Pike (The Pawn Duet #1) - T.M. Frazier Page 0,45

if the police station is too far.”

I couldn’t actually walk into a police station, but asking for a ride to where I really need to go would draw questions I’m not going to answer. More than anything I just need to get into town.

The man cocks his head and looks me over, revealing a tangle of vine tattoos on each side of his head. “Who kidnapped you?” He takes a drag on his cigarette, and I quickly realize from the smell that it’s not tobacco he’s smoking.

“His name is Pike. I’ve been locked in his apartment. He took me out here to meet someone, and I escaped through the swamp.”

“So that’s what that smell is…” he says, taking in my mud-covered state. “Okay, okay, hop in. I’ll give you a ride to the Logan’s Beach police station. I’m heading in that direction anyway.” He reaches over to the passenger side and opens the door.

I blow out a breath of relief and round the car. I jump in and slam the door shut.

“Are you hurt?” the man asks, putting the car in drive. His dress shirt is rolled up to his elbows exposing his tattooed forearms as he fiddles with the radio station.

I shake my head. “No. I mean, I don’t think so. Just a little banged up.”

“So, this Pike fellow, he’s a gentle kidnapper then?”

We pass under a street light, and I notice the man’s yellow bow-tie and matching suspenders. Street light. We’re getting closer to civilization.

I remember his earlier question. “Are there different levels of being held against your will?”

He nods. “Several.”

Now, I’m curious. “How would you know?”

He smiles and bobs his head to the Taylor Swift song playing on the radio. “Just trust me, I know every level of kidnapping and torture there is to know. Been there. Done that. Burned the motherfucking t-shirt.” He turns onto a road next to the highway, and I almost cry out for joy when we spot a sign that says Welcome to Logan’s Beach.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

I rub my hands over my arms, feeling cold even in the heat as the water dries on my skin. “Michaela, but they call me Mickey.”

He pulls one hand off the wheel and extends it to me. “I’m—”

The phone I was about to ask him if I can use rings. He answers before it can do so a second time. “Hey, Doc. What’s cracka-lackin’?” There’s a small pause. His eyes go wide. “He did what? Again?” he says, trying to fight a smile. “It’s my wife,” he explains.

Another pause. “Oh, that’s just Mickey. She was kidnapped. Found her on the side of the road. I’m just giving her a ride. Very magnanimous of me, I know. But, back to Bo.”

His wife doesn’t seem to mind what he’s just said or at the very least isn’t surprised because his response tells me that they have, in fact, gone back to the prior conversation.

“I don’t understand the problem. I wrote a letter to his principal explaining everything. Isn’t that what parents do? Write letters explaining their child’s slightly off-colored borderline homicidal behavior?” he says, tapping his fingers on the wheel.

He blows out a breath. “What do you mean there’s no such thing as an emotional support knife?”

Pause.

“Isn’t there a dog we can get him? Like a homicide dog?”

Pause.

“No, I was not aware that’s not what a homicide dog does. But you gotta admit, it would be cool if they did.” He chuckles.

We turn down another street, and the lights of town appear in the distance.

“Fine, we will talk about it tonight after the sex but before the weapons sweep,” he relents, hanging up the phone.

“You got kids?” he asks, lighting another joint.

“Not that I know of,” I reply, feeling the best I have in days, knowing that I’m free.

He bobs his head to the music again. “Kidnapped and still got jokes? Wow, we have a lot more in common than I thought. All things considered.”

“All things considered?” I question.

I look outside and recognize the street. I spot Pike’s Pawn up ahead, and dread fills my stomach.

Stop worrying. You’re free now. It’s on the main road. We have to pass it to get anywhere in this town.

The car begins to slow. He parks it at the curb outside the pawn shop.

My chest tightens with panic. “Why are we stopping here?” I ask, turning sideways toward him in my seat.

“Never abandon your captive,” he says, and immediately, I recognize those words.

I don’t reply because the passenger door is