Free Rocky Ride (Thompson & Sons) by Vivian Arend

off his desk into it.
    Mitch’s bad feeling spiked, and he backed toward the main exit. Screw getting their money—
    The metal door behind him burst open, slamming into the wall. The order rang out, loud and clear. “Don’t anyone move.”
    Uniformed police poured into the office. Through the window more bodies were visible sweeping into the yard and up to the open back doors of the Quonset.
    Fuck . Mitch froze, thankful his hands were empty and in the open. “I’m just here dropping off a shipment.”
    One of the officers approached him slowly. “Right. That’s a likely story.”
    This was going from bad to worse. “I work at Thompson and Sons garage in Rocky Mountain House.” Mitch spoke softly and as calmly as he could under the circumstance. “That’s my truck out there. I was doing a routine parts drop. Can you tell me what’s wrong?”
    There were two of them beside him now, examining him closely as more men pushed past. A loud shout rang out, and he pivoted in time to see Denis make a break for the backdoor before being tumbled to the ground by his pursuers.
    God, this was not going to end well at all.
    One of the officers beside him caught hold of his arm, pulling it back. Mitch didn’t resist, but a cringe shook him as cool metal loops closed around one wrist, then the other, pinning his arms behind him. “Looks like I drove into something I didn’t intend to,” Mitch insisted. “On the desk. Transport papers for all the vehicles I brought. Bills of sale—it’s all there, I swear.”
    “Don’t move,” the older officer in front of him warned, the nametag on his uniform spelling MACKIE in bold black letters. “Greyson, check out his story.”
    “Company name is on the side door of the truck. My name is Mitch Thompson, and I have no idea what’s going on.” Other than his arms already going numb from the awkward position.
    Greyson held up the envelope Denis had abandoned. “This one?”
    Mitch nodded.
    The police pointed at the truck. “Everything in there belong to you?”
    “It should. Papers are in the glove box.”
    Greyson nodded. “Keep cooperating, and we’ll check out your story.”
    He vanished, leaving Mitch in the company of five officers, a couple of whom were systematically emptying desk drawers.
    “Sit,” Mackie ordered, pointing at the flimsy plastic reception chairs positioned against the wall.
    Mitch sat.
    He watched out the window as a large group of officers led a line of cuffed and controlled workers into police cars, the yard filled with neon blue and red flashing lights.
    Inside the office, police were now working at computer screens as well as the files. Mitch’s stomach was in his shoes as the activity continued. This wasn’t something small and innocent he’d stumbled into—not with this many police on the case.
    Greyson was striding back already, and Mitch’s hopes fell further at the icy expression the man wore.
    He stomped through the office entrance and handed the envelope back to Mackie. “Numbers don’t match the ones on the vehicles still in his truck.”
    “What?” Mitch snapped. “That’s impossible.”
    Greyson turned a cold eye on him and lifted the box Mitch had picked up from the craft store, the flaps on the lid swinging open. “Planning on doing a little Vehicle Identification Number etching, were you, Mr. Thompson?”
    Oh fuck. What the hell had Katy bought? “No—I swear there’s been a mistake.”
    Mackie shook his head as he grabbed Mitch’s arm and escorted him from the building. “Then we’ll sort it out down at the police station. Right now you’re under arrest for suspicion of involvement with grand theft auto.”

Chapter Seven

     
    M ITCH’S EXPRESSION remained stone cold as Anna waited behind the counter for him to be escorted from the holding cell he’d been stewing in for the past three hours.
    Anna fought to keep from swaying, pushing aside the lightheaded rush that struck at seeing him in one piece. Her