I find Luca at the Portland Police Bureau, North Precinct. He's on the phone as I approach hurriedly toward his crooked Station Wagon, trying hard to control my heartbeat that's shooting so rapidly.

"Dude, you owe me one! I want the info right now or I'm gonna rip off your throat," he snaps, probably scaring one of his underground contacts.

Like a hunted gazelle with a strong sense of smell downwind, he turns around instinctively as I get closer to him.

"Yeah. Wise choice. Five minutes." He hangs up as he finally sees me. I let out a breath and halt. "It's ugly, Bruh," he tells me.

"How ugly?" I urge him, a deep frown on my face.

"The redhead is really dead. Two bullets on her chest," Luca replies. My eyes narrow. "I don't have much info, but little Madam is the primary suspect according to the cops."

He glances at the glass doors of the building in front of us, where some cops are moving, fluxing casually. I still can't believe Mia is held inside here, accused for murder. What the fuck happened here?

No panic, Red. You need to be calm.

"Has anyone dropped by? Any Kingston, maybe?" I inquire.

"Nope. None so far," Luca replies vaguely and in a jiff he squints his eyes as a white Mini Cooper pulls over hastily. "I think that's her friend. The attorney?"

"Kenna," I mutter and at the same moment I see her scrambling out of the Mini Cooper, a phone in her ear. "Kenna?" I call loudly and grab her immediate attention.

She stops and whirls her head around impatiently.

"Red?" She seems surprised to see me. I stride toward her quickly. "Hold on a sec, Attorney. I'm already at the police station, so I'll give you the exact details in . . . Let's say one hour." With that she ends her call and says, "You're back. Did you hear what happened? They arrested Mia. They're saying she killed Anne!"

"Yeah, that's why I'm here. I think it's absurd; Mia couldn't have done that," I blurt out plainly.

"Of course she couldn't, right? I have to go in and find out what really happened and under what grounds are they detaining her. Fingers crossed, I think this is only circumstantial given that she's the only person who's been on bad terms with Anne lately," she says breathlessly, worry evident on her face.

"I'm coming with you," I tell her.

If I stay here waiting I'll lose my shits.

"Sure. Let's go."

We find the supposed detective in charge of the Precinct, a middle-aged black American with a clean shaved head. He gives us a very solid look when Kenna mentions Mia Kingston, and my eyes study every detail as he checks the ID card she's just handed him.

"No visit allowed at this hour," he says bluntly.

Kenna smirks. "I'm not here as a visitor, Detective. I'm here as her lawyer and there's nothing you can do to stop me from seeing her," she stipulates.

"Okay," he replies after a long hesitation. "But only you can see her. No one else is allowed until tomorrow." His stern condemning look is directed to me, as if he's been aware of my presence way before I even arrived here.

And I wouldn't be surprised that he did. Those sickening Kingstons knew I'd come.

I want to retaliate but Kenna gestures for me to chill down. The undying rage in my blood turns my breath fickle, and I know I need to hit something before I punch someone on the face. Damn, where can I get the self-composure I need so terribly right now? I suck in a breath.

"I'll go see her," Kenna tells me, and behind us the Detective is making a call using a telephone line, eyes on us.

"Do you think they are interrogating her already?" I ask her in a low voice, but the maelstrom of anger and surge of dread keep flaming my blood when I think of how terrified Mia may be right now.

I shouldn't have left Portland!

"I think so. Let's see," Kenna probes restlessly and we wait for a minute. "What's taking so long?" she suddenly barks at the Detective . . . E. McCall, as it reads on his nametag.

He gets up from his post and snaps, "Follow me."

The following fifteen minutes become the most excruciating waiting of my life. On and off the bench I pace while running a hand through my already tousled hair. When exactly was that woman murdered? And how come Mia is being a suspect so quickly?

I stride back and forth, from time to time, and all I see is the same sight of a countless partition, the world map on the wall, the WANTED posts on the other side. Constantly I hear the muffled voices of cops talking, or yelling, if not laughing over their ordinary issues.

"Red." I finally hear Kenna's voice. I rush toward her and her face shoves me off to the mudflat. "It's bad. Let's go somewhere and talk."

"What happened? What did she tell you, Kenna?" I ask her as we get out, my head stirred and confused.

"She said she didn't do it and I believe her." Kenna stands up stoutly and I follow suit. She runs her fingers through her blonde hair and gazes up at me. "She's the last person to talk to Anne. They found blackmailing texts she's received from Anne for the last twelve-hours before the murder, and her car was caught on the surveillance around Anne's place, just yesterday around the same time Anne was possibly killed."

Panic strikes through me.

"Mia went there yesterday." I run a finger at the tip of my nose. "But I stopped her from meeting Anne and we had a long argument about that same matter."

Although she turned her phone off for almost two hours until we talked again last night. Could she have gone there? Now I'm worried.

"Red, I'm so confused," Kenna says with a sigh. "All the evidence points at her—"

"But it doesn't mean she did it!" I nearly yell.

"I know, Red. I'm not saying she did it, I'm just trying to find the loophole in this mess," Kenna returns. I exhale heavily and cast a thoughtful glance away. "We'll see if tomorrow we can post a bail on her, but right now no one is allowed to visit. I mean . . . I know you want to see her badly but I'm afraid you have to wait."

Ignoring the thoughts and fear running in my head I ask, "How is she?"

