Page 74 of The Spy
Yeah, I knew that. Ariadne and I had had this same conversation four years ago. Back then, I’d been younger and confused. At least now I knew what I was up against.
“Thank you, Ari.”
“I’ve got your back, girl.” She stood and brushed her suit down. “Take care of yourself, and don’t speak a word.”
“I won’t.”
She gave me a hug and left. The lock clicked into place once again. I wondered whether an officer was standing by the door in case I tried to make a run for it. I imagined myself shoulder-charging the door, then sprinting for the exit, only to be mowed down by a burly cop. No, thanks.
I paced the length of the room, wishing I knew the time, but they’d taken my phone and my watch off me, and there was no clock on the wall. Hours seemed to crawl by. I had no idea how long it had really been, but at some point, an officer brought me a sandwich. They returned a while later and walked me to the bathroom. I ate again—perhaps lunch—growing increasingly desperate to hear what was going on.
Then the worst happened. The officer cuffed me and escorted me to the holding cells.
“You’ll be in here overnight,” she said, waiting for the guard to open the cell door.
I stared straight ahead, feeling like I might cry. I didn’tbelong here. Although, to be fair, the girl in the corner didn’t look like she did either. She wasn’t more than a teenager, wearing a short skirt and too much makeup. Her eyes were frighteningly vacant. A big, olive-skinned woman eyed me like I was fresh meat, and I gulped. She could snap me like a twig if she wanted.
“In you go,” the officer said, giving me a little push.
I stepped inside the cell, terror brewing in my gut. A Black lady sat against the wall, watching me curiously. She looked the most composed of my new companions, so I edged toward her, putting more distance between myself and the others.
Please get me out of here.
ZEKE
It was almostmidnight by the time the police decided to release Fiona. If not for my pushing, they’d probably have left her in their holding cells until the morning, but I remembered how much she’d said she hated her time in the cells four years ago, and I was determined that she wouldn’t spend a second longer in them than necessary.
The police’s crime scene team had pulled together enough evidence to charge Bergen and Patience with the theft. Video evidence showed Bergen spending far more time at the storefront than Fiona had, and both his and Patience’s fingerprints were on the painting. They’d been so confident they wouldn’t be caught that they hadn’t bothered to wear gloves.
Amateurs.
The police had also found a collection of close-upphotographs ofDaisieshidden in a file on Bergen’s laptop. Apparently, when he and Patience had discovered it would be coming to the Windy City Gallery, he’d flown to Paris to view it in the Louvre and had taken photographs and notes to recreate it as closely as possible. There were a bunch of other threads that had come together, but suffice it to say, the police had finally realized that Fiona had nothing to do with the theft.
I waited for Detective Harrison to join me near the entrance to the holding cells. She and Goodwin were doing overtime so they could get the painting back to its very wealthy owner as soon as possible. She scowled at me as she approached, her nose crinkled like she’d smelled something bad. Perhaps her boss had chewed her out for the mess she and Goodwin had made of this case. If she’d listened to Fiona and at least looked into Bergen to begin with, maybe everything would have been worked out much sooner.
“Come on,” she said gruffly.
I followed her past the guard, who handed her a key, and into the cells. I immediately spotted Fiona sitting beside a slim Black woman, her knees pulled up to her chest and her eyes bloodshot. She looked exhausted, and she’d probably been too anxious to get any sleep. She turned toward us slowly, then blinked, as if coming back to herself. She stood on shaky legs and came over, reaching for me between the bars.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” she whispered. “I was so scared when you let them take you.” She scanned my face, her gaze darkening as it lingered on the bruising on the side of my cheek.
“I’m fine, and you are too,” I told her. “We’re getting you out of here.”
“Really?” Relief soaked her tone. She turned to Harrison. “I’m leaving?”
Harrison opened the door and ushered Fiona through, then shut it again rapidly. I hauled her into my arms. She relaxed into my embrace, letting the tension drain out of her body. Her mouth found mine and we kissed, slow and thorough. One of the women in the cell catcalled.
“Cut it out,” Harrison said.
Fiona drew back, her eyes never leaving mine. “Don’t ever do that again.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Use yourself as a distraction,” she said. “You mean too much to me to risk like that. Your safety is just as important as mine.”
I wisely kept my mouth shut, even though I disagreed. I’d give everything to keep her safe, and I’d never have a moment’s regret for doing so.
“Okay, lover boy, get a move on,” Harrison urged.
