Nodding to a few of the men standing outside, he ordered, "Please escort these two to the station. I'll interrogate them myself."
Two policemen entered the room, pushing aside the doctor who clutched a clipboard to his chest. He didn't protest as one man came for me and the other beelined for Franco.
Franco shoved the scrawny cop away and made a show of shrugging into his blazer unassisted. Once the black jacket was in place, he gingerly looped his sore arm back into the sling. "If you want to start questioning, I have one. You have something of mine. Two things actually, and I want them back. My guns. Where are they?"
I jerked away as a pudgy baby-faced cop took my elbow. "Take your hands off me." I glowered. I had no intention of being separated from Franco. I didn't care who they were and what law they were upholding. I would fight all of them.
The detective bared his teeth. "Yes, and it's another reason why we are going to talk. Bringing weapons into Italia is a serious offence. I hope you have the necessary international paperwork, otherwise it could be a long holiday for both of you behind bars."
My heart sped up as panic filled my stomach. "Please, this is a terrible misunderstanding. Let us go. We'll come back for questioning when we've done what we need to do."
When I've got my fiancé back. When he's in my arms and home. Then they could lock me up and torture me for all I cared. At least Q would be safe.
The detective laughed-obnoxiously loud. "You think you can just pop in whenever you feel like it? Who the hell do you think you are? Some uppity tourist thinking they can flaunt the rules. I'm sick of your kind coming to my country and not respecting our laws. You're coming with us. And there is nothing you can say to prevent that." He nodded at the man beside me.
I cried out as he shoved me forward.
Franco swore as he suffered the same treatment.
Corralling us through the door, we were pushed down a long white corridor reeking of bleach and medicine. Bright lights pained my eyes as my brain worked overtime.
Think! I had to get out of this.
A wash of hot anger stole my panic, leaving me clearheaded and completely in control.
Q gave me his company. I was his intended. He'd given me nine billion pieces of power.
Money was power.
Use it.
Straightening my back, I planted my feet onto the linoleum and swung around.
The detective jerked to a halt. His badge was at eyelevel and I latched onto his name. Sergio Ponzio.
"Listen here, Mr. Ponzio. We're not criminals. We don't have time to explain but you're making a big mistake."
Sergio's black eyes flashed with a mixture of annoyance and mirth. "Really? And why is that? To me it looks as if I'm doing my job." Rubbing his chin, he tapped his foot dramatically. "Please … by all means. Enlighten me."
"Tess … don't," Franco hissed.
I wasn't going to mention Q. I didn't want pompous asshats getting in the way of whatever plan Q had in motion to find him. But I wouldn't put up with being manhandled and kept from doing my part in saving him.
Standing as tall as I could in my scruffy ballet flats, I snapped, "You're to let us go this instant. This man is my personal protection, and we have urgent business to attend to back in France. You do not want to delay me."
I wished I oozed wealth like Q. I wished I knew how to wield something so ostentatious but powerful. I was a fraud in jeans and a jumper but conviction radiated in my eyes.
Sergio's face darkened. "Was that a threat, miss?"
Oh, shit.
I cried out as an officer grabbed my arms, twisting it behind my back. Handcuffs snapped around my wrists, bruising the bone beneath.
"Wait!"
No. Please no.
Franco yelled, "Get your hands off her. She's the owner of Moineau fucking Holdings. Do your homework and you'll find out she's about to marry Frances' most powerful CEO." Franco cursed as a cop grabbed his unslinged arm, handcuffing him to his belt.
Then the corridor erupted with rapid chiming.
A cell-phone.
Everyone froze. Franco lowered his head, his body rolling in on itself. "Fuck." His eyes latched onto mine.
My instincts soared out of control. Whoever was calling had something to do with Q.
I went crazy. Twisting, turning, trying to get free. I had to answer that phone. "Please. Let us answer it!"
Sergio planted a hand on my sternum, slamming me against the wall. The cuts on my shoulder blade from Q screamed. "Behave. Otherwise we'll be carrying you out of here in a straitjacket."
Chiming escalated to techno bells and squeals. The phone's ring sliced my brain; I thought I'd pass out if it wasn't answered.
Franco snapped, "You have to let me get that. You're messing with things you don't understand."