Page 23 of The Mood Board

“Mr. Bradford, I’m Detective Samuels, Sacramento PD, and these are Agents Miller and Sprouse of the FBI. We have a warrant to search your home—”

“A warrant?” I glanced at Bailey, my limbs turning to ice.

“—and a warrant for your arrest.”

The ice became sharp pricks of panic swirling through me until all I could hear was the rush of blood in my ears.

“My arrest?” I repeated dumbly, even as agents and police officers pushed past us into the house. “No, that can’t be right.”

“You have no reason to arrest him,” Bailey said, voice high, her words fast. The hand not holding the phone reached for me as though somehow that would stop what was happening.

“Mr. Bradford, you’re under arrest for fraud and money laundering. You have the right to remain silent—”

“Bailey, call my lawyer,” I ordered, even as the officers continued to read me my rights and pulled my arms behind my back. I was trying to sound calm, but I was afraid Bailey could see the truth in my eyes. “Tell him what’s going on. Then call Tom. He’ll have to know, too.”

“Liam—” Bailey reached for me again, her hand brushing my arm as the feeling of cold steel touched my wrists, and the handcuffs whirred and clicked shut.

“It will be fine, Bailey,” I told her, struggling to face her even as the officers tried to turn me toward the door. I fought back, needing, desperate, to see Bailey. “Everything is going to be okay. I didn’t do anything. It will all be okay.”

“He’s innocent,” Bailey protested to the people around us, the detectives and FBI agents, but no one listened. “He didn’t do anything. He didn’t do anything!”

“Bailey, call my lawyer,” I ordered again, louder this time, Bailey’s eyes were bright with panic as the officers at my arms managed to turn me around and led me away. I looked over my shoulder, and my gaze found hers just for a moment before with a final jerk that sent pain up my shoulders, the officers pushed me out the door. “It’s going to be okay. I love you, Bailey.”

And then, the police were leading me down the porch to a waiting patrol car. The last thing I saw before the officers folded me into the back seat was Bailey standing there in the midst of the chaos, unmoving, barely breathing, eyes wide with fear and shock.

“I love you, too!”

Bailey’s last shout echoed in the quiet as the officers closed the door, and I was alone, the flashing lights dancing on my skin, the seat leather, and the iron bars there to keep criminals in the back seat.

Criminals like me.