Taking Mine

by Schneider, Rachel

  But my eyes stay trained on Justin as he pins Mr. Monroe down, placing his knee into his back and slapping a pair of cuffs around his wrists. The entire time he’s going through the process, reading off the Miranda Rights by memory, he’s watching me. His eyes never leave mine as his lips move to the words he’s probably recited so many times that the act has become second nature to him.

  Because…

  Because Justin is a cop.

  I RUN. MY FIGHT OR FLIGHT instinct kicks in and I fly. I know it’s pointless. There are too many and I’m too slow. I’m aware this doesn’t end well. But I feel like I need to escape. I need to process. Just a few more seconds of freedom before reality sets in.

  I hear footsteps following me as I run down the hallway, into the break room, and out of the employee entrance. Tiny pieces of gravel pull my feet out from under me, and I catch myself with my hands, barely losing momentum. A nondescript SUV is parked blocking the exit, so I run toward the fence dividing the alley from the opposite block. I’m surprised by my own strength when I heave the top part of my body over the fence. I struggle to find grip with my shoes and am forced to rely on upper body strength when I feel a hand wrap around my ankle.

  I’m pulled off the fence by my feet, and I land face-first, literally. The entire left side of my face throbs against the concrete. Without thinking, I reach to wipe the gravel digging into my eye and am immediately rewarded with a strong yank pinning my arm behind me. I yell as I hear an audible pop in my shoulder. The cop angrily says something about resisting that I don’t catch, and he runs his hands over my body and closer to my female anatomy than I’d ever feel comfortable with. The next thing I know, I’m standing as he places me on my feet.

  I watch as Taylor is escorted out of the back of Toby’s, cuffed and looking like he wants to commit murder against anyone within reaching distance. He’s placed against the hood of the vehicle blocking the exit and patted down. Kaley is standing against her car, tears running down her face as an officer questions her. Her eyes lock on mine and widen. I tear my gaze away.

  Several SUVs take up the street, blocking oncoming traffic in both directions. People exit their vehicles, standing on the outskirts of the barricade, trying to get a look at what’s going on. Kip is being pushed up against a nearby vehicle, his head whipping back and forth, looking for me presumably. His eyes light up when he sees me, but they immediately dim. It’s not until I recognize his concern that I feel the blood running down my face.

  I mouth to him that I'm okay.

  I’m deposited into my own vehicle, my rights are read, and the slam of the door rocks the vehicle. There’s not a specific emotion I can pinpoint, but it's too much and I cry. I keep my eyes trained, waiting for a glimpse of Justin. The look on his face when he put Mr. Monroe down keeps playing on a feedback loop. As desperately as I try, I can’t convince myself that what I saw is true. There has to be some kind of explanation. But even as I fail to find one, I know what I saw.

  The SWAT team has begun dismantling their uniforms. Deputies with bulletproof vests that read DEA across the back congregate together, some smiling at a job well done. Ethan and the third man to Mr. Monroe’s entourage exit the building.

  It's then when Justin finally makes his appearance. He steps out, holding the front door open for the next two people to walk through. Mr. Monroe is cuffed, escorted by Lance, who says something to Justin on the way by. My gaze jumps to Kaley, and I see the shock on her face as well. Lance departs to deposit a very solemn-looking John Monroe into the backseat of an SUV.

  Justin walks to a man dressed in slacks and a button-down, clearly the boss with a clipboard in his hand. They talk for a few moments, heads bowed together. The other deputies occasionally glance in their direction but don’t approach. My heart skips a beat when they both look up toward my car. I know he can’t see me, the window tint too strong, but I hurriedly wipe away my tears with the sleeve of my shoulder.

