Racing out of the bathroom, she and Julian peered out the window of the master bedroom. Dozens of police officers swarmed the plush green lawn behind the house, trampling over the flower beds and securing every exit point.
Panic nearly took her breath away. They were trapped. Julian would be arrested before he got the evidence from Adam Russell. The evidence they believed Uma had hidden in whatever the key on her necklace opened. It wouldn’t matter if they could get a 3-D plastic copy if Julian got caught now.
“Look at me.” Julian put on the clothes she’d brought into the bathroom.
“This is all my fault. I should have insisted that we leave the moment you were feeling better,” Mena said.
“Hey,” Julian grabbed her hand and bring it to his lips. The gentleness of his kiss was bittersweet. Was that the last time she’d feel his lips on hers for weeks, or worse, months?
Julian continued. “I’m going to find a way out of here, but you’ve got to stall them for me. Think you can do that?”
“The house is surrounded,” Mena said, swinging an arm toward the window. “Every St. Mateo police officer is out on the yard. How are you going to get out of this?”
Julian gave her a sly smile. “You trust me?”
“Why do you always ask me that?” Mena asked, pressing her hands on her hips.
“Answer the question,” Julian demanded.
How could he smile and tease her right now?
“Of course I do,” Mena said. “But—”
“Then all I need you to do is go out there and pretend to be my worried, grieving girlfriend. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“I don’t know how you’re going to pull this off.”
Julian stepped closer to her. “Neither do I. But I’ll figure something out when you’re not in here distracting me.”
Mena detected the worry in his tone. She didn’t want to do anything else to add to his concerns.
Mena kissed him on the lips, then exited the room. She rushed down the meandering hallway and into the living room. Pausing, she stared at the police officers swarming around. To her left, near the front door, she saw Detective Desmond Francois nodding intently at another officer, who dispensed orders to the cops on how to search the premises. His eyes met hers. Mena scowled and tried to look confused.
Stomping over to where they stood, Mena said, “Detective Francois, what’s going on? What are you doing here?”
Mena gripped the belt of the terry-cloth robe tighter around her.
“Guess you were in the shower when we knocked,” Detective Francois quipped, taking a moment to allow his eyes to drift from her face down to her bare feet.
“Yes, I was. But that doesn’t explain why you and these officers have barged in.”
The other detective standing next to Detective Francois peered at her with suspicious eyes but didn’t utter a word.
“How long have you been renting this place?” Detective Francois asked, ignoring her question.
“I’m not,” Mena said. She watched as the other officers fanned out and headed down hallways that led to the kitchen and the two guest bedrooms.
“Well, I know you don’t own the place, so if you’re not renting it, then why are you here? Trespassing?” Detective Francois asked.
“From what I can tell, you and these officers are the ones trespassing. The owner of the home is well aware that I’m here,” Mena said.
“That’s right, your good pal Beaujean Ali. Nice to have a former PC-5 director as a friend, I guess.”
“He’s my boss. He understood how worried I was that Julian had been missing for weeks and was gracious enough to let me stay here. I wanted to be close to where Julian had disappeared,” Mena explained.
“But you’re not worried about Julian anymore, are you?” Detective Francois asked.
Mena’s mouth opened, then closed. She had to be very careful. “Why are you here?”
