“Yourguestsmuggled weapons into the rally. He is going to jail. The Institutional Protection Service wants you detained and questioned.” We’re still moving. The tunnel starts to slope up. After another corner, sunlight shines far ahead.
The officer on my other side reaches for my briefcase, but I clutch it to my chest. “No. I need my phone. I have to call Manuel. He can straighten this out.”
The bag is yanked away. I stumble in my heels and fall.
I lunge for the officer, desperate to snatch my briefcase from his hands, but the other one jerks me back to my feet. My shoulder burns, and tears spring to my eyes. “You are making a mistake.”
“No mistakes, Ms. Sanchez. You’re coming with us to the station. You will tell the IPS everything you know about Mr. Basher, andtheywill decide if you will go to prison along with him.”
This cannot be happening. Minutes ago, I was watching Manuel give the penultimate speech of his campaign. And now…? The officers force me to walk faster. We are almost to the end of the tunnel, and a police car, lights flashing, waits.
The officers pat me down. My cheeks burn, but I fight for control. Until one of them pulls out a set of handcuffs.
“No. Please. You do not need those!”
Shouts come from somewhere to my left. “Look! They’re arresting someone! Get video. Now!” a woman shouts.
The handcuffs snap around my wrists, cold and tight. A news crew runs toward us. The woman—with her perfectly pressed red suit and coiffed black hair—calls out, “What are you arresting her for? Who is she?”
The police officers ignore her. One puts his hand on the top of my head and guides me into the back seat of the vehicle. The door slams shut, the finality of the sound signaling the end of my career. Of whatever I might have been building with Leo. Of…everything.
* * *
Exhaustion makesmy swollen eyes burn. Before this week, when was the last time I cried? I can’t remember.
“How long have you and Mr. Basher been seeing each other?” Detective Franco, the gruffer of the two officers sitting across from me, asks for what feels like the hundredth time.
“He came to my rescue when Daniel Pinzon broke into my apartment on Sunday. You know this. Where is my mobile phone? I need to call my lawyer.” My voice wobbles. If they do not let me go soon, I will break down completely.
They have been at this for hours. Question after question about Leo, how he got the gun and knife past security, whether I knew anything about the weapons. I panicked the first time they asked me, and said I had no idea he was armed.
Was that right? Or will my lie cause him even more trouble? They will not tell me where he is, how he is, or if I will ever be able to see him again.
“Weapons were not allowed inside the stadium. As one of the Vice President’s staff, you should know this. We could arrest you right now,” Franco says, leaning halfway across the table to sneer at me. “Tell us the truth!”
“I am! Leo is my neighbor and my boyfriend. That isallI know!” My tears spill over, and I swipe at my cheeks. “You will tell me nothing about him. Or Manuel. I do not even know what time it is!
Covering my face with my hands, I give up trying to be strong. I have to get out of here. Leo told me to call Zephyr, but how will I even get in touch with her? If he’s been arrested, they will have searched his apartment. Probably taken his tablet, but even if itisstill there, I would have to unlock it. And his door.
Someone knocks, and I jerk upright. Since they brought me here, I have only seen the two men across from me. No one else has come in, and I’m not facing the door. The few times they’ve left me alone, I have not been able to see anyone in the hall.
Please, let it be Rafael or one of Manuel’s lawyers. Anyone who will listen to me.
Detective Franco opens the door a crack and speaks in hushed tones to someone I cannot see.
“What do you mean?” he says sharply. After a moment, he snorts. “Why? She knows something. I can feel it!”
More quiet words, but from the tone, whoever he’s talking to is not happy with him.
“Fine. But it will beyourname on the paperwork.” He turns to me and jerks his head toward the door. “Get up. I have orders to let you go.”
Relief makes my muscles tremble. When I stand, the room spins for a moment, and I hold on to the back of the chair for support. “Where is my briefcase?”
The door swings open, and a tall, older man pushes into the room. “Ms. Sanchez, I am Sergeant Montoya.” He holds out my bag, and I snatch it from his hands. “You are free to go. But I must warn you not to leave town. We may have more questions for you tomorrow.”
“Where is Leo Basher?” I ask. A small voice inside my head warns me not to anger Montoya, but I have to know.
“That is none of your concern. Go now before I change my mind.“ He points down the hall to the left, and I don’t hesitate.
