Page 26 of Making Her His

Yet another thing he’d learned from his father, a man well-schooled on Connecticut law from his own experiences. Son, those asshats will charge you for resisting just for looking at them wrong. The statute is written so broadly it’s nearly impossible to avoid it when they get you under their thumb. It’s the most commonly charged crime in the state. So, if an officer stops you, cooperate—fully.

“Anything in your pockets I should know about? Any needles or sharp objects?”

The sharpest thing Saks had was his wits, which weren’t exactly finely honed at this minute. “I have nothing sharp in my pockets, Officer. Except for my Leatherman.”


“No. A multi-tool. I’m a mechanic. But there are small blades on it.”

“Stand still, sir.”

Saks held in the urge to huff. This guy was overly officious and thorough in his duties. Though he hadn’t crossed over the jackass line yet, he rapidly moved toward that territory.

The officer ran his hands across Saks’ back and down his legs. Saks grew paranoid with each passing moment. He’d heard of cops, eager for a bust, planting narcotics on a detainee. However, to be honest, he hadn’t heard of state cops doing that.

Still, there was always a first time.

The cop checked his pockets and then moved to Saks’ front and checked the inside pocket of his jacket. He scrunched his face as Saks stood absolutely still.

And then his phone rang. Saks held in the groan. He didn’t have to look at the caller ID to know it was Luke calling.

“Who’s that?” the officer said sharply in his ear.

Saks flinched involuntarily, jerking away from the trooper.

A strong hand gripped the back of his jacket and pulled him back.

“Don’t move,” growled the trooper. He jerked Saks’ hands behind his back and snapped cuffs around them.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m taking you in for resisting arrest. While we’re at the jail, we’ll do a blood test on you.”

“Seriously? What the hell! You know I’m well under the limit and I haven’t resisted anything.”

“Do I?” growled the officer. He yanked on Saks’ arms and directed him to the cruiser, pushing Saks into the back seat.

Fanfreakingtastic. He did not want to explain this to Oakie, his father, or Uncle Vits. This, on top of everything else, was the last thing he needed.

The state police jail was just down the road from where the cop slapped the cuffs on him. Once there, they placed him in a holding cell. It was small room, with a small frosted window at the end, and cinder block walls on all sides. But that didn’t mitigate his growing fury about being arrested in the first place.

It didn’t take long for a jail employee to come and take his blood.

“I’d like to make a phone call,” he said through his clenched teeth. He’d done nothing, and this was ridiculous. All because he rode a bike? Wore a Hades’ Spawn patch? What the fuck?

“Sorry. I just do the med procedures.”

“Where’s the officer who arrested me?” demanded Saks, in no mood to be polite.

“Filing paperwork.”

So, he sat there. And waited. And time dragged on. With his phone confiscated along with his wallet, multi-tool, and coat, he couldn’t call Luke. This just pissed him off more. Luke would be worried, start calling around, which would only upset Saks’ family if they thought he was missing. And that would cause a lot of trouble. A simple call to Luke would set things in motion to keep the situation under control and get him out of here.

The shadows lengthened in the cell as the sunlight dimmed. A guard brought a metal tray and shoved it through the food slot.

“When do I get my phone call?” called Saks. “I haven’t done anything. There’s no reason I’m still here. This is fu—freakin’ ridiculous.

But there was no answer, and he took the tray and stared at the dismal contents.

“You sure are no plate of wings,” he mumbled.

“Don’t eat that,” said a voice.

Saks look up at the door and saw a familiar face at the window.

Matt Stone, Luke’s lawyer, peered at him.

“Are you getting me out of here?” He’d never been so happy to see someone.

“Right now,” Matt replied.

“Thank fucking-goodness,” Saks said.


“Oh, Chrissy,” Charles Grayson purred over the phone, a few days after their luncheon, “I have someone who’s very, very interested in you.”

Chrissy slipped off her spiked heels under her desk table and rubbed her feet. “I don’t know, Charles. I’m meeting with Drummond Walker this Saturday to discuss new job duties.”

“That’s fine. But you shouldn’t knife new opportunities in the back. At least, you can walk into your meeting with that old curmudgeon with a position of strength. Your boss isn’t known for paying industry standard. Let him know there are other offers on the table.”

“He’s done all right by me.”

“Can you live in New York on your salary?”

No. She couldn’t even afford a postage-size efficiency. “Point taken.”