Kenna shrugs sadly. "What do you think? She's terrified, especially in her condition. She's worried someone may find out about her pregnancy."

Oh fuck! How did I forget about her pregnancy? I think I'm going crazy.

"We better go and think of what we're going to do from tomorrow. I'm surprised Patrick is not here yet. Do you think anyone would keep Mia in a cell without his knowledge?" Kenna's eyes turn ingenuous, giving me more reasons to find this case rather strange.

"We'll talk tomorrow." I decide to keep it short as I already know what's going on here.

I give Luca some instructions and go straight home afterwards. It's almost eleven and I've never felt as defeated as I'm feeling right now. I think there's no terrible pain for a man like being unable to protect the one you love.

Love? Yeah, if that feeling exists then she's the one I want so badly to keep in my boring life.

It drills me to the bones knowing she's locked up somewhere and there's nothing I can do to get her out. It wasn't supposed to be this way, and certainly not tonight when I was dying to hold and kiss her soft lips before telling her my real name.

Yes, my real name at the very least. And perhaps she'd ask more questions, again and again, but I'd answer only what I believe necessary. I wanted to hear her telling me about her pregnancy ultrasound and see how excited she looks about the baby.

"What do I do now?" I think out loud while leaning over the kitchen countertop, surrounded by nothing but darkness that resembles the eclipse in my mind.

I have to do something. Fuck, I can't let her spend another night in that place. How is she even going to sleep tonight, dammit! She must be so scared right now. I can already picture her wet eyes and trembling lips, probably feeling cold and abandoned.

And what if they combined her with some crooked cellmates? I close my eyes and let the ball of anger pass. I take a deep breath. I need to focus. A few battery percentage left as I wake the screen of my phone. Quite enough to make a call.

It doesn't take long until the call gets through.

"Hello, Champ! How are you? See, I just finished talking to Carlos Murphy and he's amazed by the hand you gave at the Guatemala border—"

"Cut the crap, Marlow." I flip the fridge open and some light oozes out. A few beer cans and a bottle of water come into view. Other than that, the slots are all empty. "Where are you?" I grab two beers.

"Me?" He rumbles a laugh. "I'm having Pinot Grigio and takoyaki at one of the finest restaurants in Osaka. You should drop by once in a while, kid. Japanese women are spectacular—even though they almost look the same."

"I said cut the crap," I grumble while popping the beer can open. "You need to be in Portland or else I'm done."

"Okay, easy, boy." He finally lowers his sass. "Something Happened. Did the cover blow? Has anyone–"

"Mia Kingston is detained for murder at the North Precinct. She's being accused of killing one of Patrick's mistresses, Anne Scott, and . . ." My voice trails off as I puff out a heavy breath.

"A crime of passion? Oh, that's my favorite of them all. Like what they always say, never mess with a resentful woman," Marlow mumbles with another laugh. "And so what? Putting all jokes aside, it's not our fault that the pretty lady has gone all ballistic because of her cheating husband now, is it? Let her husband sort that out—it's not like he'll let her rot in jail."

My jaw clenches but I hold myself together and explain, "I don't think she did it. I believe it's a setup and most probably from Patrick or anyone related to him."

"How do you know, kid? I don't think you were around when that happened, were you? If the treacherous lady was killed yesterday, or the day after, then it means you have no way to prove that the pretty one didn't do it," he suggests and logically speaking anyone could see the point.

But I'm sure Mia didn't do it. I just know that.

"Look, kid," Marlow says after a sigh. "I'm currently packed. A medical research guild from Moscow will be arriving here shortly, and I'm an American investor here trying to pull in my filthy money for the development of some drug. If the intel is correct, then there's a direct link between Project Z and Kingston Pharmaceutical. I can't be in Portland today, so I'll probably grab the first flight tomorrow and hear your tale."

I chunk in half of the beer can in a single swig. Slightly refreshed, I utter, "Okay. But for now you have to make a contact in the PPB so she can have her own cell and great accommodations available. I'll deal with the rest regarding the facts of the case."

Marlow rumbles a very disturbing laugh, but I'm not a stranger to it. "What is this, kid? You're truly beginning to scare me. Why are you so concerned about the wife of Patrick Kingston as if she's—"

"Marlow, do what I say and we're good," I snap. God, I don't need to explain anything. "I just want her safe, that's all. You can say . . . I've grown fond of her as my boss. Happy?"

No longer amused, Marlow frees a heavy sigh that can start a tranquilized horse. "Let me see what I can do," he murmurs.

"Don't see, Marlow. Do it," I insist.

"Ugh! Alright!" He grumbles and sighs. "You're really fucked up, kid! What have you gotten yourself into, seriously? You're worrying me."

"Nothing yet, Marlow. Nothing yet," I reply thoughtfully, because he has no idea on what I can do just to get that woman out of that place.

"Okay, consider it done," Marlow tells me. "But you and I have a serious pending talk, kid. And I hope you haven't lost your way."

I end the call without another word. Utterly thoughtful, I finish the rest of my beer before squashing the can with my hand. The only thing we can do to prove Mia's innocence, as soon as possible, is to show that she didn't meet Anne yesterday.

But before that I need to speak to her and understand what exactly she did in those two hours she's been off after our argument on the phone. I really hope she didn't go to Anne's house as she planned to do, if not it's going to be disastrous.