Page 113 of Damsel in Disguise

I place it in his palm.

His eyes scan over my passport.

In that one sweep, I watch his brows scrunch just barely.

He reaches for his line phone. As soon as the receiver connects, he murmurs something under his breath. His eyes flicker toward me between words, not lingering long enough to be obvious, but enough to confirm.

My spine straightens, almost instinctively, every nerve sharpening to a fine edge. Should I run?

He sets the phone down. Then, finally, looks up at me.

Something inside me stills completely under the weight of that look.

“Ma’am, I’m going to need you to step aside,” he says too politely.

“Is there an issue?”

“Yes.”

I wait for a beat in vain for him to elaborate. Instead, he hands my passport back and motions for me to stand aside.

Behind me, irritation begins rippling through the line of strangers who don’t yet realize they’re standing too close to something dangerous.

I tilt my head slightly, studying him. Then I move aside.

The elderly woman behind me mutters something under her breath as she steps forward, her shoulder brushing mine in mild annoyance.

The world slips back into its usual rhythm within seconds—voices rising again, footsteps resuming their steady cadence, life continuing.

Only mine stops on track.

Two more officers—one male, one female—step into my peripheral vision.

My gaze flickers between them to catalogue—posture, stance, the slight bulge beneath jackets that speaks of concealed weapons. They’re not airport security.

They stop directly in front of me, close enough to block, far enough to avoid a scene yet. “Ariella Keinston?”

I feel the shift behind me, the weight of a few curious eyes pressing into my back.

“Yes.”

“You’ll need to come with us.”

My heart rate spikes, but my expression doesn’t betray it. “Excuse me?”

The female officer reaches for my arm, a handcuff already dangling in her grip.

I step back instantly. “What exactly is this about?” I press, firmer this time, the softness gone. “You don’t get to pull me aside without giving me a solid reason.”

My mind is already moving, cutting through possibilities, only to come up with nothing.

“You’re under arrest as the prime suspect for a double homicide case dating back four years,” the male officer says firmly.

The words shoot like a bullet through my chest. There shouldn’t be any trace.

“What the fuck?”

It takes me a second to realize I’ve reacted aloud.