It rang, and rang, and rang. I wasn't worried, though.
It rang six times, seven.
"No one home?" the officer asked, his voice edged with impatience.
"He'll answer," I said without looking at him. "He promised me."
Nine rings, ten...
"You can try one more number. Bail bondsmen are available twenty-four hours a—"
A click, a pause, and then a voice, breathless.
"Hello?"
I struggled to speak.
"Hello? Who is this?"
I swallowed against the lump in my throat, holding back a sob.
"...Annabelle?"
God, the way he says my name.
"Sadiq."
"Annabelle, it is you. What is it? What's happened?"
"I...I'm in trouble."
"Tell me what's happened. What do you need?"
I laughed even as my tears spilled over.
"So, about that ride..."
TEN
Back in the holding cell, I tried to work out if Sadiq had believed me or not when I'd told him that I’d been caught while trying to return the things I'd stolen. I'd explained everything about my plan and how I came to be at the house in the woods, even telling him about how the music box had broken just as the police had arrived. He'd listened to me without saying much. When I'd finished speaking, he just said, "I'll be there shortly," and hung up.
Now I was back in the cell, sitting on the bench where the large, staring woman had been before. The prostitutes were gone, much to my relief. I fidgeted in my seat and wished there were a clock in the room.
"Christensen!"
I jumped. The officer who'd taken me for my phone call had returned.
"Let's go. You've got some paperwork to do."
"Is he here?" I asked as he closed the cuffs over my wrists.
The officer shrugged and pointed ahead. I started walking.
He guided me to a room where four clerks were working at desks. Beside each desk was a chair, and he led me to one of them and gestured for me to sit down. The clerk sitting opposite me, a tired-looking woman in her late thirties, glanced from her computer screen, to me, and back again.
"Your initial bail has been set at one hundred thousand dollars, cash only—"
I coughed, interrupting her. "One hundred..."
I couldn't get the words out. I had about two thousand dollars in my checking account, and twice that in savings. I had no family to call, and no assets I could borrow against. My little house was already mortgaged far beyond the point of decency.
"I can't pay that," I said. "There's no way."
The clerk glared at me, her lips drawn back in a tight line.
"As I was saying, your initial bail has been set at one hundred thousand dollars cash. Cash payment has already been received in this amount, from one…Sadiq Al'Adash. These funds will be held as surety of your appearance at your hearing date, scheduled for January third at eight a.m. If you fail to appear, your bail will be held and a bench warrant will be issued for your immediate arrest. Do you understand?"
I couldn't answer her at first. When I was able to speak, I asked, "He paid it? All of it?"
"Yes," she said in a clipped, impatient voice. "Now, if you understand your bail agreement, I need you to please sign here."
She pushed a stack of papers across the desk to me and held out a pen. I took it awkwardly in my cuffed hands and signed where she pointed. She signed beneath it, then stamped it.
"Okay, Roger," she said, nodding at the waiting guard. "She's all set."
"Stand up," he said, approaching me.
He took a tight circle of keys from his belt and deftly selected one. He turned the key in my cuffs, and, one at a time, they fell open. I rubbed my wrists as he gathered the cuffs into a pouch at his waist. Behind him, the clerk peeled the yellow carbon from the back of the document I'd signed. She held it up, and the officer took it from her and handed it to me.
"Stop at the property desk to claim your personal effects," he instructed me robotically. "Front desk can call a taxi for you if you are without transportation."
"Is he here?" I asked him for the second time. He met my eyes, and beneath the weary mechanics of his occupational role, I saw something more human.
"Yeah. Don't think you'll be needing a cab."
He said it with a gruff laugh as we started back to the front of the station. The property clerk was an old man; like most of the others, he didn't make eye contact as he returned my shoe laces, hair band and ring. I folded the envelope in my hands and went to where the guard pointed, the way we'd come in.
The front lobby was a stale-smelling room full of green plastic chairs and lit by a sickly florescent light. People waited, some sitting, some pacing. They waited for their bail payments to be accepted, so their family member or friend could come out and be scolded or kissed. The desk sergeant watched from behind his thick plastic wall, alternating his attention between the people in the room and the ledger on his desk. He nodded to the guard escorting me and buzzed me out. The guard didn't speak to me again, and he didn't follow me out. The heavy door slammed shut behind me with a bang, startling me.
I saw Sadiq before he saw me. He was sitting in a chair near the front door, staring off at nothing in particular. One hand made a fist on his knee, his other held his cell phone. The charcoal-colored suit he wore made a less familiar sight; I'd only ever seen him in casual clothes. His hair was still tousled, though. His eyes found me, and they were the same, too.
He got to his feet as I hurried over to him. He didn't ask me questions, not then, and I was grateful. I'd expected him to be angry, but his face was calm and unreadable as he held the door for me. Cold rain stung my face as we stepped out onto the dark street.
