Page 74 of Past Due

“Oh, she’s not here,” the police officer explained. “I put her on a transport van two hours ago.”

“You?” Besian swallowed down his frustration before it erupted like dragon fire. “You knew that she wasn’t here? This whole time I’ve been sitting here?”

“I had to make sure.”

“How many other redheaded American women do you have back there? So many that you have to check your little computer there instead of using your brain to tell me where she is?”

Other officers in the office stopped to watch the spectacle as Besian’s angry voice grew louder. The older man seemed completely unbothered by his outburst. “Sir, if you’re unhappy with the way I’ve handled things, please feel free to fill out a complaint form.” The officer pulled the actual form from the top bin of his desk organizer and placed it on the desk with a pen. “Here.”

Besian had a sudden urge to jam that pen somewhere else. “No, thank you.”

“Well,” the officer said slowly, “as I was saying before you interrupted, she’s not here. She’s been moved to the custody of Border and Migration. They’re located at—"

“I know where they’re located,” Besian interrupted rudely and stood up. Furious and frustrated, he rushed from the municipal police station to his car. The drive to the state police station wasn’t that far but finding parking was a nightmare. Thankfully, the office was already open, and the officer at the reception helped him immediately.

After handing over Marley’s documents and explaining the situation to the female officer in charge, he was directed to take a seat. He dropped down on the first empty spot he could find and propped his elbows on his knees, holding his throbbing head in his hands.

The wait for Marley’s release was excruciating. The minutes ticked by at a snail’s pace. Ten minutes turned into an hour. An hour became ninety minutes. Ninety minutes became two hours. Between his exhaustion and empty stomach, he wavered between nodding off and craving food. Knowing Marley probably felt even worse, he denied himself either.

After what seemed like an eternity, the officer in charge escorted Marley to the reception area. She sagged under the weight of her backpack and lugged her broken suitcase in her good hand. She held her bandaged hand against her chest, covering Ruth Bader Ginsberg’s no-nonsense face. Her hiking boots were laced but not tied, and her hair was an absolute mess, falling in tangles and knots around her shoulders. Her face had been scrubbed clean except for the shadowy stain of mascara under her eyes.

Wordlessly, she stopped in front of him. She refused to meet his eyes, and he was crushed by the fear radiating from her. The female officer seemed to sense the uncertainty from Marley, and she piped up loudly, “Are you sure you want to go with this man? I can get a taxi for you.”

Besian held his breath. Marley looked at the officer and nodded. “I’m sure.”

The officer remained skeptical. “Remember what I told you.”

“I will,” Marley promised, her voice small and tired.

The officer scowled at him, her eyes narrowing with mistrust. In Albanian, she warned, “I have my eye on you. I know what you do in America. If you think you can traffic pretty women through my city, you’re in for a nasty surprise.”

Taken aback by her accusation, he said, “I’m not a trafficker!”

“We’ll see.” She gently patted Marley’s back before reluctantly stepping away to let her go.

Marley walked toward the exit, and he followed her. Out in the sunlight, she squinted and shaded her tired eyes. He started to tell her to get her sunglasses, but she started walking again, more quickly this time. As if she wanted to escape him.

“Marley?” There was no hiding the hurt in his voice.

She didn’t answer him. She didn’t even look back. She just kept walking toward the street.

“Marley!” He hurried after her, catching up before she reached the end of the street. “Where are you going?”

“The airport,” she said tightly, still avoiding his gaze.

He wanted to beg her to stay, to let him explain. Instead, he offered, “I’ll drive you.”

“No, thank you.”

“Marley, you can’t walk to the airport from here.” He tried to make sense of her behavior. It was unlike anything he had ever seen from her.

“I’ll get a taxi.”

“Wait.” He tried to grab her suitcase, but she flinched and reared away from him. Stunned by her reaction, he froze. “Marley,” he said gently, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You already did.” She finally lifted her gaze to his, and the pain reflected there knocked the air from his lungs. The betrayal. The heartbreak. The fear.

“I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what else to say. “I’m so sorry.”

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