Chapter Three
1409 Words
The mayor didn’t knock.
The door opened with the kind of confidence that came from never expecting resistance. One moment I was standing in the interrogation room, my pulse still racing from the officer’s last words, and the next the space felt smaller—compressed by the presence of a man who was used to bending rooms around himself.
He entered first.
Tailored coat. Impeccable suit beneath it. Not a single hair out of place, despite the hour and the chaos that had followed him here. He looked like he’d stepped out of a late-night fundraiser, not a police facility that smelled of bleach and old coffee.
Two officers followed, hovering near the door like nervous sentries.
And then him.
The officer from the stairwell came in last, closing the door behind them. He positioned himself between me and the mayor without making it obvious. Subtle. Deliberate.
Protective?
No.
Strategic.
The mayor smiled when he saw me.
It was the same smile he’d used in his office. The same one he’d worn at public events when cameras were pointed his way. Warm. Familiar. Entirely false.
“There you are,” he said gently, like I was a misplaced belonging. “I’ve been worried.”
My hands clenched into fists at my sides. I didn’t speak. I’d learned long ago that silence unsettled him more than anger.
He turned to the officer. “This has gone far enough.”
“No,” the officer said calmly. “It hasn’t.”
The mayor’s smile didn’t falter, but something hardened behind his eyes. “You’ve made your point. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It happens.”
“She was grabbed in an alley,” the officer replied. “By someone who knew her.”
The mayor waved a dismissive hand. “This city is full of desperate men.”
“And one very powerful one,” the officer said.
Silence snapped tight between them.
The mayor turned his attention fully to him now, assessing, recalibrating. “You’re overstepping.”
“I’m doing my job.”
“You’re holding a city employee without cause.”
“I’m holding a woman whose predecessor ended up dead.”
The words landed like a blow.
The mayor’s smile vanished.
For the first time since he’d walked in, he looked at me—not with possession, not with charm, but with irritation.
“That was unfortunate,” he said coolly. “And unrelated.”
I laughed, sharp and involuntary. “She worked in my department.”
The room went still.
The mayor’s eyes flicked back to me, warning flashing in their depths. “You’re emotional. This isn’t the time—”
“She used to sit at the desk across from mine,” I continued, voice trembling despite my effort to steady it. “She used to tell me how lucky I was. How careful I should be.”
The officer’s jaw tightened.
The mayor exhaled slowly. “You’re letting grief blur reality.”
“Then why did you fight the autopsy?” the officer asked.
The mayor snapped his gaze to him. “Watch yourself.”
“Why did evidence go missing?” the officer pressed. “Why did witnesses recant?”
The mayor took a step closer, invading his space. “Because you don’t understand how politics works.”
“I understand exactly how it works,” the officer said. “I’ve watched it kill people.”
The words echoed in the small room.
The mayor straightened his coat, composure snapping back into place. “This conversation is finished.”
He turned to the officers by the door. “Release her.”
They hesitated.
All eyes shifted to the officer standing near me.
He didn’t move.
“No,” he said again.
The mayor’s nostrils flared. “You don’t have that authority.”
“I do tonight.”
“You think this ends well for you?”
“I’m not worried about me.”
The mayor’s gaze slid back to me. Slowly. Deliberately. “You always were dramatic,” he said softly. “You should come with me. We’ll talk this out.”
A chill ran through me.
“No,” I said.
The word came out stronger than I expected.
The mayor’s expression darkened. “You don’t get to refuse.”
The officer stepped fully in front of me then, blocking the mayor’s line of sight.
“She does,” he said.
The room crackled with tension.
The mayor stared at him for a long moment. Then he smiled again—but this time it didn’t reach his eyes.
“You’re making this very difficult,” he said.
“I’m making it very clear.”
The mayor leaned in, voice dropping. “You think keeping her here protects her?”
“Yes.”
“It doesn’t,” the mayor murmured. “It just delays the inevitable.”
The officer didn’t blink. “Then I’ll delay it as long as I have to.”
The mayor laughed quietly. “You already tried that once.”
The words hit like a punch.
The officer stiffened.
I looked between them. “What does that mean?”
Neither answered me.
The mayor straightened, stepping back. “You can’t keep her forever.”
“No,” the officer agreed. “But long enough.”
“For what?”
The officer hesitated.
And in that hesitation, I saw it.
Fear.
Not for himself.
For me.
“For leverage to lose its value,” he said finally.
My stomach dropped. “I’m not leverage.”
The mayor smiled knowingly. “Everyone is.”
He turned toward the door. “I’ll give you forty-eight hours,” he said over his shoulder. “Then I expect this mistake corrected.”
The door closed behind him.
The silence he left behind was suffocating.
I sagged against the table, knees weak. “You can’t protect me from him.”
The officer finally turned to face me fully.
“I know.”
“Then what are you doing?”
His gaze was steady. Unwavering. “Buying time.”
“For what?” I demanded. “You keep saying that like it means something.”
He took a breath. A real one this time.
“For the only solution he can’t touch.”
My pulse thundered. “Which is?”
He hesitated again.
Then, quietly, “One that removes you from his reach entirely.”
My throat went dry. “How?”
His eyes dropped briefly—to my cuffed wrists, to the small room, to the reality closing in around us.
“Legally,” he said. “Permanently.”
Understanding crept in slow and terrifying.
“No,” I whispered.
He met my gaze. “You don’t know what I’m going to say.”
“I don’t need to,” I said, shaking my head. “You’re not allowed to decide my life.”
“I’m not,” he said. “But I am allowed to stop history from repeating itself.”
The image of the other woman—her empty desk, her nervous smiles, her sudden absence—flashed in my mind.
“You said she was an overdose,” I said weakly.
“She was silenced.”
The word echoed.
I wrapped my arms around myself. “You can’t do this.”
“I won’t,” he said. “Not without your consent.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
“No,” he agreed. “It just makes it possible.”
A knock came at the door.
“Sir,” an officer said quietly, “the mayor’s security detail is still outside.”
The officer closed his eyes briefly, then opened them.
“Get her a holding room,” he said. “One with a lock.”
My breath hitched. “You said this wasn’t a cell.”
“It isn’t,” he said softly. “It’s a pause.”
I laughed bitterly. “That’s what he said, too.”
His gaze sharpened. “He lies.”
“And you don’t?”
The question hung between us.
He didn’t answer.
As they led me out of the room, down another hallway, deeper into the building, one thought hammered through my mind with terrifying clarity:
Whatever solution he was considering—
It would cost me my freedom.
And judging by the way the doors kept closing behind me—
I was running out of time to stop it.
- Writer