"Over there," Sadiq said, gesturing to the car that idled at the curb. I understood now why the guard had laughed. I don't imagine he sees many petty thieves ride home in a new Jaguar, driven by a uniformed chauffeur.
The chauffeur had an umbrella, too. His eyes passed over me, then he spotted Sadiq coming out of the building behind me and rushed forward.
"Good evening, miss."
He held the umbrella over me as we walked to the car. It was hard to tell in the dull light whether the car was black or dark blue, but it was shining and sleek. I stayed dry, watching guiltily as the drops struck the chauffeur, making dark spots on his immaculate white shirt. He smiled at me with such courtesy and warmth, as if I'd just walked out of an elegant hotel or fine restaurant. I took small, careful steps to keep my laceless shoes from slipping off.
Sadiq waited until the car was moving before he spoke.
"I’d like very much to believe that when the police found you today, you were not in the middle of burgling that house. You must understand, though, Annabelle, that this is an incredible story you're telling." His voice was controlled, but there was a tension in his words that cut at me.
As grateful as I was, my ordeal had left me too exhausted for a spirited self-defense. I rubbed my eyes and summoned up as much reassurance as I could manage.
"You can ask the police, or the people living in the house. Ask them if they were robbed two months ago, and if a silver music box went missing. Ask them if they now have it back again." I drew a deep breath and looked at him. "I thought I could make it better, Sadiq. I thought I could undo the things I'd done. But it doesn't work that way. I know that now."
His eyes narrowed as he searched my face. Lights passed through the moving car, and his features moved in and out of darkness in flashes. Finally, he sighed, and the corners of his mouth turned up into a weary smile.
"I wonder, how have you not been caught before now? You're a ridiculous criminal, Annabelle. Truly absurd."
I began to laugh, but my breath caught, and tears started instead.
"Oh, now there, girl," he murmured, and pulled me into his arms.
I pressed my face against the crisp cotton of his shirt, breathing in the scent of him. Being so
othed just brought more tears, but they didn't hurt—not like the despairing ones I'd cried alone in the shift. These were sweet, somehow, prompted by the knowledge that someone cared for me. They passed gently, and didn't leave me empty.
I smiled at Sadiq with red eyes. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and gave it to me.
"Let me take you to dinner," he offered.
"No, please… I'm so tired. And I'm dirty. I just want to go home."
"As you will. What’s your address?"
I told him, and he leaned forward to pass it on to the driver.
***
The Jaguar pulled into my driveway, illuminating my small house with its headlights. Sadiq narrowed his eyes, frowning, as he took in the home where my mother had raised my sister and me. I imagined him judging the place, and it annoyed me.
"My ballroom isn't as large as yours," I quipped as I unfastened my seatbelt. "But at least I have hot chocolate."
He glanced at me, confused by my tone. His expression became apologetic.
"Oh, no, Annabelle. I would never—" He shook his head. "I'm not a man who would judge someone simply for having less than I do."
"The way you were looking, though..."
"Look there, see for yourself." He leaned toward me and pointed through the window at my front door.
That’s when I saw it: the front door was covered in yellow police tape, in the centre was a rectangle of paper, bright white and unreadable in the glare of the headlights. I opened my door and jumped out, sprinting to the front stoop with Sadiq following close behind. The paper was stuck to the door with a strong adhesive. I worked at the corner for a moment, trying to peel it off, but it didn't budge. The paper read:
OFFICIAL NOTICE
BY COURT ORDER, THIS STRUCTURE HAS BEEN SEARCHED BY LAW ENFORCEMENT
PHOTOGRAPHIC EVIDENCE HAS BEEN COLLECTED IN ACCORDANCE WITH JUDICIAL WARRANT
ITEMS RELEVANT TO A PENDING INVESTIGATION MAY HAVE BEEN CONFISCATED IN ACCORDANCE WITH JUDICIAL WARRANT
There was a section below, a few lines with boxes beside them that could be checked or left blank. The first item said, "No one may enter this structure until notice is given," but the box by it wasn't checked. The box next to "Residents may return to structure" was checked, as was, "No property within structure may be destroyed, altered, or removed until notice is given of completion of investigation."
"Well, at least I'm not homeless," I said, but the words came out flat. Sadiq put his arm around my shoulders.
"You can stay with me tonight." He said it so quietly I almost didn't hear him. "You've had a difficult day. This... This can wait."
I reached up and put my hand over his where it rested on me.
"Thank you, Sadiq, but I need to be here tonight," I said. "As tempting as it is to put this off for another night, the time for stalling is over. I'm ready to pay for the choices I’ve made, and this is part of that."
He nodded. In the uneven light, I thought I could see something like approval in the way he looked at me.
"I was wrong about you," he said. "You're not a silly girl. You're strong, Annabelle. Tell me that you'll remember that."
