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?”