"You think you can push us out of the city?" I shout, and the glass behind me rattles.
Flashbulbs boom through the precinct window. Reporters' voices leak through the door like a persistent tide. A uniformed officer holds a clipboard and avoids looking at Marcus Winter.
"Ms. Espinoza," the officer says. "Keep your voice down. This is a police station."
"Then do your job," I say. "Release her statement. Let the facts speak."
Faith sits on the metal bench with her sleeve pulled up. A dark bruise maps the side of her face. She doesn't speak. Her jaw is tight. I see the bruise and the old habit of fixing other people's problems kicks in.
"She's refusing to cooperate," the arresting officer says. "We can hold a statement for an hour."
"Which part of arrest and assault do you need me to describe?" I ask. "The push, the shove, the way his assistant laughed? Or the part where security timed the route so there were no witnesses?"
Marcus steps forward. He smells like expensive cologne and anger. He doesn't need a microphone; his presence pulls the room's attention.
"Kelsey," he says low, the word a loaded thing. "This is a public disturbance. My reputation—"
"Your reputation," I cut in, "is the only thing you ever cared about. You use it to crush people who get in your way."
He smiles as if the smile will fix everything. "Watch your words."
"Watch yours," I say. "You