I didn't feel strong, but I nodded. "I will."
He pulled me close, leaned down and kissed me softly, pulling away before I could return it.
I watched from the porch as he got back into the car. As I turned back to face the door, I realized that my keys were still in my car, which had already been impounded by the police. For one miserable moment, I thought I'd have to wave Sadiq back, retract my brave speech, and go home with him. Then I remembered the magnetic box I kept tucked behind the metal mailbox mounted by the front doorframe. I reached behind it, my knuckles scraping against the bricks. Sue enough, there it was, just where I'd left it.
A thief should know better, I thought as I unlocked my door. The headlights from Sadiq's car faded as it backed out of the driveway. It's foolish to hide a key to your house.
I stepped inside and switched on the light. Nothing happened. Cursing, I reached for the flashlight in my back pocket, but, of course, it wasn't there. My flashlight was in an evidence bag downtown.
Just like your lamp is, dummy.
It's hard to turn on a lamp that's been taken from the house in a police van.
I made my way in the dark to the hallway and turned on that light, which operated a fixture on the ceiling. The light flickered on, revealing my living room—now half-empty. The lamps were gone, as were the rug and television. The mantle and shelves were mostly empty, and the wooden floor was bare where my area rug had been taken.
I felt a twinge of annoyance. Most of the things that were missing hadn't come out of the houses I'd burgled. I guessed the police hadn't spent too much time figuring that out, and had opted instead to take back anything that looked like it didn't belong in a college dropout's eight-hundred-square-foot house on the shabby side of town. I realized with a pang of reluctant acceptance, that, to be fair, most of the things they'd confiscated had been purchased with money from my crimes.
"I don't watch much television, anyway," I grumbled, and stalked down the hall toward the bathroom, determined to shower off all of the dirt, sweat, and humiliation of this day. After that, I'd go to work on the front door. My neighbors had probably watched from their porches the entire time the police were searching my house and carrying out my things, but, on the off chance that anyone had missed the show, I didn't want to keep advertising my criminal status.
On my way to the bathroom, I glanced into the bedroom. Among the empty places from the missing items, I spotted my bedside alarm clock. It was almost midnight—still Christmas day. I realized with a pang that I hadn't called Marion, nor could I do it now. My phone, like my keys, was in my car, behind a padlocked fence somewhere in the city.
The shower helped as much as I could hope. I left the lights off in my bedroom as I searched for clothes to sleep in. I'd seen enough for one day. The police had left me my bed, and that would have to be good enough for tonight. My exhaustion was a mercy; it drove back the guilt and worry that might have otherwise kept me awake. My last uneasy thought before sleep claimed me was the realization that I'd never thanked Sadiq for freeing me.
ELEVEN
It was nearly noon when I awoke the next day. I stretched out in bed, feeling sore all over. A panicked run through the woods and a struggle with the police will do that to you, I thought. I sat up in bed and tried to think.
My preliminary hearing was in a week. I didn't have a lawyer, or even a phone to call one with. I needed to talk to Marion and explain what had happened. The prospect made my heart sink, but I already knew she was going to find out about me, whether I wanted her to or not. I told myself that she loved me, and that she'd forgive me. I hoped it was true.
I went to my closet to get dressed, and found it half empty. They'd taken the stolen items along with most of the clothes I'd purchased in the past few years. Jeans and a sweater would do for today, but nothing remained in the closet that would be appropriate for my court date next week.
I'd been told at the police station that my bank accounts would be frozen pending my trial. They didn't want me spending stolen money, and I couldn't blame them. But knowing I'd created this mess myself didn't make it feel any better.
I headed to the kitchen and made coffee and toast. As I ate, I tried to form a plan, but I didn't get far. I couldn't get another phone, or even hire a taxi. I was out of jail, but essentially a prisoner in my home. I still had Sadiq's phone number, but quickly rejected the idea of calling him. He'd done enough for me. I didn't want him to feel as though I were using him. I didn't want to be that to him; some useless girl always in trouble. I wanted him to see me as strong, the way he had last night.
Despite my determination to resolve my issues myself, I was more than relieved when, an hour later, just as I was washing the dishes, a black Jaguar pulled into my driveway. I turned off the water and dried my hands, watching from the window over the sink as Sad
iq got out of the car. He'd driven himself today, and he'd opted for khakis and a blazer instead of the formal suit he'd worn to the police station the night before. He didn't appear to notice me watching him from the window as he walked to my front door and knocked.
I remembered as I opened it that I'd intended to work on scraping off the police notice before I'd gone to bed.
Oh, well. I'll have lots of time to work on that while I'm trapped at home this week.
"Hello," I said, opening the door.
"Good afternoon," Sadiq said.
The Sheikh's First Christmas - A Warm and Cozy Christmas Romance Page 8