He shook off her words with a shrug of his massive shoulders, climbing into the back of the van. As they drove further and further from the scene of his trial, sneaked a little peek at where she'd stood.

"She's gone," he mused, lifting up his arms in vain to stretch them over his head. His hair was tousled in a  I-can't-comb-the-stuff-in-fucking-jail kind of way. The bones in his wrist cracked and crunched, sending him a harsh reminder that he was still in cuffs.

"Who's gone? Your granny?" The policeman stationed at his right questioned, quirking both eyebrows.

"My girl friend," Craig corrected.

"Which is it? Girlfriend or girl friend?"

He chuckled at the reality of the question. At present, things zigzagged in a haphazard motion around him and Isla. He'd longed put his brain to rest when it came to her issues, because she made him lose reins of his senses. She drove him wild to extreme limits, yet had these powers of calming him down when she needed him sane.

"Both, I guess."

Dearest love, I hope you're not mad at me, he thought.

"Oh. Em. Gee. I love him." Isla shuffled her arms through the sleeves of her Eskimo coat, inhaling the icy air. She pinched her cheek, yelping when it stung.

"Ouch. I shouldn't have pinched that hard."

"Yes!" She pumped the air with her fist. Her eyes glowed with a new sheen, like twinkling silver stars in the night blue skies. She hugged  herself as she shoved through the mob of people thronging outside the courtroom.

"Excuse me, are you Miss Dehler?" One beefy guy who stood two feet above Isla's head tapped her shoulder. Instinctively, she swung around, ready to tell him to fuck off, but the camera hanging around his neck made her pause in her tracks.

"Yeah?" She clutched her purse tighter for safety in case he was a petty thief. Every two seconds, she pressed her palm on the contours of the purse, her breathing slowing down when she still felt the outline of her black card, iPhone and favorite scent bomb, only to pick up speed again when the guy's shadow moved near her feet.

"What do you want from me?" She seethed, hoping she'd managed to pull off some bad girl mannerisms.

He held up the camera at a convenient angle. She narrowed her eyes to the slits until she heard the ka-chick sound emanating from it.

"What the actual heck?" Her nostrils flared, as did her temper. If beefy guy thought he could just jump out of the blues and start taking random photos of our girl, then his thinking was way off course.

"You know, I could be the press. I'd gladly submit these photos to my boss, so that your horrible pictures are plastered all over the tabloids by 8pm tonight."

"Tell me something more interesting. Otherwise, run home, dickhead, because I ain't got time for this shit."

"Your dad sent me." The ugly playing on his face vanished, replaced by a smug tilt of his chin. He wore a self-satisfied smirk as she squirmed, her eyes bulging out of their sockets.