Page 95 of Grave Beginnings

“Mostly. It’s like college, I think,” Ivan said as I navigated us off the highway. We still had a good twenty minutes until we got to the apartment building, but the backroads were a lot less jammed. “I have English two days a week. Math three days. History, language, science, and all that. A couple of hours a day instead of all day.”

“Nice,” I said.

“What language are you taking?” Grandpa asked.

“Mandarin,” Ivan said.

“That’s a hard one, isn’t it?”

I tuned them out as headlights rolled up a little closer than I’d like at a stop sign. As a cop, I knew better than to do the rolling stop at a sign. I waited, watching them, then took my turn keeping an eye on the vehicle. It looked like an SUV. Not Angel, that much I knew, and my chest ached the more I thought about him.

The sixth sign and third turn, my internal alarm bells screamed. We were being followed. Was it one of Xavier’s guys? Maybe they were being assholes as they made sure I brought Ivan home safe?

My gut said no. I gripped the steering wheel, and began to guide the car through the next intersection and past a long, open field that overlooked the highway. Lights flicked on behind me.

Police lights. Fuck. The sick feeling that payback was coming made panic rise in my gut.

“Hang up with Grandpa,” I told Ivan. “Can you change and hide under the seat?”

“What’s wrong?” Grandpa asked.

Ivan stared at me with wide eyes as he glanced back at the lights.

“Just a friendly chat with my fellow civil servants. I’m sure it’s about my excellent driving, or stellar taste in automobiles,” I said, my voice tight. “Please, Ivan. I’ll lock the door with the keys inside. Do not open it, and stay hidden.” I guided the car a few feet ahead to the side of the road, not thrilled about the lack of lighting overhead or any movement from the row of houses a few blocks down.

Ivan released his seatbelt and slid down into the front wheel well. I left my keys in the ignition and put on the brake as Ivan’s magic swelled, signaling his change. He crawled under the seat, tugging his discarded clothes into a pile in front of the seat, and I carefully put up my hands and rolled the window down a few inches.

A cop I didn’t know shined his light into the car. It was too dark for me to read his badge number. “Turn off the engine.”

“Is something wrong, Officer?” I asked, trying to be respectful. “I can get you my ID and registration, but the latter is in the glove box.”

“Turn off the car,” he instructed again.

Not procedure at all. Dammit. My heart pounded in fear over Ivan more than me.

The cop shined his light at me and the other side of the car. “You alone?”

“Yes, sir.” I said and turned the key, fumbling it intentionally to drop the keys at my feet. “Oops, sorry. Let me grab those.”

“Don’t bother. Get out.”

“Have I done something wrong, sir?” I asked, not moving. Legally, I could be a total dick and refuse altogether, but that might also get me shot, or tased.

“You were weaving a little back there. You been drinking?”

“No, sir.” I hadn’t been weaving either.

“Get out.”

That’s how we were playing this? Okay. I slowly lowered my left hand to open the door, my other raised. He stepped back, keeping the door between himself and me, but one hand on his flashlight, the other on the butt of his gun, which was unclipped and ready to pull. Gun before taser. Fuck.

I got out, mind screaming that this was all wrong and I was in trouble, but what could I do that would keep Ivan safe? So far, the cop seemed to have taken my word for there being no one else in the car. I pretended to stumble, and hit the lock for the door as I stood and closed it. He shined the light in my face, blinding me to his features. Fuck.

“Head toward the back of the car. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

While I hated turning my back on him, I did as he said, walking toward the flashing lights, the blaze burning spots into my vision. Was there more than one car? Why the fuck would they need more than one car?

“You armed?”