He Claims Me by Cynthia Sax

out—­he’ll be even more pissed off. Heads will roll.”
    Mrs. Leigh wails.
    Goth girl is right. When Blaine finds out about my arrest, he’ll come for me. Nothing and no one will be able to stop him, not even me. Because of the pending deal with Volkov, for Blaine’s sake and the sake of his employees, I hope he doesn’t find out.
    We exit the building. The sun is shining, rays glinting off the roof of the black and white squad car. This is real, too real. One of the police officers opens the back door. I duck my head and climb in. The interior smells sterile, like bleach. There aren’t any door handles. A partition divides the front and back seats.
    I’m trapped. Even if my hands were free, I couldn’t escape.
    The officers slide into the front seat, the gruff officer sitting behind the wheel. He doesn’t start the car. They sit there. The radio cackles.
    I wiggle, growing more concerned by the moment. They’re two big male officers. I’m small and female and restrained.
    The gruff officer turns his head, his dark eyes flash, and he grunts. The second officer glances at me, offering a small smile. He has a clipboard and a pen in his hands. “The holding cells aren’t very comfortable, our booking officers are overworked, and our shift ends in five minutes.”
    He thinks I’ll be freed, but without Blaine’s help, I won’t be. I slump in the seat. I’ll go to jail. I won’t last a week in the big house. I’m small and I don’t know how to defend myself. If I had known this was my future, I would have learned karate or judo or some other type of martial arts.
    If I had known, I wouldn’t have agreed to house-­sit for the Leighs. But then I wouldn’t have met Blaine. “I love Blaine.”
    The officers look at me. They don’t say anything.
    I stare out the window at the strip of grass in front of the building. Will I ever walk barefoot in the grass again? Will I ever see the stars, hold Blaine’s callused fingers, smell his horrible cigar smoke?
    My soul aches and I’ve never felt as alone as I do right now. I can’t bear the silence, the waiting.
    â€œI know Camille said not to talk to you but I have to talk to someone, and what difference will it make if I do? The Leighs have unlimited money for legal fees and I’m broke. I don’t even have my tote or my phone.” I sigh. “I should have taken today off, shared my last day of freedom with Blaine.”
    I laugh semihysterically.
    â€œI should have done a lot of things. I’ve spent my life being good, trying to fit in, to be normal, not wanting to end up like my father, and here I am, arrested for a theft I didn’t do.” I rest my forehead against the window, the glass cool. “Did you see the things she says I’ve stolen? They’re glass cones. What would I do with glass cones?”
    The gruff officer behind the wheel says something I can’t hear. The chatty cop laughs and rolls his eyes.
    I can’t hear them and I doubt they can hear me. “Exactly.” I relax, risking nothing by talking. “I love Blaine too much to mix him up in my drama. Can you imagine the chaos if the media gets ahold of this?”
    After exchanging a glance with his partner, the serious cop starts the car and drives slowly, rolling the vehicle out of the driveway. We pass private residences, trendy pubs and boutiques.
    Other ­people are working or shopping or eating fried foods and drinking ice teas. I’m being transferred to jail. I’ll be appointed some tired, overworked public defender while the Leighs will have a dedicated team of the best lawyers money can buy.
    â€œWhat are the odds the house is broken into the same day Mrs. Leigh unexpectedly returns home?” I worry my bottom lip with my teeth, knowing in my heart I’ve been set up, not knowing how to prove it. “She’ll have to sell those