32. Naz
THIRTY-TWO
NAZ
So much happens at once, I can barely keep track. One second, we were sitting in the back of Agent Newsom’s car waiting for our cue, the next everything exploded in flashing lights, sirens, and voices shouting from every direction.
Cory and I were instructed to stay by the vehicle, an officer by our side, either for protection or to make sure we don’t go anywhere. Could be either. Might be both.
A crowd is starting to gather, drawn by the lights and drama of what I thought would be a simple arrest. They’re all pushed back behind police barriers, giving the building a wide berth.
As quickly as everything moved since the cars arrived to the whirlwind of the perimeter being set up and the team counting down to bust into the locker facility, it feels like time has slowed since they went in.
My heart is in my throat, trying to see in through the windows to see if I can see anything, but the flashing lights are reflecting off the glass too harshly, and there are too many bodies inside to see through them. Why do they need so many officers to arrest one dude?
Finally, the doors swing open.
Four agents move out of the way, two of them holding the doors open. The others take positions at the wings, holding their weapons like there might be a standoff at any moment.
Scott is next to emerge. His hands are cuffed behind his back, an agent gripping him by the arm as he guides him out onto the sidewalk.
Francis follows a step behind, two agents flanking him, his expression surprisingly calm despite all the rifles slung across the chests of the officers on either side of him.
Instinctively, I take a step forward. Cory catches me by the forearm, reminding me of our instructions to stay here until the suspect is apprehended and safely in the arresting officer’s vehicle.
I force myself to stay put, fingers curling into fists at my sides.
Scott scans the crowd but doesn’t see me.
He looks a little dazed, eventually fixing his gaze on the pavement a few feet ahead of him as another agent directs him to stop beside a black SUV.
His shoulders are drawn tight beneath the sweat-dampened tank top he’s been wearing since this afternoon when this whole insane operation started.
“You’ve got the wrong man,” Francis says loudly, his nasal voice carrying across the otherwise quiet block.
No doubt putting on a show for the many phones pointed his way.
He’s losing his earlier calm the closer to the vehicle he gets.
“This man framed me. This entire meeting was his idea. He contacted me, told me he’d stolen company property and wanted my help. I only came here in good faith.”
Nobody answers him. Scott turns his head to give him a look so withering, Blake would be proud.
Francis averts his eyes, unwilling to make eye contact with the man he’s trying to throw under the bus to save his own ass.
An agent pats him down methodically before checking the cuffs around his wrists, she looks over his shoulder like she’s waiting for someone.
“I was coerced!” Francis continues, trying to wiggle away as much as his restraints allow. “Mr. Riley has been unstable since he was terminated. I tried to talk him down.”
Still, no one responds. The silence seems to irritate him more than if they’d argued or told him to shut up.
“My attorneys will have this cleared up before morning,” he protests, trying to face the officer in charge of holding him. Instead of paying attention to him, the officer gives Scott a sympathetic lift of her eyebrows.
One of the agents who raided the facility steps in front of Francis with a small notebook in hand.
“Francis Tuft?”
“Yes,” he says, straightening his shoulders.
The agent gives a single nod. “Francis Tuft, you are under arrest…”
Every time Francis interrupts the agent reading him his Miranda rights, the agent patiently waits until he pauses to take a breath, then continues reading over them. He finally shuts up and lets the agent finish when he notices another agent step up to Scott.
“Mr. Riley?”
Scott nods, and the agent removes his handcuffs. “Thank you for your cooperation. If you don’t mind, we would like to take your statement.”
“Yes, of course,” he says, rubbing his wrists. He looks around until he spots the officer that initially walked him out. “You couldn’t have gone a little easier on me?”
“WHAT?!”
Francis seems to have been knocked out of whatever stupor he’d been in for the last several seconds. His eyes bulge with outrage.
“You’re letting him go? Are you fucking kidding me?!”
Two officers start leading Francis away while he tries to pull away, ranting and raving about they’re going to be sorry. Apparently his lawyers are the best lawyers, and he has powerful friends who are going to fix this.
The moment the door to the SUV opens and they’re guiding Francis to step into the vehicle, I decide he’s close enough to being in the vehicle and take off running.
Scott sees me just before I collide with him. My arms wrap around his neck, his around my waist, and we squeeze each other so hard, I’m not sure either of us can breathe. But I don’t need to breathe. I need to feel that he’s okay.
“It’s over,” he murmurs into my hair.
A scuffle behind us pops our bubble, and I look to see Francis being wrestled to the ground. He’s struggling against them hard now, fighting hard enough that two more officers come to help the two that were putting him in the car.
“Oh, it’s over alright,” Francis spits. “Over for you! You’ll see.
You’re finally going to learn your place.
The people I have behind me, they’re powerful people.
People that are about to own you.” He laughs maniacally as his legs are restrained before he’s lifted off the ground.
He looks more unhinged than I’ve ever seen him, so much so that I’m worried he’ll find a way to not stand trial.
“You’ve already lost, and you don’t even know it.
You have no idea what’s coming. You’re ruined, all of you.
No one will work with you now, don’t you see?
You’re finished! Every venue, every station, every label.
You’re dead in the water. You’re about to lose everything and I will fucking own your ass. ”
He keeps screaming, even when they’ve finally gotten him strapped into the vehicle. We can hear the muffled shouts until they pull away.
Neither Scott nor I say a word, watching as the SUV drives through the small crowd. There’s still so much happening around us, but without Francis’ screaming, it almost feels quiet. Quieter, at least.
I look up at Scott, and it gets a little quieter, all my attention focused on him.
