The photos inside the folder hit me like a punch to the gut. Surveillance shots of Nia at the protest, talking to students. Nia being handcuffed. I kept my expression professionally curious as I studied the photos. “Dr. Price is a lecturer at Birmingham State. Specializes in civil rights history, if I recall correctly.”
“She’s also on a federal watchlist as a potential domestic disruptor. With connections to known radical elements across three states.”
I tapped my finger against my thigh under the table, the only sign of my anger. ‘Radical elements.’ The words were deliberately vague, meant to make Nia look dangerous rather than principled.
“Is that so? Her collegiate work seemed well-respected when I looked into it.” I kept my voice neutral, meeting Richards’ glare.
“You’ve researched her?” Richards asked, pouncing on the admission.
“I make it a point to be familiar with influential voices in my community,” I replied smoothly.
“Are you still in touch with any of the organizers since the protest?” Grant questioned.
The question hung in the air, loaded with traps. A yes would lead to demands for details, for records of communication. A direct no would be a lie. They might already have evidence to disprove.
“I’ve had no professional contact with protest organizers regarding the events since my release from custody,” I said carefully, the words technically true. My contact with Nia had been entirely personal, not professional, not about the protest at all.
Richards studied my face for several long seconds, looking for cracks in the facade. I gave him nothing but professional composure. The face of a chief discussing operational matters rather than a man protecting a woman he’d held in his arms two nights ago.
When it finally ended, Richards shook my hand with a grip that was more of a challenge than courtesy. “We’ll be in touch, Chief Banks. The Bureau takes domestic disruption seriously these days.”
“As does my department. My door is always open,” I replied.
Finally alone in my office, I closed the blinds and sat down hard. They weren’t just building a case against me for breaking rules; they were going after Nia for being herself, for speaking out and refusing to accept things as they were.
I reached for my phone, then stopped. I wanted to call Nia to warn her. Tell her everything we’d shared at the cabin was real, but so was the danger now gathering around us. If they were watching me, they were already watching her, and I’d onlyconfirm what they suspected. I’d make her more of a target, not less. I’d drag her deeper into an investigation that could destroy her career, her reputation, her freedom.
Though my silence would look like a betrayal to her. Like I’d gotten what I wanted at the cabin and now was distancing myself from the “radical” Black woman under federal investigation. She’d think I’d chosen the badge over her, the system over justice.
And maybe she’d be right, yet the other option was worse, placing her directly in the crosshairs of federal agents who’d already decided she was dangerous. My protection might feel like abandonment to her, but at least she’d be alive and free to hate me for it.
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling, the burden of impossible choices weighing heavily on me. What did it cost me to want her? Everything about my career, my reputation, possibly my freedom if they decided I’d compromised my position.
The call remained unmade, while somewhere, Nia was unaware that the ground beneath us shifted dangerously. And for the first time, I wondered if there was any path I could take to keep both my oath and my heart intact.
11
NIA
Wrapped in the hotel’s thin towel, I stepped back into the room. The bed looked enormous without Ronan in it. I pulled on an oversized T-shirt from my bag and crawled into bed, pulling the blanket up to my chin.
The duvet smelled like generic detergent, not the subtle scent of a man that had surrounded me last night. I buried my face in the pillow and groaned. One night with him, and suddenly everything else felt wrong.
What would Devon think? The thought ambushed me, bringing with it a wave of guilt. My brother, killed by men with badges, and here I was, falling into bed with one, kissing him, wanting him. Letting him see parts of me I’d kept guarded since Devon’s death.
Ronan wasn’t just a badge, that was the problem. I’d seen the man behind it, the man who stepped between young protesters and National Guard troops, who got himself arrested in his own jurisdiction, who held space for my grief about my brother without trying to defend the system that killed him.
“This is some bullshit,” I said into the empty room. I’d caught feelings for Birmingham’s top cop. If this weren’t my life, I’d think it was a bad movie plot.
My phone chimed. I grabbed it, hoping it was him, but it was Talia.
Talia: U ok? Been trying 2 reach u all day.
Me: I’m fine. Just needed some time to decompress.
Talia: Worried about u after that protest mess. CNN showing footage. U look good on camera, even getting arrested lol.
I smiled. Leave it to Talia to find the bright side, even after I got arrested.