  He takes a step my way, but the man puts a hand on his chest, stopping his pursuit. Justin’s face is tense as he allows his coworker to hold him back. It looks like it takes a moment for Justin to concede, but eventually he nods, letting his guard down. The man pats him on the back and says something as he walks away. Justin stands, hands on his hips, looking at my window. I pull back, slinking in my seat. I know there’s no way he can see me, but I feel like there’s a direct line from his eyes to mine, and it makes me shiver. He laces his hands behind his neck and turns around and walks away.

  THE THING ABOUT SITTING in a holding cell alone is that I have plenty of time to think. Then cry. And then think some more.

  I’ve been alone for hours. I’m not quite sure how long, considering I’ve had nothing but my own thoughts to keep me entertained, and the better half of it I spent crying. Feeling sorry for myself is up there, along with Kip, and Dan and his family. Once I get tired of crying, I’m angry. So angry that I feel like at any moment I’ll spontaneously combust with all the fire roaring inside me. I’m very, very angry.

  And I’ve had nothing but time to add fuel to the fire.

  By the time a female police officer opens my cell and tells me we’re moving, I don’t ask questions. She re-cuffs my hands in front of me, and we trek down an abnormally long hallway. She doesn’t speak as we buzz through a series of doors, just simply directs me where to go. We’re at the last door when I see him standing on the other side. He’s wearing the same clothes he was at Toby’s, except now a badge hangs from around his neck.

  The door opens and we walk through. My heart grows in size and rhythm the closer I get to him. And I realize I hate him. It’s a new development to me. I can’t recall a single person that I’ve felt this much admonishment to, not even my mom. Every ounce of me feels like it’s been lit on fire and it’s seeping from my pores. This person, this man that I trusted, is a liar.

  A lying bastard.

  I clench my teeth, trying to gain some semblance of control. His eyes wander to my swollen cheek. The entire left side of my face feels like it went through a meat grinder, so I’m sure it looks like hell.

  His face contorts. “What happened?” he says, angry. At what, I’m not sure.

  He lifts his hand to touch my cheek and I whip my face away from his touch. It’s as if I stung him, pain lashing his face, and he doesn’t try to hide it. I shake my head at my own stupidity. I’m seeing what I want to see, because despite it all, I still want to believe he cares. The officer un-cuffs me, and right as my wrists are free, I plant my feet like he taught me and I pull my arm back. My knuckles hit my target. He stumbles back, cupping his nose, checking for blood.

  That’s right, I smirk at him. I want to piss you off.

  I’m immediately bombarded by officers that seem to emerge from nowhere. My arms are brought behind my back, and I feel the familiar slap of cuffs.

  “No, it’s okay. It’s okay.” Justin holds a hand up to stop them.

  It’s not okay, though. How can he say that anything is even remotely okay? Nothing is okay. He’s telling everyone that it’s okay with the calmest expression on his face, and it’s like looking at the face of the devil. Because only the devil can lie like he can.

  I spit in his face.

  It finally elicits a response, and his face is murderous as he wipes the spit from his eye. His eyes hold mine as he steps into me. “Stop it. They’re going to put you in a straitjacket and muzzle you. Do you want that?”

  With his face so close to mine, I can’t stop myself from glancing at his lips. A memory of them placed on mine from the night before filters through my mind. The way they opened to me, tasted me, wanted me.

  And I think I hate myself a little bit, too.

  Despite everything, I wish we could go back twelve hours and everything could be as they were. None of this would have happened and I would still be blissfully ignorant. But we can’t. I snap my eyes away from him, ashamed.

  He straightens back up. “She’s good. I’ll take her from here.”
r />   I yank away from his touch when he grabs my elbow. He lets out an agitated breath through his nose but lets me go. We don’t speak as he leads me into a small room, much like my cell, with a table and two metal chairs against the wall.

  “Sit.”

  I remain standing. I hear him leave and shut the door when I refuse to acknowledge him. I pace, my hands still cuffed behind me. My anger is now a dull simmer beneath the surface, and something closer, something scarier threatens to take its place. I’m antsy as I wait. I’m beginning to think I’ll be left in this room as long as they left me in the other when a man walks. It’s the man with the clipboard. Justin follows.