“So do I get my shadow back now?”
“You’ll have to ask the boss about that one, but I don’t plan on going anywhere you aren’t. We’re going to need some land, far, far away where there’s no cell signal. Somewhere not even Emmy can find us,” he grins, and bends down to kiss me.
The crowd erupts into cheers behind us, and I remember that we’re no longer blocked by the big SUV.
Scott pulls back, but I don’t let him. Let them watch, let them take their pictures, let them talk.
They’d be proud if they had a huge muscle daddy happy shadow, too.
By the time we pull up beneath the covered entrance, the sky has lightened from black to the deepest shade of blue.
I don’t think either of us has said more than a handful of words since leaving the federal building.
There just isn’t much left to say after hours of answering the same questions over and over again.
“Thank you again for dropping us off, Cory. I know you’re just as tired as we are. Get back to the condo safe.” Cory gives us a nod just before the valet opens the back door.
“Welcome, Mr. Lester and Mr. Riley.”
I offer him a tired smile as I climb out. “Morning.”
The lobby is eerily quiet. At this hour, the restaurant hasn’t opened yet, and the steady stream of guests and tourists who normally fill the cavernous room are absent.
There’s soft piano music drifting through the air, barely louder than the gentle splash of the fountain in the center of the lobby.
Scott falls into step beside me.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been somewhere this fancy in running shorts.”
“They’re very nice running shorts,” I say, running an appreciative gaze over his thick thighs and the tiny bit of cheek exposed in the back.
A sleepy laugh escapes him, exactly what I’d been hoping to hear.
I was hoping we would have been here hours ago so I can do all the things I was planning to, but I think sleep might need to come first.
The concierge behind the desk looks up as we approach, his professional smile brightening into one of recognition.
“Good morning, Mr. Lester.” Then he politely bows his head to Scott. “Mr. Riley.”
“Good morning,” I greet the man, trying not to laugh at Scott’s baffled expression.
“We’ve been expecting you.”
He doesn’t ask for identification or reservation numbers. Instead, he steps out from behind the desk with two key cards already waiting in his hand.
“If you’ll follow me.”
Scott leans into me as we walk. “How come everyone here knows my name?”
“I told you, baby. You’re famous now.” I gasp as a sharp pain shoots through my ass. “Did you just pinch me?!”
Pointedly ignoring our antics, the concierge leads us past the main bank of elevators without slowing, stopping instead at an unmarked set of brushed brass doors tucked discreetly around the corner. He taps a key card against a decorative icon, and the doors slide open immediately.
“This is the private access to the spa suite,” he explains, and leads us in.
“Breakfast service begins at six, though room service is available any time. Room service, massage, or any treatments can be scheduled using the touchscreen in your room. And of course, if you have any questions or needs, we are at your service.”
“This is nice,” Scott says as the elevator takes us to our floor. “You know it wasn’t necessary though, right? We could have stayed at the condo.”
“I know.”
The elevator opens directly into the suite.
Immediately, the faint scent of cedarwood and eucalyptus welcomes us into a room designed for relaxation.
Warm amber lighting greets us instead of the harsh fluorescent lights we’ve spent the last several hours under.
Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across the far wall, framing the city below as the sun slowly rises.
In the center of the suite is a massive round soaking tub, thick white towels hanging artfully over the side.
Beside it is a wooden tray holding bath salts, mineral soak packets, and small bottles of essential oils.
Beyond the tub, a king-sized bed disappears beneath a truly absurd number of pillows and a duvet so thick it looks like a cloud.
A double-sided fireplace separates the sleeping area from a sitting room furnished with deep leather chairs and an overstuffed sectional facing the flickering flames.
The bathroom is an experience on its own, all pale stone and warm wood, heated flooring, with a rainfall shower big enough to fit the whole band if we wanted. There’s also a steam shower tucked behind glass and a long vanity stocked with every imaginable toiletry.
The concierge shows us the touchscreen and explains some of the features of the room before placing the key cards on the dining table.
“If there is anything that you require, simply send a message through the screen or dial zero on the room phone.”
“Thank you so much,” I say, and hand the man some cash for both him and the valet, who disappeared before I could tip him. We might not have any bags to carry in, but they deserve every dollar for being so readily pleasant at this time of morning.
The suite falls silent in the absence of the concierge's soft voice. Scott slowly turns in a circle, taking everything in before looking back at me.
“Naz.”
“What?”
He looks around the room again.
“We’ve stayed in a lot of nice places since I started being your shadow, but this? This is something else.”
I smile. “I wanted to do something special, maybe pamper you a little bit after everything you’ve been through over the last few days. I know we won’t be able to avoid talking to everyone the whole time, but I couldn’t wait to have you all to myself for even a little bit.”
“You realize there’s only one bed, right?”
I roll my eyes. “You’re sleeping in the tub.”
He laughs and pinches me again, pulling me close and kissing me softly.
“I could probably manage it. It’s a pretty big tub, and I’m pretty big tired.”
“Me too. How about we take a quick shower to wash off the day, then watch the sunrise before we pass out.”
“Mmm. Perfect,” he says, reaching to pull my shirt over my head.
Clumsily, we make our way to the bathroom, dropping clothes along the way. We stand under the rainfall shower for so long, kissing and touching and making each other come, that we miss most of the sunrise.
Scott throws the mountain of decorative pillows into the far corner of the room and pulls back the duvet while I press a button that lowers a large shade and pulls the curtains, completely enveloping us in darkness.
I think I’m asleep before my head even hits the pillow.