He is good with his hands.
Was that enough to give up my independence and my dream of finding my one true love? Would Anil be able to make me laugh while holding me hostage in the bushes? Or engage in the fast-paced banter that made my brain dance in delight?
“Thank you, but I can’t accept—”
“It’s fake,” Anil said. “I made it at work. Our 3D printer technology is so sophisticated, you can’t tell our imitation jewelry from the real thing. That bracelet is made from a pre-ceramic polymer with a nanoparticle filler.”
“How fun.” I put the fake diamond bracelet on my wrist and an even more fake smile on my face. The toy drone beeped and flashed its lights before flying back to Anil’s lap. It returned a few moments later with a paper note attached to an apple.
“Anil loves apples,” his mother said as I unrolled the note. “He never leaves home without one. Very healthy. Good for the teeth.”
Help. Marry me. I want to be free.
“Anil asked if I liked the bracelet and I do,” I said, balling the cry for help in my fist. “But I’m afraid—”
“Wait!” Dad jumped up. “I heard the doorbell.”
He returned a few moments later, his forehead wrinkled in a frown. “Simi, a police officer is here to talk to you.”
Curious, I went to the front door. The police officer turned out to be Detective Garcia, and he wanted to ask me a few questions.
“You’ve come a long way,” I said.
“You mean from low-income housing in Pilsen to being a detective for the CPD?”
I wasn’t sure if Garcia was joking or if I’d insulted him and he was trying to be polite.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Just messing with you.” A slow smile spread across his face. “Driving out to talk to potential suspects is part of the job.”
He leaned against one of the pillars by the front door, arms crossed over his chest. He was wearing a long-sleeved gray Henley with the top two buttons undone, and a pair of jeans that were snug in all the right places. Casual looked good on Garcia. Too good.
“Do I need my lawyer?” I clutched the railing on the front porch, trying to appear cool and calm while screaming inside.
“I only have a few questions, but it’s up to you. If you want him to be present, we’ll have to meet at the station.”
My pulse was already hammering. I didn’t want to drag this out for the hours it would take to travel into Chicago and wait for Riswan to show.
“Okay, shoot.” My brain pinged a warning. “I mean, don’t shoot. I assume you’ve got a weapon under that shirt, although it’s tight enough to see every ripple of your abs and I don’t see a holster, but maybe you’ve got a low-profile holster, or maybe the gun is in your pocket, or under your jeans . . .” Stop. Stop. But I was in the spiral and the only way out was down. “I meant on your ankle under your jeans and not under your zipper part of your jeans because I wasn’t looking there. At all.”
“Simi.” He placed a hand over my hand, the warmth of his skin and the firm steady touch instantly calming me down. “I just wanted to ask you about the man in the bushes.”
“Oh.” I took a deep breath. “What do you need to know?”
“We found a print in the garden. It was a boot, just as you said. Do you know where we can find him?”
“No.”
“See here’s the thing,” he said. “If you cooperate and tell us where he is, then we’ll be able to retrieve the necklace and I can convince the DA to give you a reduced sentence.”
“Reduced?”
“That’s right.”
“What about no sentence because I’m not guilty of anything?”
His hand dropped away, and he studied me with such intensity, I was sure he knew part of my brain was still thinking about his zipper. “My theory is that Chloe used her hacking skills to take down the security system. She went inside, took the necklace, threw it down to you, and you gave it to your accomplice—”
“He’s not an accomplice. He’s a stranger named Oliver Twist. I never met him until that night.” I pulled out my phone. “I’m calling Riswan.”
“I’d be happy to give you a ride into the city,” Garcia said in a tone that suggested it wasn’t a request.
“Are you going to put handcuffs on me again?”
“No.”
“Could you?” I looked back over my shoulder. “My parents are trying to set me up, but I’m not interested in getting married. My life is a mess. If I were a criminal, then I’d be off the hook, not just for tonight but maybe forever. There aren’t many families that want a criminal for a daughter-in-law.” I heaved a sigh. “Unfortunately, I’m not a criminal, and I’m running out of excuses why I can’t get married.”
Garcia’s mouth dropped open. I got the feeling from the shock on his face that women didn’t often beg him to be cuffed. Or maybe they did . . .
Don’t go there.
“What if I run into the living room?” I said before he could refuse. “Could you tackle me and throw me to the ground then snap the cuffs around my wrists and read me my rights like you did at the museum?”
His brow creased in a frown. “No one has ever asked me to do anything like this.”
“Then you mustn’t know many single almost-thirty-year-old South Asian women with marriage-obsessed parents.” I grabbed his hand. “Please, Detective Garcia. I’ll owe you one.”
“Is that a bribe?” His voice rose from deep and low to just low. “Are you trying to bribe me to handcuff you in front of your family?”
“Is it illegal? If so, then yes. I can’t take it anymore. Everywhere I go, there’s an auntie dragging along some hapless suitor. They show up at my work, my gym, even the dentist’s office. Once they caught me getting onto a ride at Six Flags and I had to talk and scream at the same time.”
Garcia shook his head. “I don’t—”
“You can’t take me, cop!” I raced for the living room, but not too fast because I needed Garcia to keep up.
“Jesus Christ,” Garcia muttered, following behind me.
“What’s going on here?” Dad shot to his feet. “Simi?”
With the slightest shake of his head, Garcia pulled his cuffs off his belt. “Simi Chopra, I need you to come to the station. You’re under suspicion as an accessory to a burglary.”
“You can rough me up,” I whispered when he came near. “It’s okay.”
Garcia spun me around and snapped the cuffs around my wrists. My heartbeat quickened at the way he held me, confident and commanding.
“Oh no.” I put as much fear into my voice as I could. “What’s happening? How could you do this to me? I’m innocent, I tell you, innocent.”
Garcia yanked me back, his lips warm on my ear. “You’re overdoing it.”
“You’ll never make this stick,” I shouted as he marched me out the door. “You’ve got nothing on me.”
“You’re a terrible actor,” he said quietly. “I hope never to see you onstage.”