"Just two weeks. For a friend's wedding." My voice quavered, and I buried the sound in a loud cough.
The man frowned at his computer screen as he typed some more. Was there a problem? What? What did he see on that tiny screen that made him scowl even more than before? That pulse at my throat started to pound. I swallowed through it and resisted the urge to wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. If I did that, I may as well broadcast to the world that I was a potential fugitive. My nervousness couldn't have been more obvious if I'd tried.
Consoling myself with the thought that it was likely just a new procedure or maybe the system was slow today, I breathed again and continued to chew my thumbnail down to a nub. I watched the officer carefully.
Then he suddenly had a friend standing right next to him. Uh-oh. Since when did Canadians get the full security treatment? We were the cheerful, polite northern neighbors that Yanks liked to poke fun at and we took in stride. No extra security necessary. Except...
This was a new United States of America. Don't give us your tired, your poor, or your huddled masses. We don't need them anymore.
"Ms. Ellis, can you come with me?"
Shit was getting real. Damn it. I knew I shouldn't have left the country. But how the hell could I have missed Adam and Mia's wedding? And how could I have told them I couldn't come?
And how to explain to Adam, my boss, that I wasn't even legally working for his company?
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I glanced at Heath, and he had no phone in his hand so it must have been Lucas getting back to me.
I froze, a Canadian deer in the US Immigration headlights. "Ms. Ellis? We have a few questions. Come with me to screening, please?"
My passport officer was now standing as if expecting me to bolt. Where the hell would I go?
Heath walked toward us, and my officer turned, holding up a hand. "Come no farther. You've made your way through control."
Heath's brows crunched, and he held out a hand toward me. "She's my friend. I want to stay with her."
"You're going to have to wait."
"How long will it take?"
"No idea. Go back to baggage claim and wait there. And don't come any farther."
I turned to Heath, our eyes met, and I shook my head. The concern in his eyes was clear--his blond brows scrunched together so tightly they looked like one big unibrow.
"Ms. Ellis? Now, please."
I jerked back toward the officer. "But my bags."
"You'll need those."
"Can I go get them? Or can he grab them for me?" I gestured to Heath.
"He needs an officer to go with him." My passport controller pressed a button and another, equally dour, bland man showed up in seconds. It's like he was cloning himself.
I turned to Heath, holding up a hand to my ear like a phone, and mouthed, Call a lawyer.
"The Canadians?" he replied. He must have meant the Canadian consulate, and a streak of fear shot through me. Shit, no, that would be worse. I shook my head vigorously, eyes wide. No consulate, I mouthed, but he looked puzzled, like he had no clue what I was saying.
Then goon number two grabbed my arm and pulled me toward wherever their torture chamber was located. I wondered how many hours of waterboarding I'd be subjected to before being shipped to Gitmo. Freaking barbarian Yankees.
Thank goodness I was good Kat, instead of bad Kat, and bit my tongue. Bad Kat got into so much trouble due to her big mouth. I was in what some might refer to as a semi-barbaric country that still practiced the death penalty and required no mandated maternity leave. Despite its flaws, however, I did want to continue living in the States. It took my full concentration to ignore the strains of O, Canada which rose in my head, unbidden. The True North strong and free!
They led me to a tiny windowless room with two chairs, a table, and a bench. "Wait here."
And they locked the door! They fucking locked me in.
Pacing the room only made me dizzy because it was tiny and forced me to walk in minute circles. My mind spun in circles, too. It wouldn't stop racing--wouldn't stop wondering, accusing. Blaming myself.
I should have checked before this to make sure that subpoena hadn't caused a warrant to be issued. Perhaps there had been attempts made to locate me. All this time, I'd been so sure that the Canadian government didn't know where I was. But after this?
I pulled out my phone and quickly texted Heath.
Me: No Canadian consulate.
Heath: Why not? And where the fuck did they take you?
Me: I'm in some little cell.
Heath: You're in JAIL?
I hurried to type a response when my phone buzzed, once more, but from a different source.
Jedi Boy: Cranberry, are you on the road yet? I was serious about you needing to get in here.
Me: Not now, Lucas!
The door whipped open, and I almost dropped my phone just as Heath's text popped up.
Heath: Hold tight, K. I'm calling lawyers now.
"Ms. Ellis? We'll need to collect your electronic devices."
"What?" I immediately shoved my phone in my bra. "You'll have to pry that from my cold dead hands! No one takes my phone."
The officer blinked and straightened. "Do you want entry into the United States of America, Ms. Ellis?"
"Why am I being held?"
He folded his arms across his chest, planting his feet wide apart. "I'm not going to tell you that at this time. Your phone? And your pass code, please."
"You can't search me. I know what your laws say. I have rights."
"We can collect your materials. You are not subject to US law at this time, as you have not been admitted into the country."
