Imminent Peril

by Melissa F. Miller

  Leo opened the door.

  “Didn’t you catch up with Sasha? She said she was meeting you for a drink.” Maybe they’d gotten their signals crossed.

  Maisy's bright eyes clouded, and she opened her mouth to answer. Before she had the chance, Fiona came careening toward the door.

  “May-may!” she cooed in excitement.

  Maisy was among her favorite adults in the world.

  Leo ushered Maisy inside, and Fiona promptly tried to climb up her leg. Maisy reached down and scooped her up into a big hug. The action drew Finn's attention away from his book. When he spied their visitor, a huge, sleepy smile broke out over his entire face. Maisy grinned back at him.

  “Hi, buddy,” she sang as she carried Fiona over to her brother and placed her down beside him. She ruffled Finn’s hair and gave him a smooch on the head before standing up and turning to face Leo.

  “Is everything okay?” he asked.

  Maisy glanced back at the twins before answering. Then she said in her reassuring, newscaster’s voice, “Don't be worried, but Sasha's going to be a little late tonight.”

  “Why?”

  “There was a little dustup at the bar.”

  Her failure to elaborate and the shadow of worry over her face weren’t reassuring. “What kind of dustup?”

  “Well, some creep was hassling this woman. He was really out of bounds.”

  Leo sighed. “Let me guess. Sasha decided to step in.”

  “Leo, this guy really was harassing her. And nobody else was doing anything, so—”

  “Where is she now, Maisy?” he cut off her defense of his wife’s hero complex.

  Maisy took her time answering. “She’s at the county jail.”

  He cocked his head, confused. “Why?”

  “Um, she was arrested.”

  “They arrested her for telling off some pervert? Was she disturbing the peace?” He’d be the first to admit that his Irish-Russian wife had a temper, but she rarely even raised her voice. The quieter she got, the more trouble you were in.

  “Not exactly. It got physical. Don’t worry, though, she's not hurt.”

  Leo's stomach sank to the floor like a stone.

  “How badly did she hurt the guy?” he asked.

  Then he turned and noticed that the twins were watching their faces. He had no idea how much of the conversation a pair of eighteen-month olds could understand, but he was sure they could tell from the energy in the room that something was wrong. He forced himself to smile at them and raised his hand for Maisy to hold her thought.

  Squatting next to them on the rug, he said. “Mama’s going to be late tonight. Do you want a cookie?”

  At the mention of a treat that Sasha doled out stingily, they both squealed and clapped their hands.

  “Cookies? At this hour? I mean, I'm no parenting expert, but are you sure that’s a good idea?” Maisy asked, wrinkling her forehead in concern.

  He snorted. “Are you kidding me? They're not really cookies. They’re some sort of whole-grain honey-date bar that Sasha lets them eat once in a while. They’re fine. More importantly, gnawing on the bars will keep them busy while we talk.”

  He jogged out to the kitchen to grab two of the bars while Java wound around his ankles. He returned, handed the treats to the twins, and led Maisy to the pair of club chairs that flanked the fireplace.

  “What did she do?” he asked in a low voice.

  “I think she broke his nose and might've messed up his mouth a little bit. It was hard to tell with all the blood. But that’s it. Oh, and she knocked the wind out of him. He did try to take a swing at her with a beer bottle, though. So I’d say he earned it.”

  He pinched his forehead, right above the bridge of his nose, to fend off a building tension headache. “And they took her into custody?”

  “Yeah. He insisted on pressing charges. He was pretty fired up.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “Will and Naya are on their way to post her bond. I’m sure they’ll get her out of there as quickly as humanly possible.”

  He nodded. He was sure they would, too. But still.

  “Maisy, you saw it go down. Is there a chance she’s in real trouble here?”

  She thought it over. Then she said, “I don't think so, sugar. There were loads of witnesses. And, you know, I’m not a potted plant. I exchanged contact information with the three women he was harassing. The police interviewed a bunch of people, too. I’m sure once that guy calms down, the whole thing will go away.”

