by Cindy Gerard
“How you holding up, Tinkerbell?” he asked gently.
Oh God. He actually sounded like he cared.
“Careful, Reed. You might get me thinking you give a rip.”
He had the gall to look wounded. “Now you’ve gone and hurt my feelings.”
“Just get me out of here,” she said, rising and meeting him at the heavy, barred door.
“Working on it,” he said. “Abbie and Sam are right behind me. They’ll arrange bail.”
“Bail’s already made.”
Reed looked over his shoulder at the jailer, who sauntered slowly toward them with a set of keys.
Crystal backed away from the bars when the barrel-chested and balding deputy slipped the lock and slid open the door with a hollow, heavy clink. “Someone made my bail? Who?”
He shrugged. “You’ll have to ask at processing. I just do what I’m told.”
“I’ve always had this prison-chick fantasy,” Reed said confidentially as Crystal slipped out of the cell. “You know—sex-starved, man-hungry.”
“Stow it.” Crystal marched past him, ignoring his warped sense of humor. She was tired and terrified and doing her damnedest not to let either show.
“Hey, hey,” he said gently and caught her by the arm. “Looks like someone could use a hug.”
Yeah. She could use a hug. She could use a hundred hugs but now was not the time, this was not the place, and Reed was not the man she wanted to show the slightest bit of weakness to. “What I need is fresh air.”
“Sure. But first, do a guy a favor. Make my fantasy complete. Tell me that you and the sister there had a hair-pulling, nail-scratching catfight and I’ll die a happy man.”
“Screw you, Reed.”
He dropped a hand on her shoulder. Squeezed. “Now you’re talkin’.”
