he asked in a bored voice. — Yep, Greer said with a grin.
— Drugs? — Go ahead and process her. The desk sergeant yawned and started scribbling on a form.
Victoria stood in the middle of the room and looked at them carefully. For these men, this was just another shift. Routine.
Bring in the next victim, scare her, take the money, let her go. If she won’t pay, ruin her life and send her to prison. Just another night’s work.
— Lieutenant Oleg in? Greer asked the desk sergeant. — Yeah, he’s in his office.
— Said if you brought in anyone interesting, take her straight to him. — Perfect, Greer said with a nasty little smile. — Let’s go, sweetheart.
— Time for you to meet the man who decides how this ends. They marched her down a narrow hallway. Victoria stayed silent.
Inside, she was furious, but her face gave nothing away. She memorized every door, every turn, every face she passed. When Whitaker came through that door with his team, she wanted the layout in her head.
If he came. If the message had really gone through. — Stop it, she told herself.
— It went through. It had to. Rodion Whitaker was not the kind of commander who left his people behind.
He would have seen the message and moved. She just had to hold out. They stopped at a battered door with a plaque: “Lt. O. V. Missura.”
Greer knocked once. — Come in, a rough voice called from inside. The door creaked open.
The office was small but furnished like a man trying hard to look important. Big desk. Leather chair. Framed certificates on the wall. Behind the desk sat a man in his mid-forties, heavyset, with a shiny face and small piggish eyes.
He looked at Victoria the way a man looks at merchandise. — Well now, he drawled, leaning back in his chair. — What have we got here?
— Greer, give me the rundown. — Pulled her over on the highway, sir. Found drugs in her trunk.
— About half a pound, give or take. Missura nodded, eyes still fixed on Victoria. — I see.
— Serious charge. Felony possession with intent, maybe. That’s years in prison, honey. Victoria said nothing.
She looked straight back at him with open contempt. — Proud little thing, aren’t you? Missura said with a smirk. — That’s fine. We’ll get you talking.
— Put her in a holding cell for now. Let her sit and think about her future. We’ll have a more productive conversation in the morning.
Greer grabbed Victoria hard by the elbow and led her back into the hallway. They went downstairs and turned into a darker wing with holding cells. He unlocked a barred door and shoved her inside.
— Get some rest, sweetheart, Greer said. — You’ll be a lot more reasonable tomorrow. The steel door slammed shut.
Victoria looked around. The cell was maybe ten by twelve feet. Bare concrete walls, a squeaky metal cot, and a foul-smelling toilet in the corner.
A dusty bulb glowed overhead. In the far corner sat two women. One was young, maybe twenty-five, crying into her knees.
The other was older, around forty. She stared at the wall with empty eyes. — Hi, Victoria said quietly.
The younger woman looked up, startled. Her face was swollen from crying, eyes red and raw. — They brought you in too? she whispered.
— Yeah. They planted drugs in my car. The young woman nodded with tired recognition.
— They did the same thing to us. They do it all the time. Pull people over, plant something, bring them here.
— Then they demand money. Victoria sat on the cot beside her. — How much?
— They want eighteen thousand from me. I’ve been here three days. My mom’s trying to come up with it.
— And her? Victoria asked, nodding toward the older woman. — She doesn’t talk anymore, the younger woman said quietly.
— She’s been here a week. Couldn’t pay. Her hearing’s tomorrow.
— She knows she’s going to prison. That’s why she doesn’t say anything. Victoria looked at the woman with a knot in her chest.
The system had flattened her. There was nothing in her eyes but exhaustion and defeat. How many people had passed through these walls?