  “Okay. Thanks for coming in person to let me know,” he said heavily as he moved toward the door.

  “Oh no you don't. I'm staying right here with you until Sasha comes home.”

  He considered protesting. But it would be short-sighted, to say the least, to turn down an extra set of hands at bedtime. “Thanks.”

  She walked over to the twins to talk to them about their cookies. He stared out the window at the night sky and tried, with limited success, not to worry about Sasha.

  6

  Sasha stood in the very center of the holding cell. She wished she could sit down, but she didn't trust the corroded-looking bench that ran along the wall. Her feet ached in her heels, but she had no intention of taking them off and going barefoot. Her main goal was to get out of there without having touched anything. The last thing she needed was to pick up some exotic jailhouse germ and transmit it to the twins. So she stood, upright and away from all surfaces, like a statue, and waited for Will to show up.

  As the police had taken her out of the bar in handcuffs, she'd told Maisy to let Connelly know what was happening. She had to save her one phone call for her lawyer, not her husband, and besides she didn’t want to be the one to break the news of her arrest to her federal agent husband. She couldn’t imagine how he would respond.

  She wished the booking officer hadn’t taken her watch along with her phone. She had no idea what time it was or how long she’d been there. The sliver of sky she could see through the bars was purple. It was past sunset, that much she knew. Finn would be getting fussy, looking for a back rub and a lullaby. Fiona would be ramping up her nightly ‘running from sleep’ routine. This was the part of the evening that always went more smoothly with two parents home. A man-to-man defense was, after all, more effective than playing the zone. The threat of tears pricked her eyes so she bit down on the inside of her cheek and told herself to think about something—anything—else. Anything but her family.

  Her thoughts turned to the jagoff from the bar. As far as she knew, he was still at the hospital. While they’d both been taken into custody, the police had taken the guy directly to the emergency room to have his nose and mouth checked out. She could have told them his nose was broken and he probably had a few loose teeth but had wisely kept her diagnosis to herself.

  The arresting officer had been professional and—considering the circumstances—borderline kind. In the beginning, before she realized that he was actually going to take her into custody and shut her trap, she’d said she wasn’t interested in pressing charges against the man, but Officer Olewine had shaken his head at her naivety and said, “Whether the charges stick or not, he probably took one look at you and smelled money—you have that well-off vibe. Plus, he just had his ass handed to him by a pocket-sized woman. His ego’s not going to let you off that easy. Keep a card in your pocket, Ms. McCandless-Connelly.”

  It was shortly after that friendly piece of advice that she told the officer she wouldn’t be answering any more questions without her lawyer present. Which reminded her, where in the world was he? Patience wasn't her strong suit under the best of circumstances. And nobody would mistake standing in a filthy jail cell as the best of circumstances.

  Maybe some mindful breathing would help. She closed her eyes and connected with her breath.

  Inhale. Sloooow exhale. Inhale.

  She opened her eyes and wondered how much time had passed now. Probably fifteen seconds, she told herself. She wished she h
ad something to read—a book, a magazine, the back of a cereal box.

  She shut her eyes. Inhale. Slooooooooower exhale. Inhale.

  Footsteps rang out in the hallway. Her eyes popped open.

  “Well, counselor, she’s all yours,” said a corrections officer she hadn’t seen before as he unlocked the barred door.

  Will, looking as fresh and impeccable as he’d been when she last saw him at the office, shook his head at her. “A bar fight? Really.”

  She shot him a dark look that said “Can we talk about this later?”

  “Let's go sign out your personal items. At least you got to keep your clothes. The booking officer tells me they don’t have any jumpsuits small enough for you and the juvenile facility didn’t answer when they called over for a loaner.”

  He led her through the process of reclaiming her phone, watch, and handbag. Then he put a hand on the small of her back and piloted her away from the lobby doors.

  “What are you doing? The exit’s that way.”