  “Miss Lilly Foster,” he greets me. “Timothy Fisher, Assistant Director in charge of the Drug Enforcement Administration of the field division, but you can call me Tim. You already know Justin. He’s the special agent on your case. Please, take a seat.”

  At least now I know it's his real name.

  He doesn’t wait for my response as he sits with a folder in his hand. Justin raises a brow and mouths for me to sit. Having no reason to argue, I do.

  “I know today has been a whirlwind for you, so I’ll try to keep this quick and get you out of here, hmm?”

  He opens the folder, angling it toward me. It’s a detailed list of all the crimes I have committed. It fills the entire sheet of paper. I imagine this is what Justin felt like when Taylor…nope. I cut off my train of thought. Justin’s rap sheet is false. He didn’t feel anything when Taylor revealed Justin’s criminal history, because it was all fabricated.

  “Grand theft auto, aiding and abetting arms smuggling and drug trafficking. War crimes.” I open my mouth to protest and he cuts me off. “Justin has informed me you had no knowledge of your actions. You were going in blind.”

  “Oh, really? What else did he tell you?”

  He taps a pen on the table. “He made me aware of your relationship a few hours ago, if that’s what you’re insinuating. I must let you know it’s not uncommon for field agents to become attached to their projects, especially when they’re required to monitor their targets for days, months, sometimes years in advance.”

  “Wait, monitored? Was I monitored?” I look from Justin to the Assistant-whatever-the-hell-his-title-is and back again.

  “Not you, specifically, but yes.”

  I can feel the blood drain from my face. “For how long?”

  “Classified information until the trial.”

  Justin remains stoic against the wall, his arms folded across his chest and his eyes never leaving me.

  It’s not until now that I realize how much deep shit I’m in. I’ve been so caught up in my personal fiasco that I’ve let Justin’s presence deter me. I’ve felt safe with him even in this situation. I thought there’s no way he’ll let me go down for this. But he will, and he is.

  “I want a lawyer.”

  The man doesn’t say anything as he sits back. “Do you have a lawyer?” He already knows the answer when I shake my head no. “Right, okay,” he says, standing. “I’m going to step out and let Justin explain to you why you don’t want a public defender. Off record.” I’m not given a chance to agree when he hits a switch on the wall on his way out. Justin unfolds his arms and sits in the now vacant chair.

  “We’re offering you a plea bargain. They’ll let you go, walk out today, if you agree to testify against Jimmy Monroe.”

  It can’t be that easy. “What’s the catch?”

  His lips are thin right before he answers me. “Your testimony will implement your brother as an accomplice.”

  “No.” I shake my head, even as he continues.

  “If you don’t, you’re looking at fifteen years or more. This is your best option. A public defender won’t do shit to help your case. You know this. There’s too much evidence built up against you.”

  “Because of you,” I hiss, and I momentarily forget about the cuffs, straining against them.

  Justin sighs. “If I take them off, will you keep your hands to yourself?”

  I think about coming back with a smart retort but refrain. He takes my silence as an omission, reaching into his pocket and producing the keys. Scooting his chair across the floor, he waits for me to turn around. I try not to flinch at his touch when he holds my wrists steady. He’s so close I can feel his familiarity. I’m immensely relieved when he finally lets go and I can rub the marks on my wrists.

  “I won’t testify against my brother.”

  “He thought you’d say that.”

  “What? How does Kip know?”

  Justin glances at the switch on the wall before returning to me. “We offered him the plea deal first. We agreed that I’d offer it to you.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “Because he’s your brother and it’s his job to protect you.”

  I rub my eyes and lay the good side of my face into my hand. I’m exhausted. Emotionally I’m just done. So done. And it’s not uncommon for prosecutors to lie during interrogation. “I want to talk with him before I do anything.”

