“What the hell are you talking about?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see she reaches in her other back pocket and lifts a small black device. A fucking voice recorder.
“Don’t even try to take it from me,” she warns. “It automatically uploads to the iCloud and with just a few little swipes, it’ll email directly to the LVPD and your chief.”
“And they’ll hear everything you just admitted to knowing. Smart plan,” I fire right back.
“Oh, did I forget to mention a little detail? It’ll only send the recorded parts of your voice. All that’ll matter is that an off-duty officer was making threats to an innocent civilian.”
“Am I?” Her lips spread into an evil smile. “Are you willing to risk it though? Your career?”
I grind my teeth and brush a hand through my hair. I’m ready to blow. “You’re far from innocent.”
She glides her tongue over the top of her lip, making sure to keep eye contact with me. “But who will they believe?” she taunts.
“The fact that my ex-girlfriend followed me and my girlfriend to Vegas and then kidnapped her while we were sleeping is a far-fetched story to be lying about. It’ll take less than ten minutes to get access to security cameras to prove your involvement and that you’re the one up to no good.”
“But the thought will already be in their heads,” she remarks. “They won’t know you’re the honest one right away. The fact that they’ll second-guess you will be enough to make them wonder about you and your capabilities as an officer. Is that something you’re willing to risk?”
It takes me less than a second to respond. “For Courtney? I’d risk everything.”
If the pounding in my head is any indication, I had one too many shots last night. However, waking up next to Drew in Vegas was worth every sip. Seeing him finally relax and smile again lets me know this trip was a good idea.
As soon as I turn over and stretch my arm out against the cold sheets, I know something is off. I peel my eyes open and see I’m alone. The room looks identical to ours, but without even checking the room number, I know something isn’t right. We had suitcases out from me trying on three different outfits before we left. I had shoes left on the floor and I know for certain we had a pile of towels on the chair. This room is spotless.
“What the fuck?” I mutter to myself. It looks like housekeeping came in overnight and all but bleached the walls.
Pushing the covers off, I stand up and check myself over, patting up and down my body. I’m still in my dress, which isn’t all that odd considering how exhausted I felt. I think back to last night when we were sitting at the hotel bar downstairs. We’d drank most of the night and when we called it quits, we used the elevator and went back up to our room. I vaguely remember tossing my shoes off and passing out, but it’s a little fuzzy. My head had felt foggy and my eyelids heavy. It’s the last thing I remember before waking up.
Walking over to the window, I rip open the drapes. The sun beams in so brightly, I have to squint until my eyes adjust. Lights from the strip are still on, but you can’t see them unless you really look at them. Cars are cruising down the road and groups of people are walking down the sidewalk. Feeling relief and knowing I’m still in Vegas gives me hope.
As I look down, watching over everything, I remember feeling like I saw someone I recognized last night. Obviously a little drunk and wound up, I for sure thought I was seeing things, but now I’m not so sure. Where the hell am I, and where the hell is Drew?
Walking back over to the bed, I search for my phone with little hope I actually had it on me. With no sign of it anywhere, I decide I’ll just call the front desk and ask who the room is registered to.
“How may I help you?”
“Hi, um yeah. I was wondering, this might sound like a crazy question—well, maybe not, since it’s Vegas after all—but, could you tell me whose name this room is registered in?”
“Yes, no problem, ma’am.” I hear her typing. “It’s registered under Courtney Bishop.”
“What?” I gasp.
“Is there anything else I can do for you, Ms. Bishop?” she asks sweetly. I’m too stunned to reply, so I just hang up the phone and stumble back onto the bed.
Trying to put the pieces together, I lie down flat and replay the night repeatedly, trying to remember the familiar person I saw at the bar.
It was a man. He was wearing a black hoodie or black coat. The hood was pulled down over his forehead, but I remember his eyes. They were in thin slits as he watched us, until he saw me looking at him, and then he bowed his head and stalked off.