Mr. Rude security guy glares at me, hissmile disappearing. “Yes. Mr. Holt owns this hotel.”
“Did you know he got married a couple ofweeks ago?” Well, I know because I married him, you big jerk. I want to saythis, but my words would fall on deaf ears and this guy would just laugh in myface again, and I can’t give this guy one more reason to laugh. He just makessome exasperated noise, ignoring me.
“I heard his cousin Cooper Prescott istaking over running the hotel.” Now I’ve piqued his interest. He narrows his eyesand his nostrils flare. Uh—oh, I think I just made him mad. He gets up andwalks around to the front of the desk, sitting on it. I gulp down my fear. Iguess maybe that wasn’t common knowledge.
“How do you know that?” he barks at me.
I fight the fear that’s building in mychest. I tilt my head back and forth and shrug. “Oh I heard.”
Mr. Scary Guy stands in front of me likehe may hit me or pull my hair or something not so nice. But there’s a knock atthe door and I relax a tinge, hoping it’s Cole.
“Harris, the police are here.”
Well, maybe the police are better thanthis guy. Where is Cole, or Luke or any of the other security guys?
Mr. Harris Thompson snips off the pulltie and then the police put actual handcuffs on me. They even read me my Mirandarights. The whole time I remain reasonably calm. In fact, I keep thinking, whyam I not crying? I should be a complete and utter wreck. But not a single tearfalls. The two police officers escort me through an entrance I’ve never beenthrough. It looks like the employee entrance. There’s suddenly a big commotion.I see a bunch of men in suits walking past us and then I see Luke just ahead,he’s pointing and talking to Keaton. He doesn’t even really look at me or thepolice.
“Hi Luke,” I say as he passes. “Luke!” Isee he hears me say his name, and he stops, but the police keep walking me out.
“Stop!” Luke shouts. “Excuse me,officer.”
“Perez, take Miss Cook out to the car.I’ll handle this.” And one officer walks up to Luke. Luke and my eyes lock. “Helpme.” I mouth.
The other officer, Perez I guess, tugsroughly on my arm. I turn around so he can put me in the back of his patrol car.He’s even nice enough to gather my dress up for me so it doesn’t drag outsidethe car. Luke follows the other officer outside. He seems upset; he’s using hishands to talk, which isn’t Luke at all. The police officer says something tohim, holding up his hands and backing away.
“What a jackass.” The officer proclaims,getting in the passenger seat of the patrol car.
“He’s my bodyguard.” I sigh. The twoofficers look at me like I’m stupid. I shrug and try to sit back. But myalready aching arms burn in protest. By the time we get to the police station,my arms and hands are throbbing and my stomach aches.
They take me out of the back of the carand through a set of double doors. “Hey Schrader! Here’s the bridal shop thiefand breaking and entering perp from the Upper House hotel.” The police officerjerks my arm, ushering me forward. I wince as a sharp pain shoots down my arm.
“Look, just put her in line forprocessing. We are at least two, if not three, hours behind.”
“Do you at least have her paperwork?”
“Nope.” The woman officer sasses with awhole lot of attitude. That means don’t mess with me.
“Why not?”
“Some sort of hold up on the charges, I’mnot sure.”
“Thanks a lot.” He grumbles to me. “I wasoff thirty minutes ago. Now I have to sit and wait for the damn paperwork.”
“Sure anytime.” Ah, eff my life, I saidthat out loud. Please don’t shoot me. He doesn’t, he just glares at me, yankingme by the arm again. He walks me down a long hall that opens into a large roomlined with metal chairs. “Holy jail house rock.” I understand why the officerbehind the counter said they were backed up. Almost every chair is taken bysome type of Elvis impersonator. I’ve never in all my life seen so many Elvis’in one room.
“Shit.” Perez rants. “Is there even aseat?” Luckily or unluckily, there’s one towards the back of the room. Heushers me through the maze of Elvis’ and finally un-cuffs my poor hands. Butit’s short-lived. He re-cuffs my left hand to the metal chair.
“Uh—I hate to leave you in this room withso many people. I’ll see if I can find your paperwork and get you throughprocessing sooner.”
I nod, not saying anything. Because truthbe told, I’m in better company with all these Elvis criminals than I am withyou, buddy. Besides, how is it possible for anyone who loves Elvis enough toimpersonate him to commit a crime? Plus, processing doesn’t sound one bitappealing, it sounds downright awful.
After he’s gone, I roll my shoulders,trying to ease the ache that’s formed between my shoulder blades. I rub myarms, trying to get feeling back into them. I feel a thousand pairs of eyes onme but don’t look. I just stare at my hands. My face feels hot and I finallyrealize I might be in some serious trouble. What a big, fat, ugly mess I’vegotten myself into. At least Luke knows where I am. Now he just has to come andget me. Hopefully, before anything worse happens.
“What’s wrong, little Mama?” I glance upat the Elvis impersonator sitting one seat over from me—he’s wearing a whiteand blue sequin jumpsuit.
The chatter in the room dies down.Everyone seems curious to know what’s happening with the barefoot woman in thewedding dress. I dare a glance around the room. Most of them have sequinjumpsuits on, but a few are in leather pants and sparkly jackets. Now that Ithink about it, maybe sticking with Officer Perez would have been better. Someof these Elvis’ seem scary. It looks like they’ve been in some sort of fight.
As if he can see the question flit acrossmy face, the same blue sequined Elvis answers. “We were all at an Elvisimpersonator contest, and well, we tried to stay civil but some of us had beenup all night, and others were drunk. Someone started booing at the currentperformer and before anyone knew what happened, we were all throwing punches.”
