"Then she has nothing to worry about, does she?" He spreads his hands, the picture of reasonableness. "She answers our questions, tells us what she knows, and goes home. Simple."
"Without a lawyer?"
"She hasn't asked for one."
Because she's scared. Because she doesn't know her rights. Because three years with Cain taught her to comply, to submit, to do whatever the man in charge tells her.
"I want to see her."
"I'm afraid that's not possible. She's in the middle of an interview."
"Then I'll wait."
Varro's smile doesn't waver, but something flickers in his eyes. "Suit yourself. Though I should warn you—these things can take a while. Hours, sometimes. Depends on how cooperative the subject is."
The threat is clear. He's going to keep her as long as he can. Make her sweat. Break her down.
Over my dead body.
"You're making a mistake," I say quietly. "You think targeting her will hurt me? You're right. It will. But it'll also make me very, very motivated to hurt you back. And unlike you, I don't have rules to follow."
"Is that a threat, President Hale?"
"It's a promise." I hold his gaze, letting him see exactly how serious I am. "You have dirt, Varro. Everyone in your position does. And I'm very good at finding dirt. So you can let her go now, with a polite apology, or you can keep playing this game and see what I dig up."
For a long moment, neither of us moves. The tension stretches between us, thick enough to cut.
Then Varro laughs.
"You've got balls, I'll give you that." He steps back, shaking his head. "Fine. I'll have her brought up. But this isn't over, Hale. Not by a long shot."
"No," I agree. "It's not."
He disappears through the door. I wait, fists clenched, heart pounding.
Ten minutes later, Ripley emerges.
She looks pale. Shaken. But when her eyes find mine, something in her expression shifts. Steadies.
"Levi."
"I'm here." I cross to her, pulling her into my arms right there in the middle of the police station. Let them watch. Let them all watch. "I'm here. You're okay."
"They kept asking about Cain," she whispers into my chest. "About where I was that night. About whether I knew what you were going to do."
"What did you tell them?"
"The truth. That I didn't know anything. That I was at the clubhouse when it happened." She pulls back, her eyes searching my face. "Was that right? Did I say the right things?"
"You did perfect." I cup her face, brushing my thumbs over her cheeks. "You did perfect, baby. Now let's get out of here."
I keep my arm around her as we walk out, feeling the weight of Varro's gaze on our backs. He wanted to rattle her. Wanted to use her to get to me.
It didn't work.
But he's not going to stop. I know that now with absolute certainty. He's going to keep coming, keep pushing, keep looking for ways to hurt us both.
Which means I need to end this. One way or another.
