Thirty-Two and a Half Complications
Page 2

“Not enough, dammit.” I took a drag from a cigarette, then tossed it on the dirt floor and stomped it with my worn boots. “That rat bastard didn’t come through. We need more.”
Then I was back in the bank, the robber still clutching my arm.
“You’re not gonna get enough money,” I gushed out.
“What?” he screeched. He dropped my arm and grabbed my face, pinching my cheeks as his angry brown eyes pierced mine. “What do you know that you’re not saying?”
I shook my head, speechless.
“Mick! Let’s go!” The other thief was already at the glass door, looking outside. The siren was getting closer.
Mr. SpongeBob shoved me to the floor and stomped toward my money bag, snatching it up.
“That’s mine!” I shouted, sitting on my sore butt, my hands on the floor behind me.
He pointed his gun at my head. “You said we didn’t get enough money. Maybe this will make up for it. Any complaints?”
I had plenty, but I bit my tongue.
The two men ran out the front door but the bank customers still lay on the floor, a few of them crying.
To hell with that. That jerk took my money!
I scrambled to my feet and ran to a window, watching as the two guys slid into an older Dodge Charger—the car from my vision. Seconds later, two of Henryetta’s squad cars squealed into the parking lot, skidding to a halt on either side of the getaway car. Two police officers—both of whom I was all too familiar with—ran right past the car and burst into the bank with guns drawn.
“Everybody get on the floor!” shouted Officer Ernie, Henryetta’s very own Barney Fife stand-in.
I glanced around the lobby, my mouth hanging open. Everyone already was on the floor. Everyone but me.
Ernie turned his gun on me. “You heard me! The rules still pertain to you, even if you’re dating the district attorney.” He didn’t sound the least bit happy about that part.
Technically I was dating the assistant district attorney, but now didn’t seem like a good time to point that out. Instead, I pointed to the window. “But they—!”
“On the floor now!” he shouted, reaching for his handcuffs as he kept his weapon trained on me. I wouldn’t put it past him to use either tool. If he shot me, Detective Taylor would probably give him a medal and make him mayor for the day. But having an assistant DA boyfriend had its perks. Everyone in town knew Mason Van de Camp Deveraux III and his legendary wrath. Heads would roll—most likely literally—if one of them hurt me.
The second policeman, Officer Sprout, gave me an apologetic look.
“You’re not listening! They—!”
“Now!”
Knowing that my money was speeding away with the robbers made me consider protesting again, but from the way the gun pointed at me shook, I wouldn’t put it past him to accidently shoot me. I shot him a glare as I got back on my knees, fuming as I obeyed. Officer Sprout was fairly new to the Henryetta Police Department and had already upped their overall incompetence level to an all-time high. A few weeks ago, he’d acted as my guard while I was in witness protection, hiding from escaped prisoner Daniel Crocker. Crocker had had a personal vendetta against me for helping put him behind bars for murder. While I was with Officer Sprout, I had a vision that Crocker’s men would find us at the not-so-safe safe house and Officer Sprout would turn me over to save himself. My vision only came partially true—I’d discovered that I had the power to alter them—but only because I escaped out the bathroom window just as Crocker’s guys started shooting.
Officer Ernie took several steps closer. “Why am I not surprised to see you here?”
Anger burned in my chest. “What exactly are you insinuating?”
“Wherever there’s trouble, you’re in the thick of it, Rose Gardner.”
“I can’t exactly help that,” I protested. “Can I get to my feet now?”
Officer Ernie shifted his weight, the leather of his belt creaking. “Not until we make sure the robbers aren’t here.”
“You aren’t gonna find them in here, you damn fool!” Mr. Murphy shouted, getting on his hands and knees. “They plum ran out the door just before you got here!”
The smug grin slid off Officer Ernie’s face as he turned to look at the front door. “What?”
“That’s what I was trying to tell you!” I shouted, getting up and walking over to poor Miss Honeybelle. “They were in the car you parked next to before running in here. A gold Charger with a dent on the front fender.”
“What?” he screeched and ran outside.
Officer Sprout stood in place, his mouth gaping in shock. He pivoted to take in the room. With his round, freckled face, he looked like he should be in a high school chess club meeting, not investigating a bank robbery.
I pressed my lips together, trying to keep myself from saying something ugly. “I want to report a robbery,” I said once I was feeling calmer.
That shook Officer Sprout out of his stupor. “Somebody already reported a robbery—or at least the bank’s alarm system did. That’s why we’re here.”
“Not just the bank money. They took my deposit bag. I want my money back.”
Officer Sprout scowled, as if to rebuke me for making his life more difficult. “Well…I don’t know how that works.”
“What do you know?” Mr. Murphy asked, his contempt obvious.