Accidental It Girl by Libby Street Page B

slender police officers. His finger wags like a dog’s tail—pointing directly at me.
    â€œHer!” he shouts. “It was her . That’s the paparazzi that was chasing me!”
    At least six heads and twelve menacing eyes swivel around and appraise me.
    The two slender cops begin walking in my direction, one slapping a hand onto his gun.
    â€œWait a second,” I implore. I lock eyes with Ethan. “Listen here! This is New York, Bub.” Did I really just say “Bub” ? “We don’t do chases here.” I have never been comfortable around cops. I always end up sounding like a character from a 1930s gangster movie.
    â€œYou were following me!” Ethan blasts indignantly.
    â€œWas not!” I say, moving toward him.
    â€œWas too!” He replies, inching toward me.
    â€œWas not !” Or, a Three Stooges movie.
    The slim police officer with the very large gun spreads his hands wide as if to keep Ethan and me from jumping on one another. “Okay, okay. Calm down.” He looks to me. “Where’s your car, miss?”
    â€œWay down there,” I say smugly—to Ethan.
    â€œDoesn’t matter,” Ethan insists. “She was after me. I saw her.”
    â€œBut you stated before, Mr. Wyatt, that it was your own negligence that led you to stop short. Am I correct?” asks one of the guys in uniform.
    â€œHa!” I exclaim, pointing at Ethan.
    Ethan’s features screw up into a scowl. Then, just as quickly, a cocky serenity washes over his face. It’s like someone literally wiped the anger right off him. Amazing.
    Ethan tips his head to the most stern-looking officer. “Look, I’m just grateful that no one got hurt. And I know what good work you and your men do. I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you all in any way. I did some research for my role in Out of Harm with some of your guys. You know Chuck Larsen?”
    The stern officer gleams. “I just got back from a fishing trip up at his place on Findley Lake.”
    Ethan gives a deferential smile to his assembled audience, shakes his head wistfully. “He does have a nice piece of property up there, doesn’t he?”
    â€œSure does,” comes the response from the officer.
    Oh. My. God. He’s charming them. That sneaky, slimy…
    â€œHey!” I snap. “ Hey! ” But no one hears me; Ethan’s just made a joke or something and the whole group is chuckling.
    I circle around them and try to get the attention of a heavyset man with a bristle-brush mustache. “ Hello?”
    He takes me by the shoulders and, with one eye still on Ethan, says, “Ma’am, you’re going to have to calm down.”
    Unbelievable.
    â€œAre you kidding ?” I ask indignantly. “He’s acting, can’t you see that? He’s manipulating you—”
    Still with one adoring eye on Ethan Wyatt, the policeman takes me by the hand. “Ma’am, please come with me. If you can’t remain calm, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to be seated.”
    Before I know it, the policeman has managed to guide me to a squad car. He opens the back door.
    I stare bewildered at the dingy metal mesh closing off the back of the car, eye the blank space on the door where a handle should be. The interior has a curious smell, a strange blend of pleather, industrial disinfectant, and sweat.
    I stutter, “I admit that I may be partly responsible, okay? But Ethan Wyatt is just as—”
    The police officer stares me down, his bristle-brush mustache twitching irritably. He tightens his grip on my wrist. “Ma’am, please be seated.” I can tell by the way his voice dropped down an octave that, loosely translated from police speak, his friendly “Ma’am, please be seated” actually means Sit your ass down or I’m going to make you .
    I slowly sit myself down in the back of the police car. The officer puts