Page 83 of My Ex-Fiance's Best Men
“Oh, God,” Phoebe sighs. “It really has come to this, hasn’t it?”
“It’s out in plain view. They’ll trace the withdrawal once it goes through,” I reply.
Suddenly, the door bursts wide open, a flood of heavily armed federal agents rushing in.
“Everybody, put your hands up and step away from the tables!” one of them shouts, holding up an official document. “This is a search warrant!”
Chaos and yelling erupts all over the room. I catch a glimpse of Helen as she scoops the chips into her purse and moves further from the table, taking advantage of the commotion to slip away.
“Oh my God, Dominic, what do we do?” Phoebe asks, suddenly pale as a sheet of paper.
“It’s a raid,” the dealer says, wide-eyed and scared shitless.
“How did this happen?” I ask him.
At the same time, federal agents swarm through the room and start slapping cuffs on anybody they can get. Some of the players slip away through the two side doors, following Helen’s lead. I have a mind to grab Phoebe and do the same before we get caught up in the mayhem, but it’s too late.
An agent approaches us, cuffs jingling in his hand. “You’re under arrest.”
The dealer puts his hands up. So do the remaining two players at our table. The third joined Helen outside. I wonder if there are more agents waiting somewhere outside, perhaps behind the building.
“Dominic,” Phoebe whispers.
“It’s going to be okay,” I assure her. “Don’t say anything. Our lawyers will handle it.”
The agent narrows his eyes at me. I realize we’re in deep trouble and there’s no way out. But I do get a phone call, and my brother will soon be made aware of what’s happened. We just need to make sure our names don’t hit the papers in connection to this raid.
It’ll obliterate Phoebe’s chances in court against her mother.
26
PHOEBE
The jail cell feels smaller with every minute that passes in heavy, deafening silence. Sitting on a hard bench with my back against the wall, I rub my wrists—those cuffs dug deep enough to leave reddish marks that will soon become bruises.
My cellmate, a young woman in a dealer’s uniform, sits quietly beside me. She seems calm, as if she’s done this before.
“This is insane,” I mutter, glancing past the steel bars.
More people are brought in from the raid, their cuffs roughly removed before they’re shoved into the neighboring cells. They’re keeping the men and women separate, and I can’t see Dominic anywhere. There’s no sight of my mother, either, and I don’t know if I should be concerned or relieved.
“Relax,” the dealer chick says. “It’ll be over as soon as you get your phone call.”
“Not your first rodeo, huh?” I ask.
She gives me a wry smile. “Third time this year. The organizers prepare for this type of situation. The players handle themselves, though.” She pauses to look at me. “Player or lucky broad?”
“Lucky broad, apparently,” I say, then take a deep breath. “Though clearly notthatlucky.”
“Hubby or boyfriend or just a date for the game?”
“My partner,” I say.
“You’ll get a lawyer soon. Relax. They’ve got nothing to hold you on. Nothing to threaten you with into making a deal or telling them anything,” she says. “Just cover your ass and say you’re waiting for your lawyer.”
It sounds easy enough. But not knowing what’s going on out there isn’t helping.
“Relax,” the dealer says again, irritated by my foot tapping incessantly on the cold, hard floor as the cops bring a few more players into the cell next to ours. I do my best to shut out the noise and the countless protests. “It’s going to be fine. Seriously.”
