Chapter 4
RONAN
My wrists hurt where the cuffs had previously pressed into them, reminding me that my badge didn’t matter right now.
The protesters’ faces made it clear we weren’t united, even though we were all stuck here together.
Some glared at my uniform; others looked away as if I might infect them.
I understood. My uniform made me the enemy.
I looked over at Dr. Nia Price. Today she wore locs piled in a high bun with decorations on a few of them. She wore bold earrings and a vintage tee with jeans, but what I noticed most was her natural magnetism.
I saw details I had no business noticing, like the arch of her eyebrow, when she caught the guard watching her.
Then her eyes found mine. I should have looked away, but I held her gaze.
I could’ve been tripping, but something passed between us.
She studied me with an intensity that made my pulse kick up.
“We need water,” a young man near the door commented, his voice raspy from coughing.
The guard near him didn’t bother to turn his head.
I cleared my throat. “Excuse me. These people need water. It’s been hours since the arrest,” I said in an authoritative tone I used at the precinct.
The guard looked my way, his eyes lingering on my uniform. His mouth twisted in amusement.
“Chief wants water for his new friends,” he taunted before walking away.
With the National Guard and federal authorities in charge, my authority as local law enforcement didn’t mean much.
I knew trying to assert myself could bring more trouble from both the Feds and the community.
The sense of failure hit hard. I could demand special treatment, pull rank, and insist on my phone call.
Remind them I was the goddamn chief of police and that this detention was illegal.
I could use the system to get out. Or I could stay here, sitting with everyone else, and see what it felt like when the system ignored people’s humanity.
I caught Dr. Price watching me as if trying to reconcile the man in the chief’s uniform. I didn’t look away this time either. I wanted her to see whatever she needed to see. I had nothing to hide, even if I had everything to lose.
They pushed another detainee through the door, a teenage boy. The same one I’d tried to protect when the National Guard moved in. His eye was swollen, and a bruise darkened his cheekbone. He stumbled when the guard shoved him sprawling onto the concrete floor.
I was on my feet before I knew it, but Dr. Price moved faster. She slid from the bench and kneeled beside the boy. “Let me see that eye. You’re okay, baby,” she said after examining his face.
“Back on the bench,” the guard ordered.
Dr. Price didn’t move or look up. “He’s a minor, and he’s injured,” she explained.
“Not my problem. Back on the bench, or you’ll have a matching bruise.”
I stood up and moved toward the guard as heat rose in my chest. The guard stepped out, closing the door before I reached him. Bastard!
Dr. Price helped the boy to his feet and guided him to the bench.
I couldn’t look away from her as she quietly helped him. She brought a sense of humanity to this harsh place. As I sat back down, I realized that the woman who should have been my adversary had captivated me. She felt like the first honest thing I’d seen in a long time.
Time passed, and the guards changed shifts.
The new guard was younger and seemed more approachable as he brought in a box of packaged rations.
People got up slowly and moved to the table.
I waited for the crowd to thin, then went over.
The meals were sad little crackers, cheese spread, and a small fruit cup.
I took two packs and two bottles of water.
I crossed the holding area and approached Dr. Price. “Thought you might be hungry,” I offered.
Dr. Price glanced at me. One side of her mouth quirked.
Not quite a smile, but an acknowledgment.
“The pretty boy has manners. It must be nice being the internet’s favorite cop while the rest of us get tear-gassed,” she said.
Her words came out in a slow drawl. She reached for the package, and her fingers brushed against mine.
The brief contact sent a ripple through me.
There it was, the challenge I’d expected from the start. I could have walked away and ignored her words. Instead, I sat on the bench next to her, leaving enough space so we could talk privately. “The badge doesn’t make me bulletproof. It makes me a bigger target,” I said.
She uncapped the water bottle and took a sip before turning her attention back to me. “Is that right? The badge protected you just fine until you got in the way of the National Guard. What’s that about, anyway? Chief of police playing both sides?”
