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I silently connect with them, and they know what I want them to do.
"We just got here," Nina tells them.
"What are your names?" she asks, setting the drugs on the trunk and pulling out paper and a pen to write them down.
I don't hear what else they say because the male officer's voice is too loud in my ear.
"Place your hands on the trunk. We're arresting you for possession of narcotics. Do you understand?"
I nod.
The female officer comes around behind me while the male officer drops the drugs into an evidence bag. "Do you have anything sharp on your body before I pat you down?"
"No," I answer flatly, staring at the back window, shutting every emotion down.
My face doesn't flinch with the slightest expression. I don't move when her hands pat down my body, tucking her fingers along my waistline. This part is never fun. She grips my wrist and brings it behind my back.
The weight of the cool metal settles around my wrists as the handcuffs click, tightening. I turn my head away from the flashing lights as the male officer grips my arm, moving me toward the open door of the police car.
Tori stands next to Nina, biting her lip. Nina has her arms crossed, wearing a defiant scowl. I want to assure them that I've got this. That everything's going to be okay. But I don't know if that's true. I have no idea what I'm being brought in for, other than possession. There could be so many reasons they were looking for me--theft, assault, armed robbery, trespassing or, depending on who's been talking, attempted murder.
The officer places his hand on the top of my head as I duck down. And that's when I see the red Jeep pull up in front of the house next to us. A phone to his ear, he stands up on his seat so I can see him.
He mouths the words, Keep your mouth shut.
Not a problem. I don't plan on confessing to anything. Even if I did do it.
I watch Nina and Tori disappear in the distance with Lincoln and Joey by their sides, staring after the police car. Usually they'd be asked a lot more questions. Thankfully, the cops are only interested in me and chose not to call backup to bring the girls in too. I don't dwell on it, although their rush to take me in should concern me.
The ride to the station is uneventful. As is the booking process.
I don't know how long I've been in the holding cell, shivering on the slab that's meant to be a bed, when a balding male cop finally unlocks the door.
"The detectives have some questions for you," he tells me.
He takes hold of my arm and escorts me to a small interrogation room with gloomy gray walls. I sit in a hard metal chair at a dented wooden table and glance up at the two-way mirror in front of me.
Things just got serious. This has nothing to do with possession.
I take a breath, trying to steady my pulse. But it continues to pick up speed.
A few minutes later, the door opens and two men in suits walk in, nodding toward the cop, who leaves us. They say something, probably their names, but I'm not listening. I'm staring at the small figure behind them, clutching a rose-colored duster sweater around her body.
I stand up in a sudden movement, the chair scraping against the floor. "What is she doing here?"
"Lana," my mother says gently, "it's okay. They said I needed to be here."
A lanky, bald detective points to a chair in the corner of the room, near the door. She smiles at him nervously and sits.
"Have a seat," the detective with the horrible complexion and bushy mustache instructs firmly.
Keeping my eyes on my mother, I lower myself onto the chair again. She's ghostly pale, and her eyes are rimmed red. I know she's not well, and she shouldn't have to be here.
The detective with the mustache--Freddy, I'll call him since I missed his name and his skin reminds me of a nightmare--sits across from me with a file in his hand. He proceeds to recite my Miranda rights and has me sign the paper stating I understand them. The other detective leans against the wall next to the door with his arms folded.
"Want to let you know that we're recording this right now," he tells me, tilting his head toward the two-way mirror. A red light is faintly visible on the other side.
I flip it off with an obnoxious smile.
