BooksBarbecue
Back First Comes Love
Chapters (92)
  1. First
  2. Love Connection
  3. Zero
  4. One
  5. Two
  6. Three
  7. Four
  8. Five
  9. Six
  10. Seven
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. Eleven
  15. One Month Later
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Six Months Later
  21. Sixteen
  22. Seventeen
  23. Eighteen
  24. Nineteen
  25. Twenty
  26. Twenty-one
  27. Twenty-two
  28. Twenty-three
  29. Twenty-four
  30. Six Months Later
  31. Twenty-five
  32. Twenty-six
  33. Twenty-seven
  34. Twenty-eight
  35. Twenty-nine
  36. Thirty
  37. Thirty-one
  38. Thirty-two
  39. Thirty-three
  40. I Have Never
  41. One
  42. Two
  43. Three
  44. Four
  45. Five
  46. Six
  47. Seven
  48. Eight
  49. Nine
  50. Ten
  51. Eleven
  52. Twelve
  53. Thirteen
  54. Fourteen
  55. Fifteen
  56. Sixteen
  57. Seventeen
  58. Eighteen
  59. Nineteen
  60. Twenty
  61. Twenty-one
  62. Twenty-two
  63. A Christmas Date
  64. One
  65. Two
  66. Three
  67. Four
  68. Five
  69. Six
  70. Seven
  71. Eight
  72. Nine
  73. Ten
  74. Eleven
  75. Twelve
  76. Thirteen
  77. Fourteen
  78. Fifteen
  79. Sixteen
  80. Seventeen
  81. Eighteen
  82. Nineteen
  83. Twenty
  84. Twenty-one
  85. Twenty-two
  86. Note from the Author
  87. Sneak Peek – To the Stars and Back
  88. Two
  89. Three
  90. Four
  91. Also by Camilla Isley
  92. About the Author

After a short journey spent handcuffed in the backseat of a police car with Mr. Mutt by my side, the cops bring me to a police station. Another officer asks me questions to fill out a personal information sheet and confiscates my watch and bag. A third policeman makes me sign a property log for my personal effects. No one takes my fingerprints or a mug shot, leaving me to wonder if I’ve really been arrested or if I’m only being held in custody.

Will I have a criminal record after today? For what? Renting a car? For saving a dog’s life?

No one answers my questions. A female officer escorts me down a depressing cellblock and shows me into a cell. Mr. Mutt follows me around and nobody seems to mind so we’re locked up together. Luckily, we’re alone. No crazy cellmates.

I sit on a small cot bed—the only piece of furniture in this dump. Mr. Mutt lies next to me, resting his head on my thighs. Without my watch, it’s hard to tell how much time is passing. How long will they keep us here? Will I get to make the famous phone call? Who should I call? I really don’t wish for anyone to see me behind bars, especially not when I’m so dirty and smelly. I can’t call my parents, they’d get a heart attack. Nikki. I’ll call Nikki and ask her to find me a lawyer. It’s my civil right to see a lawyer! The police can’t keep me here indefinitely.

The rental company is so screwed. I’m so going to sue them. This mess is their fault! They mix up license plates and I end up in jail. Jail, more a tiny concrete hellhole with bars and no air. I’m getting cabin fever. I get up and pace around. Not that it helps. I can only take three steps wall-to-wall. How do people spend years caged like this? I’ve only been here a few hours and I’m already panicking. I need to know how long they’ll keep me here.

Against my better judgment, I grab the bars and place my face as close between two as I can without actually touching skin to metal. I peek down the hall to see if I can yell for someone to come explain my position.

That’s when Richard appears on the hall threshold holding a folder.

“Well, well, well,” the boss says, walking toward me.

It takes me a minute to believe he’s not a hallucination. Of all the people I didn’t want to see me at rock bottom, my impossibly sexy boss definitely tops the list.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.