The Fixer
Page 49

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.
“I’ve been instructed to hold the girl until—”
Adam cut her off. “You’ll want to review those instructions. I’m sure Tess’s sister has already told you she’ll be filing a complaint. I suggest you not compound the situation.”
Without waiting for a reply, Adam put a hand on my shoulder and steered me out the door. Once we’d put some distance between us and the building, I let myself ask: “Ivy called you?”
“She did.” He gave my shoulder a light squeeze, then dropped his hand to his side. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” As we hit the parking lot, my brain caught up with me, and I came to a halt. “Bodie—”
“Ivy will take care of it.” There wasn’t an ounce of uncertainty in Adam’s voice. “Maybe a few hours behind bars will improve Bodie’s disposition.”
I almost managed a smile at the deadpan with which Adam issued that statement.
Almost.
“What’s happening?” I asked point-blank. “Why did they bring Bodie in for questioning? Questioning about what?”
Adam seemed to be weighing the chances that I would let this go. He must have decided they weren’t good, because he answered. “It appears some evidence has come to light linking Bodie to an unsolved crime.”
Adam didn’t specify what the evidence was—or what the crime was. I waited until we were situated in his car, me in the passenger seat and him behind the wheel, before I spoke again. “When I asked Ivy what was going on, she said someone was trying to prove a point. What point?”
A tick in Adam’s jaw was the only tell to the fact that my question had hit a nerve. “What point?” he repeated. “That he can get to Bodie.” Adam stared out the windshield, the muscle in his jaw ticking again. “That he can get to you. That there are costs to being difficult and standing against his wishes.”
“Your father.” I didn’t phrase it as a question. The First Lady had said that William Keyes could hold a grudge, that there would be fallout if he thought Ivy was going to challenge his pick for the nomination.
If Georgia Nolan knows that Ivy is in Arizona looking into Pierce, what are the chances that Adam’s father knows the same?
I thought of the way the cop had thrown Bodie onto the hood of the car—harder than necessary. I thought about the fact that the police had called Social Services to pick me up instead of Ivy.