Page 53 of Protected from Torment

Seconds later, the doors slide open to reveal a cluster of uniformed police officers. The instant they’re spotted, a flurry of whispers moves through the room. The two receptionists drop their phones and sit up straight. The air goes thick with tension.

Two of the officers make a beeline for the reception desk, while the other four remain by the elevator, glowering at everyone who dares look at them. The younger of the receptionists speaks to one of the officers for a few seconds, and then she points in Melissa’s direction. I’m not close enough to hear the woman, but I can read her lips as she says, She’s over there. With the curly hair.

All my muscles tense. Instinct demands I jump up and intervene. But I’m not in charge here. I don’t know what they want. If I act prematurely, I could end up making things worse.

But, shit.

Shit.

The six uniformed men conference briefly. One of them points at Melissa. Then they all start making their way towards her. Two of them put their hands on their weapons. Another pulls out his taser.

Shit.

Something bad is about to happen.

I quickly send a text to Webb and Indy, who are parked in their rental car in the lot outside.

Police are here. They’re looking for Mel. Need backup ASAP.

A second later, Webb sends a response.

Saw the cops. Already on the way in. Stay cool. It might be nothing.

It’s not nothing. If it were nothing, they wouldn’t have their guns out. They wouldn’t be advancing on Melissa like they think she’s a threat.

I’m halfway out of my seat before I stop myself. Wait. They can’t hurt her here. See what they want before jumping in.

As the officers close in on Mel’s desk, one of them barks, “Melissa Silver?”

Poor Mel shrinks back in her seat. In a small, scared voice, she asks, “Yes?”

“Get up,” he demands. “Hands in the air. Don’t touch anything. Don’t try to run.”

“What?” Melissa asks. Her voice is shaking. “I don’t understand. Why⁠—”

“Get up!” He jerks his head at one of the other officers, who grabs Mel’s arm and yanks her from her chair.

She yelps in surprise.

Or is it pain?

At the thought of him hurting her, red washes over my vision. My hands tighten into fists. My legs straighten as I stand the rest of the way up. Anger beats at me.

He’s scaring her. Hurting her.

“What do you want?” Melissa casts a desperate glance at me before turning to the officer who’s holding her. “I don’t understand. What did I do?”

“Search her desk,” barks the first officer to another.

“Wait,” a skinny twenty-something man sitting three desks away protests. “You can’t search her things without a warrant.”

“Yes, we can,” the first officer snaps. “We got permission to search everything from the building owner. So mind your own damn business.”

“Please,” Melissa pleads. “Just tell me what you think I did.”

I can’t stay put. I need to get to her. But I don’t make it ten feet before one of the cops spots me and snarls, “Get back to your desk! This doesn’t concern you.”

The cop giving orders to Melissa—a beefy guy with an arrogant sneer—says to her, “You’re under suspicion of making a terroristic threat. Which is a federal crime. So⁠—”