  He stopped walking and looked down at her. “You’re something of a minor celebrity to begin with, given your colorful history. When the news broke that you were arrested for beating up a man in a bar, KDKA, WPXI, and WTAE probably got in a street race to be the first camera crew here. I wouldn’t be surprised if there are print journalists camped out there, too.”

  Her stomach lurched toward her knees. “I can’t—”

  “You’re not going to. This isn’t my first rodeo, you know.”

  He pushed open a metal door and started down the stairwell. She followed, shaken by the thought of being ambushed by the press. When they reached the basement, he turned down a short hallway and nodded to a jail guard standing by a large roll-up delivery door.

  The officer nodded back to Will. Then he hit a button and the door lifted.

  “Is he on the take?” she whispered loudly as they walked out onto a loading dock.

  “For heaven’s sake, keep your voice down. No he’s not on the take. His son Riley played lacrosse with my youngest. He’s doing us a courtesy.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” She felt sufficiently guilty for assuming the worst.

  Will’s ancient Volvo station wagon was idling in the bay. Naya sat behind the wheel. Even though—or maybe because—Naya was one of her closest friends, Sasha’s cheeks burned with shame. She couldn’t believe her coworkers and friends were seeing her this way. Naya popped the door locks and Will hustled Sasha into the back seat.

  “You should duck down. The reporters might recognize my car,” he told her as he slid into the passenger seat and fastened his seat belt.

  She rolled herself into the footwell. Will said to Naya, “Floor it.”

  The car bucked forward, and Naya careened out of the lot. Sasha considered pointing out that perhaps speeding through the county jail’s parking lot wasn’t the wisest decision. But since she was the only person in the car who’d been fingerprinted and had her mug shot taken that night, perhaps her advice was less valuable than she thought. She kept her thoughts to herself.

  As Naya shot through the Armstrong Tunnel and headed uptown toward Bigelow Boulevard, she called back, “It’s all clear. You can sit up now.”

  Sasha pushed herself up from the floor and arranged herself in the backseat. Will twisted around to look at her. “Now do you want to tell us what happened?”

  “There’s not much to tell. I met Maisy for a drink after I filed the position statement in the arbitration. Some jerk was harassing a woman and it got out of hand,” she said tiredly.

  “So you broke his face?” Naya supplied helpfully.

  “No. So, I walked over and told him to leave her alone. Maisy got her and her two friends away from him before he got belligerent. But he pushed me—”

  “He pushed you. You’re sure?” Will interjected.

  She thought. “Well, he tried to push me,” she clarified. “I grabbed his wrist and twisted him into an armlock.”

  Naya snorted. “As one does.”

  “Then what happened?” Will prompted.

  “I warned him. I told him that I could break his wrist, no sweat, if I wanted to. But instead I wanted him to leave. He started gathering up his stuff, and I guess I let my guard down. I turned my back on him and he picked up his beer bottle to take a swing at me.”

  “Okay, this guy sounds stupid,” Naya observed.

  Sasha smiled weakly. “I know, right?”

  “So he hit you with the bottle and then what?”

  “Hang on. He didn’t hit me. There’s a long mirror that runs along the wall across from the bar, and I saw him raising the bottle, so I turned around and hit him with a palm strike to the nose.”

  Naya fist pumped but Will fixed her with a serious look. Then he said, “And after the palm strike—which broke his nose, by the way—you punched him in the mouth and then the solar plexus?”

  “More or less. I actually punched him right above his mouth—in his philtrum. After I winded him, the bouncers finally woke up and stepped in.”

  Will was silent. Naya turned onto Baum Boulevard, swinging out to avoid a trio of college students who were inexplicably walking in the road.

  Finally, Will said, “So he didn’t actually lay a hand on you. Is that right?”

  “I guess that’s right.” She shifted in her seat. “He was a big guy, Will. And he definitely tried to hurt me. Is it my fault I successfully protected myself?”

  Naya shifted into associate mode. “Of course not. It was self-defense. You were in imminent peril.”

  “Was she, Naya?” Will asked in his professorial voice. “Did she really have a well-founded fear that he was going to hurt her?”

  “Yes,” Sasha piped up in a small voice.

