“He’s not.”
The certainty in Bodie’s voice made my stomach twist. If it’s not Keyes . . .
“The president?” I asked softly.
Bodie gave me an incredulous look. “You think the president might be behind this, so you asked Georgia about that picture and the article in the Post?”
I decided that was probably a rhetorical question.
“Keyes is in the clear,” Bodie told me. “So are both of the Nolans.”
I blinked. Twice. “The president and William Keyes were the only people in that photo who—”
Bodie didn’t let me finish. “They were the first people Ivy cleared.”
The first people Ivy cleared. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I could hear Henry: Your sister solves problems. Professionally. Whoever the other number on that phone belonged to, I’d say they have a pretty big problem right now.
“How did she clear them?” I heard myself ask.
Bodie’s answer—if he was going to answer me at all—was cut off by the sound of a siren. His eyes flicked toward the rearview mirror, and he cursed under his breath.
That was when I noticed the flashing lights.
“Speeding?” I asked Bodie as he pulled his car to the side of the road.
“That,” Bodie said, “or things are about to get interesting.” He cut the engine and turned to face me head-on. “Stay calm. Do exactly what they say. Don’t answer questions without a lawyer present.”
He rolled down his window.
I caught his arm. “Bodie, what’s going on?”
Before he could answer, an officer approached, gun pulled. “Get out of the car!”
CHAPTER 44
We got out of the car.
When the officer threw Bodie down on the hood to frisk him, Ivy’s driver said two things. The first was: “Well, this should be fun.” The second—aimed at me—was: “Call your sister.”
Two hours later, as I sat at the front of the police station, that was what I did.
I’d followed Bodie’s instructions to a T. I’d stayed calm. I’d done what I was told. I hadn’t answered any questions, other than the basics: my name; my age; Bodie was my sister’s driver; he was just driving me home from school.
I’d played shell-shocked and scared. It went against every fiber of my being, but sometimes the best defense was letting yourself seem defenseless. I didn’t lash back. I didn’t demand answers. And they didn’t take my phone. Eventually, the poor defenseless girl was plunked down out front while one of the officers made some phone calls and the other questioned the suspect.
Answer. Answer. Answer. My hand tightened around my cell as I made a call of my own. Come on, Ivy.
“Tess.”
A breath escaped my lungs when I heard my sister’s voice. “Bodie and I got pulled over,” I said.
There was a beat. “Was he arrested?” Ivy asked. Then she rephrased the question. “Did they read him his rights?”
I thought back. “No.” They’d thrown him down on the car. They’d frisked him. They’d shoved him in the back of a police car—but they hadn’t made an arrest. “Ivy, what’s going on?”
I could practically hear Ivy grinding her teeth on the other end of the line. “Someone’s making a point,” she said.
I didn’t get a chance to ask who would do this—or what kind of point they could possibly be making.
“Hey.” One of the officers saw me on my phone. “You can’t be on that in here.”
My capacity for playing small and defenseless snapped. “I was told I had to wait here until an adult could pick me up. I’m not allowed to call my legal guardian?”
The cop—a female officer whose acquaintance I hadn’t yet had the pleasure of making—frowned. “Someone will make that call on your behalf.”
“It’s been two hours,” I replied. “Why hasn’t someone already made that call?”
“Tess.” Ivy had been listening from the other end of the phone line, but now she spoke up. “Give the officer the phone.”
I handed the woman the phone. Five seconds into the call, her lips pressed themselves into a thin line. Ten seconds into the call, she paled.
That was about the time that Social Services showed up.
Even from the other side of a phone line, Ivy took charge. By the time the door to the police station opened and Adam walked in a half hour later, the social worker had been dispatched and a woman in a thousand-dollar suit had arrived, pronouncing herself Bodie’s lawyer.
“Adam.” I stood up the second I saw him. “Is Ivy—”
“She’s on her way back,” he replied, before turning his attention to the officer who’d taken charge of me. “Adam Keyes,” he introduced himself. “Department of Defense.”
He was dressed in uniform. I had a feeling that wasn’t an accident.
“You should have received faxed confirmation that I’m authorized to take custody of Tess until such time as her sister arrives,” Adam continued. His tone didn’t invite a response.