Sassy Blonde - Stacey Kennedy Page 0,30

she could hear Clara calling out to her.

The taller cop said, “Hayes Taylor?”

“Yeah,” Hayes said, opening the door wider. “What’s the problem?”

The cop stepped into the room, taking Hayes’s arms behind his back, and then cuffed him. “You’re under arrest for the assault…”

Voices became a loud roar in Maisie’s head. Regardless that she only wore a T-shirt that just covered her bare butt, she jumped out of bed. “Wait. He didn’t do anything wrong. That other guy was the aggressive one.”

The other cop pointed at her and scowled. “Sit back down or you’ll be coming with us too.”

“It’s all right,” said Hayes, his expression soft, reassuring. His voice calm. “Call my father. His number is in my phone. Passcode is 1209.”

Laurel’s birthday. December 9. Maisie stepped forward. “But—”

Hayes sent her a smile that chased away the chill. “Keep that bed warm for me. I’ll be back soon.”

Unsure what to do, she followed him out the door as they took Hayes to the cruiser. Unsurprised by this development—because shit always went wrong—she shut the door and hurried to Hayes’s cell that was now on the floor; obviously it had bounced off the bed. When she found his father’s contact, she hit call.

“You better be dead or hurt to call me this late,” Hayes’s father said by way of greeting.

“Um, sorry, Mr. Taylor, it’s actually Maisie.”

A pause. “Maisie. What’s wrong?”

“There was a situation earlier. A fight. Blood. A broken nose. The cops just showed up.” She hesitated, reining in her babbling. “They’ve arrested Hayes and took him to the station.”

His father asked in a clearer voice, “Where are you?”

“Fort Collins.”

“I’m on my way.”

The phone line went dead, leaving Maisie growing colder by the second, knowing that once again, everything she touched turned to disaster.

6

The stench of old coffee and sweat mixed with the sounds of telephones ringing and doors buzzing overwhelmed Hayes’s senses. Closing his eyes, he rested his head against the hard metal bars of the jail cell. A drunk man slept on the floor across from him, having thrown up three times in the steel toilet. A teenage kid cried in the far corner. Last night, the cops hadn’t asked questions, they’d simply hauled Hayes into the station and left him sitting there ever since. Hours had passed, and Hayes felt every one of them. Politics had to be at play if it took his father this long to get him out, and Hayes wondered who exactly he’d punched last night. But that wasn’t his biggest concern.

Maisie.

He’d clammed up when Maisie had asked if they’d complicated things. Of course they had. Because he couldn’t be the man she needed. The one who’d protect her. He was the guy who’d lied to her. Who never told her the real reason Laurel was dead. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her, and he wasn’t sure he could do anything but that. And yet…and yet, he needed her, like the air he needed to breathe.

“Interesting night?”

Hayes smiled and opened his eyes. His father stood on the other side of the bars, with a uniformed cop next to him. “You could say that.” He rose, approaching the cell’s door. The cop nodded at the camera over his shoulder. The jail cell beeped and then the door clanged open. “What time is it?” Hayes asked as he strode out into the hallway, leaving both the kid and the drunk behind.

Dad looked at his watch. “Just after two o’clock.”

Damn, they’d held him long. The aches in his back and neck told Hayes he’d been there for hours, but he hadn’t thought it’d been for nearly fourteen hours. He kept the thought to himself while he gathered his belongings from lock up and followed his father out the front door. Only when the bright sun warmed his face did he address his father. “Let me guess, the dipshit I punched wasn’t just anyone.”

Dad’s keys jingled as he unlocked his SUV. “He’s a lieutenant’s son.” Before moving to the driver’s side, Dad stopped, folding his arms. “Want to tell me what happened?”

“The guy got handsy with Maisie last night.”

Dad’s brows rose. “And that warranted a broken nose?”

“Ah, good, I broke it.” Hayes hadn’t been sure, even with the blood. He grinned at the slow shake of his father’s head. He wouldn’t apologize for the punch—the prick deserved it and Hayes hoped his nose killed this morning—but to clarify, he added, “His hold was tight enough that she flinched.” Done with explaining himself, Hayes shifted the