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We drove in silence to collect Mom from the station. Striker parked the car outside, and I moved to climb out of the passenger seat. “You two can wait in here,” I said, “this won’t take long?—”

“Nope,” Striker said warmly. “I’m not leaving you alone with Forrest, even if we’re at the police station.”

I sighed. It embarrassed me that he’d see my mother in whatever state she was in, but I was relieved, too—relieved that I’d be safe and that I wouldn’t have to hide this part of my life, either.

I walked into the station with Striker and Cassidy, while Rome waited outside. A middle-aged woman sat behind the desk, and a handful of police lingered in the open space behind her, Forrest among them. I saw a hallway at the back of the room, which I assumed led to the ‘drunk tank’ where my mother was.

“I’m here to pick up my mother,” I told the woman behind the desk. “I’m Harley Founty.”

“Ah, you’re Liz’s girl,” the woman said. “Good. She’s been a handful.”

“That’s an understatement,” Forrest said. He disappeared into the hall, and then returned with my mother, leading her out with her hands cuffed behind her back.

She looked awful. It was barely midday, but she looked like she’d been drinking all night. Hell, she probably had been. Her hair was frizzy and out of control, and her eye makeup was running down her cheeks like she’d been crying. Her shirt was stained with sweat all around the collar and the underarms, and she was pale. “I didn’t put my hands onanybody,” Mom shouted. “This is unfair. You’re just trying to ruin my life!”

“Looks like you’re doing a good job of that on your own,” I said.

“I was set up,” Mom said. “Let mego!”

“That’s enough of that,” Forrest said. “Shut your mouth before I decide to keep you here all night.”

The woman at the desk slid the paperwork over to me, and I quickly signed it. Only then did Forrest uncuff my mother and push her toward me like an ornery child. “Get her home.”

“I plan to.” I led Mom out of the station.

“You have to listen to me,” Mom said as she leaned heavily against me.

“What’s there to listen to?” I snapped.

Striker and Cassidy stepped away toward the car to give us some privacy.

“I’m clean,” Mom said.

I blinked at her. “Mom, I just picked you up from jail. You’re obviously not clean.”

“Harley, I swear on my life,” she said, “I haven’t had a drop in a week.”

“Then why were you picked up at a bar?” I crossed my arms over my chest.

“It’s not just a bar,” she said. “I went there for breakfast.I needed to get out of the house. I’ve been stuck at home with the shakes since I stopped.” She twirled her finger around her temple. “And I know the bartender. He won’t serve me booze even if I ask. I haven’t had a drop in a week.”

I unfolded my arms slowly. “If that’s true, how’d you end up in jail?”

“I don’t even know, but I have my suspicions,” she said. “I’ve been around the block, Harley. I remember feeling a little fuzzy, getting a headache, and then I woke up in that cell.” She scowled. “I know what a roofie feels like.”

“Why the hell would you get roofied?”

At the entrance to the parking lot, a familiar engine roared. Steph’s bike tore over the asphalt, and he skidded to a stop right by us. He wrenched off his helmet, his eyes glittering gold with rage so intensely I could see it from where I stood a few paces away.

“Ace?” Mom said. “What the hell is he doing here?”

“I heard Forrest was causing trouble again,” Steph snarled. “What happened?”

“Again?” Mom echoed. “He’s a cop.”

Striker and Cassidy strode back up to us. “He interrupted our pedicure,” Cassidy said. “So you owe me another one.”

“He came in to the salon to tell us to pick up Miss Founty from the jail,” Striker said. “Drunk and disorderly conduct.”