Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 71949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
She nods slowly. “Yes, I did say that. And it’s the truth.”
“Well…I was visited by someone from DHS, Officer Leona Patel.” I hand her the papers. “She told me they determined that there’s insufficient evidence that I face danger if I’m removed to Colombia. That my temporary protected status was revoked and I could be deported at any time.”
Judge Matthews flips through the documents, her expression flattening with every page. By the fourth sheet she snorts. At the last, her mouth goes sharp.
“This is garbage.” She taps the corner of the top page. “Wrong seal. Wrong signature block. No case number where you’d expect it, and the templating still uses Dear Respondent in the salutation.” She smirks. “DHS doesn’t template like that anymore. They haven’t in years.”
Cold relief slides through me so fast I sway. “So my status—?”
“Stands,” she says, already at her computer. “I entered it myself. It’s in the system. It hasn’t even been reviewed by DHS yet. If anyone pulled it, there’d be a trail. I see nothing of the sort, which means no one pulled it.” She continues to type. “I’m flagging your file. If anything changes, we’ll be notified. But nothing should change. You can work and remain here in town while you pursue permanent residence.”
I grip the chair arm. “Thank you,” I manage.
Raven leans forward. “Your honor, could there have been a clerical hiccup? Some federal—”
“No,” Judge Matthews says. “If two agencies want to fight, they fight with memos and jurisdictional chest-thumping, not with a woman in a suit at a private residence after business hours.”
I close my eyes. The scene on the porch snaps back in brutal high-definition—badge flash, flat tone, the smell of panic.
“Besides,” the judge says, “I know everyone at our local DHS office, and I’ve never heard of Leona Patel. What did she look like?”
“Thirty-something,” I say. “She wore a dark suit—I think it was navy blue—with a silver badge. Her hair was dark and twisted back.” I shake my head. “She seemed professional. Like she’d done it a thousand times.”
“She’s done something a thousand times,” the judge says dryly. She swivels to her printer and grabs a form. “I’ll draft a judicial notice confirming your status and the authenticity of my prior order. If anyone bothers you again, you carry this like a shield. You keep a copy with any employer. You hand one to any officer who thinks he can bark louder than the law.”
My heart lifts and then stutters.
Raven sees it. “What?”
I look down at my hands. “Why,” I ask slowly, “would someone build a fake case so flimsy a judge could spot it from across the room?”
“Because they’re sloppy,” Raven says immediately. “Because they underestimated you. Because criminals are idiots.”
I shake my head. The answer is a stone dropping through a well. The splash hits my gut. “No,” I whisper. “Because the paper wasn’t the point.”
Raven straightens. “Dani—”
“They wanted me out of the house,” I say. “Not for good. Just for a few hours. Enough to move, to watch, to plant, to take—”
I’m already on my feet. The judge stands too.
“Ms. Agudelo,” she says, voice firm. “Breathe. Tell me who they are.”
“We don’t know yet,” Raven answers for me. “But we know it’s not DHS.”
The judge nods once. “Go,” she says, handing me another paper. “Take your notice. And if this person returns, you call 911 first and my chambers second. Here’s my personal number.”
“Thank you,” Raven says, and then we’re moving—out past the clerk, through the metal detector, and outside into the air.
Raven jogs to keep pace with me as I sprint for the car. “Slow down,” she says, but she hits the unlock button twice and we’re both in, doors slamming.
“What are you thinking?” she asks as she peels away from the curb.
“That we were watched,” I say, the seat belt biting my collarbone. “That Patel was a puppet. That while we stood in the foyer arguing about immigration, someone took notes on how long it took us to panic and how fast the police showed up.”
Raven’s jaw tightens. “Vinnie’s cameras would have picked up anyone casing the house.”
“Unless they were already inside,” I say. “Patel was inside.”
Raven exhales. “I hate this.”
“Me too.”
“We need to get home,” Raven says. “Now.”
I nod.
Someone wanted me out of the house.
I am not leaving again.
21
HAWK
The Bellamy land looks different in daylight. The same endless hills and fences, but after what Reyes pulled, the whole place feels like it’s holding its breath.
I lean against my truck, phone in hand, staring at the coordinates he sent. The numbers stare back like a dare.
I should drive out there right now and torch it, but my gut still says don’t go alone.
I need to call Falcon, but I punch in Robin’s number instead. I still want to know what she found out from her research. Again, though, it goes to voicemail.