His eyes were fixed on my bra--because my phone was in there, but I poked my ample chest out anyway. I knew what my rack did to most weak-hearted men. He jerked his eyes away from my perfect boobs. I folded my arms across my chest.
"Your phone, Ms. Ellis. Or we can have you on a plane back to British Columbia in thirty minutes or less."
A weight dropped in my stomach, knowing I'd likely face a similar team of goons at that airport. And so much more. Shit. Goddamn it. Fuckity fuck.
"You aren't going to waterboard me, are you?"
His face darkened. Bad Katya had reared her ugly head. Dammit. My face reddened, and all he did was hold out his hand. Heaving a long, labored sigh, I pulled the phone from my bra.
"It's nice and warm. From touching my bare breast."
The guy rewarded me with a nice red blush before snatching the thing out of my hand and walking to the door. He spun. "Pass code?"
"What are you looking for on that?"
He raised his brows at me. "Code?"
I almost let out a few naughty words about asshole yanks, but refrained, mumbling the code.
Without another word, he was gone. And I was stuck in that damn room. For hours.
Without my phone, I had no idea how long it was, because there was no clock in here.
I sat.
I lay across two chairs.
I lay across the table, hands under my head, staring up at the ceiling.
Someone brought me a bottle of water at some point. And let me use the washroom.
No one answered my questions.
I may as well face the music. I was probably on my way back to Vancouver this afternoon. Oh, the look on my family and friends' faces when I showed up after disappearing without even a goodbye the year before.
I rubbed my aching eyes through my lids, regretting for the eightieth time my little trip to the Caribbean. Epic wedding or no, I shouldn't have gone.
Because this had now ruined everything.
Suddenly, the door tore open again, and the first passport control guy entered with a man in jeans and a t-shirt, carrying a messenger bag on his shoulder.
"Ms. Ellis," the man said when the officer stopped without a word and looked from one of us to the other. "I'm Sam Wright. Your attorney."
Attorney? God, I hoped that meant lawyer in
American.
I frowned, opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Suddenly, I was shaking like a leaf in the wind as goon number one stared at me like he was watching my every move.
"Heath Bowman called me."
"Thanks," I croaked.
The officer left us alone, warning that he'd be back shortly with some questions for me. I took in my new attorney from head to toe. He had a husky build, a dark beard covering his face. His khaki pants were baggy, and he wore Birkenstocks over fluffy white socks. And he was young--barely thirty.
"Pardon the lack of lawyerly appearance. It was my day off. I wasn't expecting to conduct any business today." I could forgive him anything but the Birkenstocks. But if he sprang me from detention, even those could be overlooked.
I motioned to the empty chair. "Sorry I don't have much to offer."
"How long have you been in here?"
"I have no idea. Hours. I don't even know what time it is."
He opened up his messenger bag and pulled out a tablet and a packet of papers. "I have a few forms I need you to fill out, but we can take care of that after he comes back in here. I'm going to assume you want to push back on this."
I blinked. "I'm not going back to Canada."
"Well..." His brows twitched together.
"What?" I asked, suddenly swallowing around another big lump.
"On the way in, I managed to obliquely question and get a hint of why they are detaining you. Apparently, you've been working in the US illegally?"
My gut tightened, and I closed my eyes, rubbing my forehead, the headache intensifying. Yeah, that did it. I was in deep shit.
"Why didn't you apply for a work visa?" Sam continued, not even bothering to give me a chance to deny it.
"There are reasons. Uh..." I fidgeted.
"Anything you say to me will be kept in strictest confidence. Attorney-client privilege."
I scratched my eyebrow, suddenly feeling twitchy. "I can't go back to Canada because I don't want them to know where I am."
"Them who? The government or private citizens or...?"
"The police."
He blinked. "Is there a warrant out for your arrest?"
I cleared my throat. It was suddenly difficult to draw the next breath. "I don't know. Please. You have to help me. I can't..."
"Did you commit a crime?"
"No." My fists tightened, as if backing up that truth of their own accord.
He sighed, grabbing a pad of paper and scratching some notes. "Are you seeking asylum in the US?"
I almost laughed. From Canada? "No."
"Okay, we can get into the details of what is going on with you later, but for now, what I suspect is going to happen is that they are going to admit you into the country and serve you with a notice to appear before an immigration judge."
I blinked. "Okay."
"But if it's true that you've been working in the country without a visa, I'm going to be frank. Your options are few."
"I'll quit the job then." My stomach twisted as if in a vise at the thought of walking away from the best job I'd ever had but...if it meant I got to stay, I'd do it in a heartbeat.
He shook his head, lips thinning. "It's not that easy. There's no way to prove you won't just take another illegal job. You won't be allowed to stay, Katya."
Damn.
"So then what? They kick me out at that point?"