  “Did you? You’re highly trained in hand-to-hand combat. Do you think he was?”

  “Evidently not,” Naya cracked.

  Will shut her down with a stern look. “Listen, that’s the case I made to ADA Lewis, the assistant district attorney who signed off on your arrest. And your small stature and the fact that you’re a woman and a member of the bar will only help your cause, but this isn’t a joke, Sasha.”

  She stared at him. “They’re not actually going to charge me, are they? You know, I could have elbowed him in the throat, crushed his windpipe—if I’d wanted to.”

  “I don’t know. I’m meeting Lewis for coffee in the morning. I’ll see how persuadable he is. But let’s not mention the whole crushing the windpipe thing again, shall we? Also, the three of us need to talk about whether it’s a good idea for me to represent you.”

  “What?” She blinked.

  “I'm your legal partner. Your arrest, and eventual criminal case if there is one, could impact the firm and its employees, including Naya, Caroline, and the others. It could get complicated.”

  “It's not complicated,” Naya argued right away. “Some jagoff was pawing at some young, drunk girl, and Sasha stepped in to do the right thing. Just like you or I would have.”

  “Except, unlike you or I—or most people—Sasha has actually killed a man with her bare hands before.”

  Nino Carlucci. The rogue FBI agent who had tracked her from Pittsburgh to the Outer Banks to murder her.

  “Technically, he broke his neck in a fall,” she offered.

  “Regardless. We’re not going to turn our backs on our co-worker and friend,” Naya insisted.

  “And I’m not suggesting we should. I’m simply saying that the situation’s still developing, and we need to make sure we support Sasha in a way that doesn’t imperil the firm. That’s all. With any luck, Lewis will decline to pursue the matter.”

  “With any luck,” Naya echoed.

  Sasha sat silently in the back seat. The problem with relying on luck was she only had one kind of luck---the bad kind.

  7

  Prachi was poring over the test results with her morning cup of tea at her elbow when a shadow fell over her desk. She looked up and blinked in surprise to see one of the building secu
rity guards looming over her.

  “May I help you?”

  He gave her a stern look. “Dr. Agarwal, I need you to come with me.”

  A dozen thoughts whirled through Prachi's brain. Someone had noticed the makeshift lab she’d surreptitiously begun to construct the night before in an unused supply room. She was no stranger to necessity and had done more with fewer resources back home in Bangalore before she’d entered the university and had gained access to its world-class laboratories. While any tests she eventually performed would fall short of the customary standards, they’d be better than nothing. And she’d be damned if she would let a product go to market when she had doubts about its safety—whether Peter Jefferson liked it or not. But who could have seen her? She'd been so careful.

  “Where are we going? I have quite a lot of work to do,” she finally said, trying to feign a lack of concern.

  “Human resources.” His voice was curt and his expression stone-faced.

  Someone had definitely found out about her secret lab. Her pulse pounded as she gathered up her bag, looped the lariat with her building identification card around her neck, and powered off her computer.

  The security guard led her wordlessly through the maze of cubicles to the elevator. He pressed the call button and they waited in silence for the elevator doors to open. She peeked at his ID card and noted his first name: Phil.

  They entered the elevator car and stood side by side. Prachi shifted anxiously from foot to foot. She hadn’t yet picked up the ability to engage in the small talk about sports and television that her coworkers seemed to enjoy. But she worried that this Phil person would misinterpret her failure to do so as a sign of guilt or malfeasance. She racked her brain, searching for a popular culture reference she could make, but finally settled for smiling weakly. He looked back at her impassively until they reached the sixth floor and the doors opened.

  He gestured for her to exit first. She did. Then she dutifully waited for him to lead the way to the human resources department. He passed by the director’s office and stopped in front of Maureen Glassman’s door. Maureen was the senior employee responsible for hiring and retaining the company’s many international workers. Phil rapped on the frosted glass door with his fist but didn't wait to be invited inside. Instead, he pushed it open and announced, “I have Dr. Agarwal, ma'am.”