Tempting the Crown (The Crown 1)

“Emily Charles, you are under arrest for conspiring to commit theft against U.S. property. We will present you with a full list of charges at the Bureau.”

“Charges? Theft?” I squealed. “Greer, what’s happening?” My head spun to my friend.

She cried. “I-I can’t help you. You helped him.”

“What?”

The men urged me to the door. “What is going on?” I tried to dig my heels into the floor, but they were strong.

One of the men read me the complete Miranda Rights, but I wasn’t paying attention to him. Everything echoed around me. Greer cried in the background, while they led me down three flights of stairs and stuffed me in the back of an expensive Town Car parked by the curb.

I was in a daze. My heart pounded so loudly, nothing else sounded clear.

The men mumbled to each other. What bureau were they talking about? From low in the backseat, I didn’t know where we were going. The white buildings raced past until we pulled inside a parking garage.

I was jerked from the backseat and led through a set of double doors.

Fluorescent lights flickered overhead as we walked through a hallway lined with tan doors. There was nothing discerning about the inside. I still had no idea where I was. There were no signs. No markings. Not even a lit exit box.

Finally, we stopped and a door opened.

“Wait here.”

I stumbled inside. There was a table and two chairs. Along one wall, a mirror that was at least six feet long. I knew someone was on the other side. I looked up and noticed the small cameras in all four corners of the gray walls. Red lights blinked under the lenses. They were on.

I twisted my hands, only to be pinched by the cuffs.

I didn’t know how much time passed before the door opened. I spun on my heels.

A tall man walked toward me. He extended the key for the handcuffs.

“Would you like me to take care of those?”

I nodded.

He flicked the lever and freed my hands. I massaged the skin where the metal had scraped.

“Please, Miss Charles. Take a seat.”

He pointed to the chair that faced the mirror. He took the other one.

I was reluctant to sit. Reluctant to talk.

“I’m Agent Kenneth.” He placed two folders on the table. “I thought we could have a conversation. Would you be ok with that?”

I stared at the white diamonds woven into his red tie.

“Miss Charles?”

I nodded. “I suppose. You realize I am attorney.”

He smiled. His lips were almost paper thin. It was an unsettling feeling sitting across from him. “Yes. We know exactly what you do.”

I wrung my hands together in my lap. “Should I ask for counsel before we begin?”

He flipped open the first folder. “You have that right, as you know, but I hope that we can talk a little first. If you cooperate, we are willing to work a deal on your charges. I can do that for you.”

“I was told I would receive a list of charges,” I stated. “What are they exactly?” I hadn’t wrapped my head around any part of this experience. I needed to retreat to the part of me that worked seamlessly no matter the circumstances. The place where I could become emotionless. Logical. The law.