My brother’s hand closed around the handcuffs, but he did not pull them free immediately.
He gave James one final opportunity to release me willingly.
“Take your hand off her wrist.”
James stared at the officer’s face, searching for some sign that he had misunderstood.
Their eyes moved between each other and me.
The resemblance was unmistakable once he knew to look for it.
James loosened his grip, but only slightly.
“Your sister?” he said.
“She never told me her brother was a police officer.”
The answer revealed more than he intended.
He had not denied hurting me.
He was offended only that I had possessed protection he had not accounted for.
My brother stepped closer.
“Release her.
Now.”
James opened his hand.
Blood rushed back into my fingers with a painful throb.
I drew my arm against my chest and covered my stomach with the other hand.
The bruise around my wrist had already taken the shape of his fingers.
My brother positioned himself between us without touching James.
“Are you injured?” he asked me.
James answered before I could.
“She fell.
I was keeping her from falling again.”
The socialite beside the broken vase made a small, disgusted sound.
James turned toward her.
“You saw what happened.”
The woman looked at the shards around her shoes.
Her face tightened with shame.
“Yes,” she said.
“I did.”
James’s confidence returned for half a second.
Then she raised her eyes.
“I saw you shove her into that case.”
The boutique became completely still.
The cashier stepped away from the register.
“I saw it too.”
James looked from one witness to another as though they had violated a contract he believed his wealth had written for them.
“You people have no idea what you’re talking about,” he snapped.
“My wife is emotionally unstable.”
My brother touched the radio at his shoulder.
He requested another patrol unit and a medical team.
Then he stated clearly that the victim was his sister and asked that an uninvolved officer take control of the investigation as soon as backup arrived.
Even in that moment, he followed procedure.
James could not later claim that my brother had manufactured evidence or abused his authority.
James seemed to understand that.
His expression sharpened.
“You should leave this to someone objective,” he said.
“You’re obviously emotional.”
My brother did not rise to the insult.
“I’m stopping an assault I witnessed,” he replied.
“Another officer will handle the statements.”
“I never assaulted her.”
The boutique manager finally emerged from behind the counter.
Her hidden hand had not been empty.
She had pressed the silent alarm beneath the register when the glass cracked.