I swiped a hand down my face. “There are no both sides when it comes to constitutional rights. The troops had no business deploying tear gas at a peaceful memorial.”
She popped a cracker in her mouth. “Yet here we are. And your department is processing people your own officers didn’t even arrest.”
“This isn’t my operation. Federal intervention bypassed local command. I found out about Operation Red Clay the same day they deployed.”
“And what? You thought you would walk out there and stop it with your pretty face?”
My jaw tightened. “I thought I’d do my job. Protect the people in my jurisdiction.”
Dr. Price sipped her water. As she swallowed, the delicate movement of her throat reminded me we were having a serious conversation.
“That worked out well for you.”
“About as well as your academic approach to justice worked out for you.”
To my surprise, she laughed. Enough that it made heads turn in our direction.
She nodded as if I’d passed a test I didn’t know about. “Touché. So, what’s your play here? Why are you sitting here with us when you could pull rank and be out in five minutes?”
Hell, it was a fair question, one I’d asked myself for hours. “I’m exactly where I need to be right now.”
Dr. Price tilted her head. “Where’s that?”
“On the wrong side of authority. Best view in the house for a man in my position.”
Her eyes narrowed, reassessing me. “You know they’ll make an example of you. They’ll either bury you or parade you, whatever works better for their narrative.”
I nodded. “I know how they play the game, Dr. Price.”
“Nia. If we’re going to be cellmates, you might as well call me by my first name.”
“Ronan,” I offered in return, noticing a shift between us.
I realized the detainees around us had gone quiet, listening to our conversation.
“What will happen to us next?” Nia asked.
I glanced around. “Best case? They will process everyone and drop the charges for lack of evidence. They’re making a public statement about maintaining order. Worst case, they’ll throw in obstruction charges and use the whole thing to justify increased surveillance of community activism.”
“Which outcome are you hoping for?” There was a challenge in her voice.
“I’m hoping for justice, but I’ve been in this uniform long enough to know hope and reality don’t always align.”
Dr. Price studied me and nodded slightly. She handed me a cracker and smiled. “At least we’ll have front-row seats.”
I accepted the cracker, our hands touching, and neither of us pretended not to notice.
As everyone settled in for the evening, a chill crept through the holding area.
I rolled my shoulders after hours of sitting on the hard bench.
A sudden gasping sound caught my attention.
An older woman had doubled over. Her shoulders shook with each labored breath.
Nia headed her way and kneeled beside the woman.
“I need you to look at me. That’s it. Breathe with me, in through your nose . . .” Nia instructed.
She coached the woman through what looked like a panic attack, her tone gentle. Nia removed a wrap from her hair and used it to fan the woman, creating a slight breeze.
“My pastor once told me that even the darkest Saturday gives way to Sunday morning. Don’t worry, we’ll be out of here soon,” Nia promised.
The woman nodded, her breathing calming. Something in my chest twisted with admiration for Nia’s quick response to the woman’s distress. After the woman’s crisis passed, Nia headed back in my direction, taking her spot on the bench.
“Is she alright?” I asked.
“She was having a panic attack, but she’s okay. Can I ask you a question?”
“Yeah.”
“Why did you become a cop? For real. Not the recruitment answer.”
I leaned against the wall. “My father was a civil rights minister. He believed in nonviolence and working to make a change from within. After college, I had two paths: follow him into the church or protect people. I chose the military first and then police work.”
“And now you’re the chief,” she commented.
“Now I’m the chief. Setting the tone through implementing reform and training.”
“You still uphold a system built on inequity,” Nia challenged.
“I work to change the things I can reach.”
Nia pursed her lips. “Your billboards are nothing but propaganda.”
I chuckled. “I wish they’d take that bullshit down.”
“Wait, what?” Nia seemed to be caught off guard by my statement.
“You tell me how the hell do I build community trust with my face all over town like I’m selling cologne instead of public safety?”
That made her smile for real. Watching the curve of her lips felt like dangerous territory. Sitting together in the holding cell, I cared less about my position and more about what could happen between us.