Read Online Breaking Beautiful by Jennifer Shaw Wolf - Free Book Online
Authors: Jennifer Shaw Wolf
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I’m so distracted that I miss the one red light in town. When I’m halfway through the intersection, a horn blares. I slam on thebrakes, slide on wet pavement, and barely avoid hitting a blue clunker Ford Maverick. Every heartbeat sends sparks of adrenaline through my body. The driver, Marshall Yates, a sophomore with a garage band and a huge attitude, flips me off and keeps going.
I take half a breath before I see flashing lights in my rearview mirror and Pacific Cliffs’ new, unmarked black Charger behind me.
I pull over and lean my head against the steering wheel. How could today possibly get any worse?
Then the officer gets out—tall, blond, definitely not Chief Milton. He leans in my window. “How are you doing today?” Dumb question. “Do you know why I pulled you over?”
Hannah was right about the new cop being hot, but I’m not in the mood to try to flirt my way out of a ticket, and the way I look now it wouldn’t work anyway. I swallow hard. “I missed the red light.”
“Kind of a hard one to miss, don’t you think?” His blue eyes laugh at me. “License and registration, please.”
I pull my license out of my purse and reach for the registration in Dad’s glove box. The door sticks so I have to hit it and jerk on the handle a couple times before it falls open.
I glance at the clock—5:55. Between the ticket and my being late, Dad will never let me take his truck again, even if he never finds out that I ditched school.
He takes my license and registration. “Be right back.” Why are cops so friendly while they ruin your day? I wonder if Dad was wrong about this guy being some kind of detective. Traffic stops seem like grunt police work. Maybe it’s all a rumor and he’s just a regular cop.
Through the rearview mirror I watch him walk back to his car. He stops at his door, looks at my license, then turns around and comes back. “Allison Davis?” He’s still looking at my license when I roll the window down again. I keep my eyes forward, so my scar is hidden on the other side of my face.
“Yes.” I lick my lips because my mouth has gone dry. “Is there a problem?”
He smiles—even friendlier. “It might take a while to run your license through the system—old computer. I don’t want to stand out here in the rain. Do you mind sitting in the car with me?”
I do mind, but I don’t think I’m allowed to say no to a police officer. I slide out of the truck and follow him. He opens the passenger-side door of his car for me. I climb in and bury my hands in the pockets of my sweatshirt. The damp seeps into my skin and I have to hunch my shoulders to keep from shaking. The outside of the car looks like a regular Dodge Charger—sneaky—but inside the dash is covered in blinking lights, wires, and even a laptop. I focus on the dash while he gets in his side.
“So.” He reaches over to turn down the dispatch radio. The only thing coming over it is someone talking about the high school football game. “You’re Allie Davis?”
I nod and continue to study the dashboard while my heart pounds. I’m not sure what he’s doing. If he was going to question me, wouldn’t he do it at the police station? If he was going to arrest me, wouldn’t he have put me in the backseat?
“I want to talk to you about the accident last summer.” So much for him being a benign cop.
My answer is quick and sounds too defensive. “I don’t remember anything.”
He continues like I didn’t answer. “There were some inconsistencies I was hoping you could explain to me.” His mock-friendliness is gone. Now he’s all business. “I talked to one of the EMTs who was on the scene that night. He told me that there were some unusual things about your injuries. That your head injury wasn’t consistent with the way you were lying against the rocks. And that there was a lot less blood than he would have expected, considering how much you had lost.”
“I wouldn’t know.” I meet his eye
I’m so distracted that I miss the one red light in town. When I’m halfway through the intersection, a horn blares. I slam on thebrakes, slide on wet pavement, and barely avoid hitting a blue clunker Ford Maverick. Every heartbeat sends sparks of adrenaline through my body. The driver, Marshall Yates, a sophomore with a garage band and a huge attitude, flips me off and keeps going.
I take half a breath before I see flashing lights in my rearview mirror and Pacific Cliffs’ new, unmarked black Charger behind me.
I pull over and lean my head against the steering wheel. How could today possibly get any worse?
Then the officer gets out—tall, blond, definitely not Chief Milton. He leans in my window. “How are you doing today?” Dumb question. “Do you know why I pulled you over?”
Hannah was right about the new cop being hot, but I’m not in the mood to try to flirt my way out of a ticket, and the way I look now it wouldn’t work anyway. I swallow hard. “I missed the red light.”
“Kind of a hard one to miss, don’t you think?” His blue eyes laugh at me. “License and registration, please.”
I pull my license out of my purse and reach for the registration in Dad’s glove box. The door sticks so I have to hit it and jerk on the handle a couple times before it falls open.
I glance at the clock—5:55. Between the ticket and my being late, Dad will never let me take his truck again, even if he never finds out that I ditched school.
He takes my license and registration. “Be right back.” Why are cops so friendly while they ruin your day? I wonder if Dad was wrong about this guy being some kind of detective. Traffic stops seem like grunt police work. Maybe it’s all a rumor and he’s just a regular cop.
Through the rearview mirror I watch him walk back to his car. He stops at his door, looks at my license, then turns around and comes back. “Allison Davis?” He’s still looking at my license when I roll the window down again. I keep my eyes forward, so my scar is hidden on the other side of my face.
“Yes.” I lick my lips because my mouth has gone dry. “Is there a problem?”
He smiles—even friendlier. “It might take a while to run your license through the system—old computer. I don’t want to stand out here in the rain. Do you mind sitting in the car with me?”
I do mind, but I don’t think I’m allowed to say no to a police officer. I slide out of the truck and follow him. He opens the passenger-side door of his car for me. I climb in and bury my hands in the pockets of my sweatshirt. The damp seeps into my skin and I have to hunch my shoulders to keep from shaking. The outside of the car looks like a regular Dodge Charger—sneaky—but inside the dash is covered in blinking lights, wires, and even a laptop. I focus on the dash while he gets in his side.
“So.” He reaches over to turn down the dispatch radio. The only thing coming over it is someone talking about the high school football game. “You’re Allie Davis?”
I nod and continue to study the dashboard while my heart pounds. I’m not sure what he’s doing. If he was going to question me, wouldn’t he do it at the police station? If he was going to arrest me, wouldn’t he have put me in the backseat?
“I want to talk to you about the accident last summer.” So much for him being a benign cop.
My answer is quick and sounds too defensive. “I don’t remember anything.”
He continues like I didn’t answer. “There were some inconsistencies I was hoping you could explain to me.” His mock-friendliness is gone. Now he’s all business. “I talked to one of the EMTs who was on the scene that night. He told me that there were some unusual things about your injuries. That your head injury wasn’t consistent with the way you were lying against the rocks. And that there was a lot less blood than he would have expected, considering how much you had lost.”
“I wouldn’t know.” I meet his eye
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