One Night More by Clara Bayard Read Free Book Online Page A

strange man had given me was long past. Terrified to use my phone, I drove to the giant mall nearby and parked in the middle of a mass of cars.
    I stumbled inside, feeling conspicuous in the bright cheeriness of things. I made my way downstairs and sat on a bench by the food court. People streamed by, lugging bags and dragging cranky children behind them. It was all so normal.
    Trying to breathe so I could talk, I called Sam's cell phone.
    "Carly, what's up? We're almost done here."
    "Sam, I need you to come meet me right now."
    "What? I'm on my way home. Won't be more than an hour or so."
    "No. Please, listen to me. I'm at the Cheshire Mall by the food court. You have to come get me."
    "Are you all right?"
    "Yes. But please hurry."
    "On my way." He didn't say goodbye and before he hung up I heard him cursing.
    I made a point of not checking the time to see how long it took him to arrive, but I estimated somewhere between five and ten years.
    He strode over and I stood to greet him, but never got a chance.
    "You're okay."
    "Yes."
    "Great. Then what the fuck is your problem?" he hissed.
    "What?"
    "Do you want to die? How hard is it for you to follow directions?"
    "Sam, I-"
    "Don't talk. I'm so furious with you. Tell me, why are you here? Felt like doing a little shopping? Have a craving for an overpriced smoothie?"
    My face went red with fury. "Who the hell do you think you are to talk to me like this?"
    "I'm the fucking dumbass who's trying to help you. But every five minutes you're messing it all up for no good reason."
    "That's bullshit," I said and then lowered my voice. We were already getting some looks from the shopper around us; I didn't want this to turn into a shouting match, even if he did deserve it. "I'm the one who found the warehouse and I'm the one in real trouble here. I'm not one of your subordinates, Detective. You can't order me around."
    "I can and I will until you get your head back on straight and start being sensible."
    "You don't know anything about the state of my head, Sam. And you barely know me."
    He sneered. "I know enough. I know you're trying to get yourself hurt."
    "I am not. I'm trying to get out of this mess I got us both into."
    "And I'm telling you, for the hundredth time to let me handle it."
    "I can't!"
    "Why? Because you just love this shit?"
    "No. Of course not." My fingers curled into fists at my side.
    "Then why? Because your ex screwed you up so much you can't trust a man anymore? Running into one abusive asshole doesn't mean the rest of us are the same."
    The retort I'd been planning to toss at him froze in my throat at the implication of his words. "What? How do you know anything about my ex?"
    "I'm a cop, Carly. When all of this started I looked into you."
    "You…" I blinked away tears of rage and betrayal. "You had no right."
    "Yes I did. I am trying my hardest to help you."
    "Then stop. If this is what it means to be helped by you, I don't want it. Since you started 'helping' I've been kidnapped, interrogated and threatened. Not doing such a great job, Detective . I'm better off on my own."
    "Don't be stupid." He reached out a hand to touch my arm and I slapped it away.
    "Fuck you, Sam." I glared at him for a second and then turned on my heel and walked away, shaking.
    Digging into my past without my consent wasn't the worst thing a man had ever done to me by far. But I had learned from that experience and no matter how much I liked him, I wouldn't be with someone who would violate my trust. Never again.
    I could hear Sam's footsteps behind me, but he didn't say anything else. When I got outside I climbed in the car and left without looking at him at all.
    Choking back sobs, my encounter with the threatening strangers was almost forgotten. All of the fear of the past few days descended on me and I couldn't do anything but drive, concentrating on the road, pushing everything else out of my mind as much as I could. It was a defense mechanism, I knew. And unhealthy in the long-run,