“Friends”? These are lies. Chapman is manipulating me for some rebel plot.
Khlid had heard enough. She stood. “Chapman, get up and keep your hands where I can see them.”
More than a few patrons of the pub were looking their way with concern. A bouncer near the front looked unsure how to proceed.
“Khlid, don’t do this.” Chapman remained seated.
Khlid pulled her pistol out and pointed it directly at him. “Chapman, get up, now.” She was being loud deliberately now, loud enough for several nearby tables to hear.
An audible gasp rolled through the pub as patrons noticed the drawn weapon. A few sat confused. Some men stood up and drew knives. Khlid could almost hear the collective thought: Is that inspector arresting her partner? It would be a scandal for the entire Empire. With a scene this public, Chapman was done. He had no options left but to give in. He has to come peacefully, right?
Before she could begin reciting his crimes for arrest, a thought occurred to her. “You got rid of Samuel on purpose. You son of a bitch, you knew exactly what to say,” Khlid hissed under her breath. At last, Chapman vacated the booth. She took a step back to stay well out of his reach.
She could tell his mind was racing. Chapman kept his hands up, but his eyes darted about the room. They came to a sudden stop, looking her directly in the eyes. “He didn't exactly make it difficult.”
It took actual effort for Khlid not to shoot him right there. It wasn’t only the rage she felt at his betrayal; Chapman was deadly. He was easily twice her size, and was one of the few officers who actually worked out more than her. In a pinch, police could usually count on help from armed bystanders—but she had no idea how the bar patrons hovering with their knives would interpret a brawl between two uniformed—Oh, shit. All at once, Khlid realized she was in a civilian jacket. She had to keep cool and get Chapman back to the precinct.
His eyes refused to leave hers. Their gray calm clashed with her own brown-eyed fury. Fuck you, Chapman, for being so calm.
He was standing now, looking down on her. His raised arms seemed more a threat than a sign of compliance. While Chapman was doing exactly as a citizen under arrest should, the aura about him warned Khlid of a move yet to come. She knew Chapman too well to believe his posture was submissive.
“Khlid.” His voice shocked her after a few seconds of silence. “Take me somewhere I can explain.” He was firm and calm. Khlid had heard him use that tone countless times in interrogations.
Khlid looked to one of the three men with knives drawn. If they misinterpreted the scene, she’d be done for. “My name is Insp—”
That was all the opening Chapman needed. He lunged and struck her gun hand down to her side. His right fist smashed into her gut, knocking the wind from her. It was the hardest blow Khlid had ever felt.
She began to drop, but Chapman seized her by the throat, spinning her around and pinning her back against his chest. The cold metal of his pistol pressed into her jaw.
Khlid could feel his tattooed hand shaking as it held her aloft by her neck.
“This woman is a fugitive of the law and has been trying to escape Imperial justice for weeks. She promised me she would come peacefully. Obviously that was a lie. Don’t worry, all is under control.”
One patron actually let out a single clap before looking around and lowering his hands.
Fuck today to tomorrow and back, Khlid thought, still trying to get air into her lungs. Why had she put on a civilian coat? Why hadn’t she changed into a fresh uniform? Glancing down, she saw Chapman had swiped her badge as well, likely before they even entered the pub.
To add insult to injury, the son of a bitch hadn’t even tried to disarm her—just pinned her in such a way that she had no hope of raising her gun arm. That might be good, Khlid thought. If Chapman had planned on killing her on the spot, he certainly would have disarmed her fully.
Hope so. Khlid twisted her wrist and jabbed the barrel of her weapon into Chapman’s kneecap. He grunted in pain.
With what little air she had, Khlid said, “Do you want to be a cripple, Chapman?”
He’ll back down.
“No.” In a flash, Chapman lifted her, twisted his whole body, and slammed her head against the table of the booth she had just vacated.
Blackness.
* * *
Khlid heard Chapman’s voice. He seemed to be arguing with someone, saying he didn't need help taking his suspect back to the precinct. Semiconscious, she thought illogically, Why would Chapman need help when I’m here? Memories came back to her. Oh. A maddening headache crested, and pain became her reality for several seconds.
She heard Chapman speak more clearly now: “She’s coming to. I really must get going. Thank you again for your assistance, but I order you to go back inside and finish your drink.”
Some ambiguous, grumbling chat. Chapman putting his foot down. Footsteps growing distant.
Khlid became more aware of her position. No more than thirty seconds could have passed. She could still hear the bustle of the market. Judging from the pressure in her stomach and pain in her wrists, Chapman had tied Khlid up and flung her over his shoulder. Not exactly a traditional arrest, but who would interfere with an inspector appearing to subdue a dangerous criminal?
Trying to lift her head was a mistake. Pain consumed her again.
She realized Chapman was speaking to her as he walked. She tried to listen through the pain.
“—and now you might not even recover in time to make decent backup. I swear, if I have to retrieve that insufferable husband of yours, I’ll—”
Khlid couldn't make sense of the sounds anymore. She had regained consciousness quickly. But fuck if this wasn't the first long minute of a headache that would last a week.
There was no point trying to fight Chapman now. She was tied, injured, and disarmed. Even if she could subdue him, without any way to prove her authority, she’d be mobbed by outraged civilians. Wherever Chapman was taking her, she was along for the ride.
It turned out to be a place Khlid had never been: his home.
Chapman took her from his shoulder and propped her up beside him—still carrying her weight, but looking more innocent to his neighbors—and walked her around back.
He wrestled with his keys, but managed to get her inside without having to put her down.
In pain, Khlid failed to retain much about the small house. From the street, she had noted it was half of a duplex, but aside from that, things were remarkably blurry. How have I worked with you for all these years and don’t even know what your cabinets look like?
“You live close to the market,” she managed to get out.
“Indeed.” Chapman was placing her on a cold, smooth surface.
Oh, a bathroom. “Chapman, why am I in a tub?”
He was rummaging in the cabinet over the sink. “Because I just gave you a concussion. You might vomit.”
“I already knocked that off my to-do list today.”
“Allow me to err on the side of caution.”
“Fair enough.”
He turned to her and pushed a vial filled with purple fluid to her lips.
Khlid looked at it and almost laughed. “If you’re going to kill me, Chap, just use the gun.”
Chapman appeared briefly guilty. “Killing you is not on my to-do list. I just couldn't let you arrest me. Not tonight. Now, do I need to grab a syringe?”