"As I said, your options are limited. But they aren't completely nonexistent." He hesitated, so I nodded eagerly for him to continue. If there was even a shred of hope that I could pull this shitty situation out of the crapper, I'd take it. With gusto.
"Are you in a relationship?"
I frowned, now completely puzzled at his non sequitur question. I opened my mouth to answer, but he held up his hand. "Don't answer me, please. Just consider. If you were, for example, about to marry a legal American citizen, that would be grounds to allow you to stay, provided the deal be sealed legally very soon."
I gulped.
Shit. He wanted me to get married?
"And...there's no other way?"
He looked at me. "Given your circumstances? Probably not."
Crap. I had no boyfriend. I'd dated only a few guys since coming to California, and nobody--in any way, shape, or form--that could be construed as seriously. I worked too damn much and didn't get out, and it had been months, really, while I focused on my Twitch TV channel and my other goals for career advancement...
Heath? Could I ask Heath to do it?
"My, um, roommate..."
"Heath?"
"Yeah," I nodded. He'd do it. I knew he would.
"Be careful. Heath is openly gay. It's probably clear from his social media, too." I sat back, surprised that he knew all that about Heath. Before I could ask, he supplied the answer. "Heath is a friend of a friend. That's how I know--and why he called me. Anyway, something like that--a gay man entering into a heterosexual union--would be a dead giveaway that this is a mariage blanc."
A white marriage. Hey, one instance where my limited French actually came through for me.
A marriage of convenience so that I could stay in the US. Where, apparently, they really didn't want me. Was it worth it?
My mind raced. If not Heath, then who? I needed to marry someone, goddamn it!
Sam asked me a few more questions, scribbling notes. The door was yanked open again, and this time, two people I'd never seen before entered. As there were no more empty chairs handy in my tiny little cell, they stood, looking straight at me and ignoring Sam.
One of them held my cell phone in his hand.
I held out my hand. "I want my phone, please."
The two shared a look before he slowly bent to give it to me. I laid it on the table beside me. In doing so, I pressed the home button and the screen lit up with my text updates. There were at least five messages from Lucas, bitching me out for not replying to him.
Dumbass needed to take a chill pill and stop harassing me.
"Ms. Ellis, we've made note of the contacts and messages on your phone and have been able to confirm that you have been employed by a US company without the legal right to work in the United States. How--"
"I'm getting married!" I blurted.
Yeah. Those words came out of my mouth. My voice spoke them. It was definitely my voice. But I had no idea until the second they escaped my lips that that's what I was going to say.
My entire body began to shake.
"You're saying you're engaged? To an American citizen?"
"Yes," I nodded vigorously. "Um yeah, definitely."
The other man grabbed a small pad of paper from his pocket and scooped up Sam's pen. "Can you give us the name of your fiance please?"
I glanced at my phone again. My contacts. I couldn't make up a name--couldn't channel my fourteen-year-old self and magic up a pretend boyfriend. It had to be someone in my contacts.
"Lucas," I blurted again in that faraway voice. "My fiance's name is Lucas Walker."
~~~
The Gaming The System series continues in For The Taking, Katya and Lucas's story, coming in 2017.
New to the Gaming The System series? See how it all began in At Any Price available as a free download (click to download).
Would you like to read a FREE prequel to the Gaming The System series that shows the beginnings of Adam and Mia's relationship? Read Girl Geek, a web serial prequel that you can read online for free as I write it. (click here to begin reading Girl Geek)
Read about the beginnings of Jordan & April's relationship in For The Win (click to purchase) and William and Jenna's beginning in For The One (click to purchase).
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Afterword
Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed Worth Any Cost, Adam & Mia's fourth (but not their last) book. The next book in the series continues with For The Taking, Katya and Luca
s's story, forthcoming in 2017. I am currently at work on a new series, Point of No Return, which starts with Ian Tyler's story in High Risk. Find out more details about this and all my upcoming books by subscribing to my newsletter.
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The Gaming The System series
At Any Price (Adam & Mia part 1) (click to download)
At Any Turn (Adam & Mia part 2) (click to purchase)
At Any Moment (Adam & Mia part 3) (click to purchase)
For The Win (Jordan & April) (click to purchase)
For The One (William & Jenna) (click to purchase)
Worth Any Cost (Adam & Mia part 4) (this book)
For The Taking (Kat & Lucas) (coming in 2017)
For details on all upcoming releases, please see her website and her newsletter.
Acknowledgements
As always, I fully acknowledge that I could never produce a book by myself. It takes a team and I've got the best. Thank you to Kate and Sabrina, my first readers, who comb over the manuscript and irk me regularly with their insightful comments while I scratch my head and figure out how I'm going to fix the problems! Thanks to my production team: Sarah Hansen for the gorgeous cover, Jenn Beach, for all the other graphics provided, for Jacy--who stepped in at the last minute with her help when I was in a crisis! A BIG thank you!
Worth Any Cost Page 26
