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she was nervous. But now . . . now Nora has a look I’ve never seen before. Her eyes are wide and her lips are slightly open. She tries to tuck a stray piece of hair between her ear and the edge of the baseball cap, but her hands are shaking. My world comes to an instant halt.
    “Let’s go!” the officer barks. “Out of the car.”
    Nora slowly follows his instructions. As she walks around to the driver’s side, the officer’s partner approaches the three of us. He’s a short black man with an arrogant cop stride. “Everything okay?” he asks.
    “Not sure yet.” The first cop turns back to me. “Let’s see ’em spread.”
    “Spread? What’d I do?”
    He grabs me by the back of the neck and whips me against the side of the Jeep. “Open up!”
    I do as he says, but not without protest. “You’ve got no probable cause to—”
    “You a lawyer?” he asks.
    I shouldn’t have picked this fight. “Yeah,” I say hesitantly.
    “Then sue me.” As he pats me down, he jabs a sharp thumb into my ribs. “Should’ve told her to calm down,” he says. “Now she’s going to have to miss work tomorrow.”
    I don’t believe it. He doesn’t recognize her. Keeping her head as low as possible, Nora stands next to me and spreads her arms across the side of the Jeep. The second officer pats Nora down, but she’s not paying much attention. Like me, she’s too busy watching the first officer head for the glove compartment.
    From where I’m standing, I see him open the passenger door. As he climbs inside, there’s a jingle of handcuffs and keys. Then a quiet click near the dashboard. My mouth goes dry and it’s getting harder to breathe. I look over at Nora, but she’s decided to look away. Her eyes are glued to the ground. It’s not going to be much longer.
    “Oh, baby,” the officer announces. His voice is filled with shove-it-in-your-face glee. He slams the door shut and strides around to our side of the car. As he approaches, he’s holding one hand behind his back.
    “What is it?” the second officer asks.
    “See for yourself.”
    I look up, expecting to see Nora’s brown prescription vial. Maybe even a stash of cocaine. Instead, the cop is holding a single stack of hundred dollar bills.
    Son of a bitch. She took the money.
    “Now either of you want to tell me what you’re doing driving around with this kinda cash?”
    Neither of us says a word.
    I look at Nora, and she’s paste white. Gone is the cocky and wild vitality that led us through the stop signs, out of thebar, and up the embankment. In its place is that look she’s had since we got pulled out of the car. Fear. It’s all over her face and it’s still making her hands shake. She simply can’t be caught with this money. Even if it’s not against the law to have it, even if they can’t arrest her, this isn’t something that’s going to be easy to explain. In this neighborhood. With this amount of cash. The drug stories alone will shred what’s left of her reputation. Rolling Stone will be the least of her problems.
    She turns to me and once again opens her soft side. Her usually tough eyes are welled up with tears. She’s begging for help. And like it or not, I’m the only one who can save her. With a few simple words, I can spare her all that pain and embarrassment. Then she and the President . . . I catch myself. No. No, it’s not about that. It’s like I said before. It’s not for her father. Or her title. It’s for her. Nora. Nora needs me.
    “I asked you a question,” the officer says as he waves the pile of cash. “Whose is this?”
    I take one last look at Nora. That’s all I need. Shoving confidence back into my voice, I turn to the officer and say two words: “It’s mine.”

CHAPTER 3
    L ike a judge with a gavel, the officer slowly taps the wad of money in his right hand against the open palm of his left. “Where’d you get it?” he asks, annoyed.
    “Excuse me?” I reply. Time to stall.
    “Don’t yank