“And if I get arrested for impersonating a lawyer?”
She gave me a reassuring pat. “I’ve got the kids. And your sister will bail you out. Here, I bought you a new cell phone and programmed all your emergency numbers for you. Text me when you get there.” She dropped the phone into a knockoff messenger bag she used for school and slung it over my shoulder. “Remember, you’re a badass bitch. You don’t take shit from anyone. Not even Feliks Zhirov.”
“Right.” My heels seemed to plant themselves in the carpet, digging all the way into the pad. Vero put her hand in the middle of my back and pushed me toward the door.
* * *
It was almost nine o’clock by the time I pulled into the parking lot of the county jail. Early enough that it would still be permissible for a lawyer to visit, but late enough that the real Ekatarina Rybakov should be well into her bowling league match.
As I touched up my lipstick in my visor mirror, a horrible thought gripped me. Feliks’s star attorney would know every bit of protocol. She’d know where to go once she got inside, how to fill out forms, and how to answer any questions. As I drew my new phone from Vero’s messenger bag and dialed Julian’s number by memory, I wasn’t sure if I was calling for information or just the comfort of hearing his voice.
“Hello?” His favorite songs played softly in the background, his voice deep and relaxed. I could picture him sitting up in bed, his back against the headboard, studying by the white glow of the Christmas lights he’d tacked along the edges of his room.
“Hi, it’s me.” I closed the visor mirror; it felt too much like a lie. “I finally got a new phone.”
“I was hoping you’d call.” There was a thump, like a textbook falling closed. “I hated not being able to reach you yesterday. I wanted to apologize for what happened when you came by on Sunday. My friends … they weren’t trying to be assholes. They were just giving me a hard time. I still really want to see you this weekend. Think you can make it?”
I couldn’t make myself answer that. So much had happened in the last few days, I couldn’t begin to imagine how it would all get resolved before Friday. “Actually, there’s another reason I called. I was hoping I could ask you a legal question. For my book.”
“Sure.” The music in the background quieted, the silence narrowing until it felt like we were in the same room. “How can I help?”
My mouth went dry. I hated how easy he was making this. I’d never lied to him like this before—not since that night when I’d told him everything. Julian had been the one person aside from Vero who knew all my most horrible secrets. But if he’d been worried a few Instagram photos might compromise his future, what would he think if he knew what I was about to do? “I’m having trouble with a scene. My character is an attorney, and she’s visiting her client in jail. I need to know the process—what happens from the time she walks into the jail to the time she leaves—so I can accurately describe it.”
“Well,” he said, his box spring squeaking. I could picture him lying back on his mattress, one hand behind his head. “There’s usually a visitation desk where she’d be asked to sign in. She’ll surrender any personal effects they don’t allow inside—keys, phones, sharp objects, hardback books, anything that can be made into a tool or a weapon. She’ll be asked for her license or some form of identification.”
“Would a business card work?”
“No, it would have to be government-issued. A photo ID.”
I shook out my hands, resisting the urge to start the van and drive home. This was exactly what I was afraid of. “Then what?”
“From there, she would pass through security—metal detectors and maybe a pat-down. Then an officer would escort her to a meeting room, and she’d be given a set amount of time to speak privately with her client.”
“There wouldn’t be a guard in the room?”
“No, but there might be one outside.”
A terrifying image flitted through my mind. “Would her client be restrained?”
“Possibly, if the client was known to be dangerous, or if the attorney requested it because she felt unsafe.” Feliks wouldn’t pose a risk to his attorney. And he definitely wouldn’t want anyone listening to their conversation. Which meant I would be alone in a room with him. No shackles. No cuffs.
“Finn, are you okay? You sound stressed.”
I glanced up, catching my reflection in the rearview mirror. “I’m fine! It’s just … you know, this damn book. Sylvia’s really breathing down my neck. Deadlines and all … I should probably get back to work.”