Spinning around brings up another threat of vomiting, but once I've swallowed the threat back down again, I take in the heavy-set, gray-haired detective in his fifties, sharp dark brown eyes pinned on Kade. Some internal alarm must be blaring in his head because he has his hand hovering over his unclipped gun holster.

He has good instincts.

"We were just leaving." Dariel doesn't wait for the cop to say anything. Or most likely, find a reason to shoot. He grips my arm with one hand, Kade with ...