was a man of duty and massive commitments. His sponsors put up hundreds of thousands of dollars for him to spend his life screaming around a raceway in some of the most expensive cars on the planet. His entourage depended on him to do everything right. Eat right, exercise, train and make lightning-quick decisions on the track. His job was to stay alive and be a good guy while doing it.
Today, he’d let everyone down.
“I’m telling you, Josh. This may have been fun for you, but it can cost us. If that cop has you on resisting arrest, that tells me you let your mouth run away with you. Again.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” Josh muttered.
“Yeah? Tell it to the judge. And believe me, you will. In the meantime, shut your trap. You got that?”
“Got it.”
“Good. Be as polite as you know how. I don’t know anything about this Indian Lake, but I’m going to find out. These little towns take small infractions seriously. It’s not Indianapolis where you can buy or autograph your way out of just about anything.”
“I’m seeing that.” Josh’s eyes tracked up to Violet. He watched the hard set to her jaw as she banged away at the computer. She scrolled the mouse over a section of writing and cut it. Then she licked her bottom lip and went back to work. The harsh light shone on her heart-shaped face, and he noticed the long, dark lashes that cast shadows over naturally pink cheeks. She had expressive dark brows that pinched at the bridge of her pert nose when she found another section to cut. Until this moment, he hadn’t thought about what she must think of him besides the fact that he was a criminal. He was curious to know her thoughts. And that surprised him.
To Harry, he said, “So, how do I get out of here?”
“I can post the bail for you. Is there anyone there who can tell you how much?”
“Hold on.” Josh turned around, put his palm over the receiver and asked, “Officer Hawks, how much is my bail going to be?”
She stopped typing and pointed to a poster on the far wall. “Five hundred dollars.”
Josh went back to his call. “Five hundred.”
“Great. I’ll get in touch with the bail bondsman there in Indian Lake. Just chill. Make the best of your afternoon.”
“Easy for you to say,” Josh replied, and hung up. He handed the receiver to Violet. “You do realize this is costing me a lot more than a few hundred bucks.”
“How’s that?”
“I’m missing an interview with the South Bend Tribune’s sports writer. A radio program and television interview, as well. Interviews translate to tickets sold to the race. These things are important to me.”
“You shoulda thought of that earlier.”
“I was thinking...” His voice trailed off. “Oh, what do you care?”
She rose from her chair. “Until your bail is posted, I have to take you to a cell.”
“A jail cell? I can’t just stay here? Harry said it won’t take long to post bail.”
She cocked her head to the right, indicating a heavy metal door with a small wired-glass window. “Through there.”
“I don’t believe this. Sure you don’t want to put leg irons on me?”
“I can do that if you wish,” she bit out.
Josh remembered what Harry had said about being polite. “No. You’ve gone to enough trouble for me, Officer Hawks.”
They went to the hall that led to four jail cells. Officer Hawks spoke to the young officer just inside the hall. “Cell three has been assigned to...”
“Josh Stevens! Officer Trey McLaughlin. Glad to meet you,” he said, holding out his hand to Josh. “I’ve seen or heard nearly every race. How’s it lining up for the Indianapolis race?”
Josh shook his hand exuberantly. “You follow the races?”
“I do. I’m a huge fan.”
“Thanks, man.” Josh felt his grin grow. Two minutes ago he’d felt dirty. Now he felt whole again thanks to his fan. He would go back to his world, and his life would return to normal. It would. It had to. “Trey, I promise you, it’s looking great.”
Officer Hawks took Josh’s arm. “In here,” she barked.
Josh entered the cell, turned and put his hands on the bars. He was in jail. He’d fought all his young years to make the right choices, even when others lobbied with very persuasive skills for him to go down another road. The quick road. The road of drug deals and stunning amounts of cash. Hot cars. Expensive clothes. Tropical resorts where women would flock to him.
But Josh’s parents had taught him that his integrity was what mattered. With integrity and honesty, he would win the respect of even his critics.
Right now he had to remember that.
As he looked through the iron bars at the startlingly and surprisingly compassionate green eyes of his captor, he couldn’t help wondering what it would take to win her respect.
With his gaze locked on hers, Josh said humbly, “Thank you, Officer Hawks.”
“DO YOU KNOW what a Bugatti Chiron costs?” Trent Davis asked as he paced his office while Violet stood near his desk. Many times in the past she’d felt like running from confrontation, but this time wasn’t one of them. Deep in her belly, as much as Chief Williams and Detective Davis believed she’d bungled this assignment, she knew she was right. Josh Stevens might be a celebrity—he had fame, fortune and influence—and she was barely more than a traffic cop, but Josh had questioned her authority. She’d clocked him speeding. Anything over a hundred miles an hour was considered “reckless driving.” She was in the right, and she would stand her ground.
“A lot, I presume.”
“It’s so expensive, Officer Hawks, that I had a difficult time finding the price.”
“Sir?”
Frustrated, he said, “I don’t care about the car or its cost. My point is that you left your post at the stakeout farmhouse.”
“Sir, I was told that Miguel Garcia was known to drive a very expensive sports car. The Bugatti fits that bill. I thought I was chasing Garcia.”
“That’s your first mistake, Officer. You assumed before you had the facts. Sal was working the database and had found that Garcia drives a Maserati 2016. If you had checked in with him, you would have known that.”
Violet remembered how fast the Bugatti had streamed past her. She knew what a Maserati looked like. But she’d never seen a Bugatti Chiron. They were both fast cars. It was an understandable mistake.
She promised herself that over the weekend she’d comb the internet for images of every expensive car made. She’d log them into her brain and the next time a Bugatti sailed past her, she’d know what she was looking at.
Trent was still pacing.
“What color is the Maserati, sir?”
Trent halted, lifted his head and cleared his throat. “Blue.”
Violet’s eyebrow cranked up in surprise, and she quickly corrected her expression. Blue. Well, she had that one right.
“The bottom line is that I’m disappointed in your work. The next time I give you an assignment, you carry it out.”
“Sir. Yes, sir.”
“Dismissed.”
Violet turned sharply and left the office. She went straight