Maybe I should call Uncle Maksim.
No. I don't want my parents to know.
"Demi Ivanov," I reply.
He nods and gestures. "Two minutes."
The sticky receiver makes my skin crawl. I dial without thinking. It rings once, twice.
"You have a call from the Chicago Police Department. To accept, press one," a woman's voice rings through the phone.
A beep follows.
"Demi?" I burst out.
"Blue? Why are you calling me from the police department? Is this a joke?" she frets.
"No. I'm in jail. They arrested me."
She gasps. "What station are you at?"
"Downtown. Booking. They fingerprinted me. They...they arrested Red, and I don't know where he is!"
Her breath sharpens. "Oh God!"
"You're my only call."
"I'm coming," she says immediately.
Panic edges my voice. "Don't tell my parents."
A pause.
"Please," I beg, ready to cry again.
"Okay. I won't. Don't talk to anyone."
"I won't."
The sergeant clears his throat loudly. "Time."
"I have to go."
"I've got you," Demi says, steady and certain.
The line clicks, and I hang up.
The female officer directs me to move down a hallway.
I pass several corridors, go through another buzzing door, and jail cells fill the hallway.
I turn toward her. "Please take me back to wait for my friend in the booking area."
"Doesn't work like that." She unlocks and opens a heavy, metal door. "In you go."
My legs wobble. The moment I step inside, she shuts the door. The sound reverberates through my chest. I spin and grip the bars, my knuckles whitening. I demand, "What's happening with Dr. Mercer?"
"Not your concern." She walks away.
