with his phone, his back to me. The other two are talking, their sides to me. One a man, the other, a woman I know all too intimately.

“Female pat down!” the man who directed me to the scanner calls out again.

The woman jolts and quickly turns.

Then smiles when she sees me.

“Hiya,” Emily says.

“This is a nightmare,” I groan.

“It’s about to get worse,” Emily says.

Cade steps up behind me. “Come on,” he tells me, “we’re going to miss our plane.”

“I’m afraid she’s going to miss it even if you hurry.” She frowns. “Well, I know. I’m not afraid.” She cocks her head. “You know what I mean.”

“Excuse me?” I can hear the confusion in his voice. He must not recognize her.

“She’s banned from this airport.”

“We’re getting on that plane.”

Emily shakes her head. “I can’t let that happen.” She shrugs. “Sorry. If it were up to me… Well, I wouldn’t be doing this shit in the first place.” She sighs. “But if I was, hypothetically, then I’d let her fly.”

“But it’s not up to you,” I say.

She points at me, nodding. “Exactly.”

“Go in the scanner,” Cade says, “we’re getting on that plane.”

Emily shakes her head at me.

I stand there, undecided.

Cade glares at her.

She smiles back.

Eventually, her smile starts to fade, and she takes a step back. She nudges the man sitting in the chair. “Hey,” she says from the side of her mouth, as though Cade won’t notice this.

The man looks up at her. “What?”

“Get up,” she stage whispers. Again, from the corner of her mouth.

The man stands, and I feel an odd sense of resignation as recognition dawns.