  He smiles. “Smart girl.” He leaves the room for a moment and comes back. “Let’s go.”

  He makes me walk ahead of him, and I get a few dirty looks from the officers who had to restrain me. We’re only a few doors down when Justin instructs me to stop. He opens a door to a room with long rows of visitation tables. It’s the kind with the partitions that require communication to be through a telephone.

  “He’s already booked and charged. The only visitation he’s allowed to have until he’s transported to a nearby facility is through this. I’m sorry.” I swallow multiple times to stop the knot in my throat from hurting. “A guard is going to stand in.”

  He waits a moment, hesitant to let me be by myself, and I sit down on my side of the nearest partition. Not a second later, I hear the opposite door open and Kip walks in. I immediately burst into tears when I see his orange jumpsuit. His face fills with outrage as he yanks the phone from its hook.

  “What happened to your face?” I’m sobbing in front of him and all he’s worried about is my face. “Who did that to you?”

  I struggle to rein in my tears to speak. “I’m fine. It was an accident.”

  Finally gathering that my emotional well-being should take precedence over my physical one, he cools his features. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

  “No it’s not. You’re in jail, Kip. You’re going to go to prison.”

  “Calm down. I can barely understand you.”

  We both take a minute to let me pull myself together. “Why would you give me the plea deal?”

  He takes in a deep breath before answering. “Justin came to me right after we arrived. He said he’s working on a plea deal that they were going to offer me. He suggested that I give it to you.”

  “He suggested it?”

  “In a way. I can’t actively give someone a plea deal, but I can turn it down. If that were the case, the prosecutors would offer it to the next defendant in line.”

  “Me.”

  “You. Justin knew that you were their second option.”

  “But what about you? How much time are you looking at?”

  “Don’t worry about that. I’ll be fine. I need you to be fine.”

  The man sitting across from me, the brother who raised me, is worried about me when I’m not the one in chains. He’s spent his entire life watching over me and it’s gotten him where he is today. “It’s all my fault.” My words come broken through tears. “I was the one who brought him into our lives.”

  I don’t need to say who; he already knows. “No, Lil. This is my fault. I let things get this far. It was my job to protect you, and I didn’t do that.”

  “Did you know Jimmy was Kaley’s dad?”

  “No. I had no reason to connect the dots. Justin said they have her in questioning about what she may know.”

  “Kip, I can’t take your plea deal.”

  “You can, and you will. I’ve stashed some money
away in a savings account. It’s not much, but it’s enough to keep you grounded for a little while. It’s what I was banking on using when you got into graduate school.”

  School, bills, simply living alone gives a whole new perspective on how I’m going to be alone. Kip’s always been my safe haven. Without him I have no one.

  His smile is weak when he says, “It’s time to figure things out on your own.”

  I spend the next five minutes trying to pull myself together as Kip gives me directions on things I might need to do while he’s gone. Justin steps in and announces that our time is up, and Kip reassures me that I’ll get through this. I don’t know who can actually hear our conversation on the other side of the phones, but Justin doesn’t mention my tear-streaked face as we go back to the original interrogation room.

  “You’re going to need protection,” Tim states as he walks through the door.

  He drops a pile of paperwork in front of me. “Protection?”

  “John Monroe has enough employees all over the state that it puts you in a precarious position.”

  “Precarious…”

  “You’re testifying against someone with a lot of connections. We have reason to believe you might not be safe. We can’t guarantee that someone won’t come looking for you.”

  “Are we talking about witness protection?”

  “No, nothing that drastic. Monroe is a mediocre fish in a big pond, not a shark. So what we’re going to do is assign a patrol to you twenty-four hours a day and until the trial is over. Just to be sure.”

  “Just to be sure,” I repeat, new fear sinking in.

  “Lance and Justin have both volunteered to split the shifts. You’re in good hands.”

  Justin confirms with a slow head nod. “No,” I say, pushing the papers away from me. “No, not them. Anyone but them.”