“You're not getting it!” I was practically screaming now, since over two hours had passed and I hadn’t gotten anywhere. “I don’t know where she is!”

Agent Greaves—who had loosened his tie and now leaned against the wall with a tired air about him—sighed. It had taken over an hour just to convince them that I wasn't Chelsea and was, indeed, Megan. Up until then, they’d thought I was Chelsea and had stolen Megan’s ID. Finally, after getting them to look up a photo of her and thoroughly inspect our different freckle patterns, they’d believed me.

Even with that being the case, they wouldn't let me go. They wanted to know where Chelsea was, and I wanted to keep her location a secret. We were at a bit of an impasse.

“I find it very difficult to believe, Ms. Redfield,” Henderson interjected from where she stood in the far corner of the room, “that your sister bought a ticket to come to the Bahamas, came to see you, but never told you where she was heading afterward.” She stalked toward the table and slammed her fist down on the surface. “You're twins, damnit. Aren't you supposed to have some sort of psychic link?”

“What my colleague means, is that we don't believe you,” said Greaves. “You do know where Chelsea is, and you're deliberately not telling us.”

“I. Don't. Know.” I levelled a glare at Greaves, then Henderson, then back to Greaves. “You can interrogate me until the cows come home, but it's not going to make Chelsea come back. She left. Didn't tell me where she was going. She said it would be safer for me that way.”

“And what?” Henderson smiled cruelly. “You just went back to work after hearing this bombshell announcement? You didn't go after her?” Her lips pursed into a fake pout. “That doesn't sound like something a good sister would do.”

“Well, then I'm a bad sister.” I crossed my arms and leaned back in my chair.

Yeah, I didn't appreciate my sister getting me into this crap. And yeah, I was going to give her hell the next time I saw her—if I ever saw her again—but she was still my sister, and I wasn’t going to give her up.

“Did your sister tell you why she stole the money?” Greaves asked.

I sat up. “No.” It was one of the only truths I'd told that day.

Henderson slid back into the chair next to her partner, smiling like the cat who ate the canary. “I thought sisters talked about everything, I thought twins knew everything about each other...” I rolled my eyes. I'd been putting up with this woman's shit for hours now, and I was well past taking it well.

“I wonder why Chelsea didn't tell you what happened at Brinkman Tech...” She turned to Greaves. “Do you think she was embarrassed?”

Greaves gave a tired shrug. I found it somewhat comforting that he was clearly a little too tired for his partner's games, too.

“Just spit it out,” I told Henderson. “I think we're all ready for this day to be over, and you're making it unnecessarily long and annoying.”

My comment ruffled her a little, but she tried not to show it.

“Your sister was screwing her married boss,” Henderson said with a cruel lift of her brow. “He ended things with her, and she got so upset that she decided to take it out on the company. And on you.”

The statement hit me like a blow to the chest. I opened my mouth to let out a snarky retort, but it dried up on my tongue.

“You're lying.” I chewed on my bottom lip. “You're just trying to get a rise out of me.”

“She's not lying,” said Greaves. “We have Donald O'Malley's statement, if you'd like to read it.” He began shuffling through a folder on the table, and pulled out a signed statement from Chelsea's former boss.

It was just as Henderson had said. Donald and Chelsea had been seeing each other secretly for a few months, and he had ended things with her when his conscience had gotten too heavy. A week later, Chelsea had hopped on a plane to the Bahamas. The rest was history.

“Believe me now?” Henderson smirked.

“Whatever. Believing you or not believing you won't help me figure out my sister's location through the power of wishful thinking. She's gone, and I don't know where.”

Greaves let out another, longer sigh.

Henderson merely worked her jaw and glared daggers at me.

“I think we're all getting rather tired here, don't you?” Greaves asked, pushing himself away from the wall.

“I agree. Let's pick this up tomorrow.” Henderson swiped at the loose strands of hair on her forehead.

“Tomorrow?” I blanched. “You're just going to let me sit in a cell for the night? I told you, I don't know where she is! Waiting until tomorrow isn't going to help.”

The smile Henderson gave me this time was positively devious. “You won't have time for a cell,” she said. “You've got a flight to catch.”

“What?”

She nodded. “We're extraditing you back to home soil. Once we're there, we'll have expert interrogators work you over until you speak.”

“She makes it sound like they're going to torture you,” Greaves interjected. “But it's much more boring than that. You won't like it, though.”

“You can't do this!” I said. “I've got rights!”

“As far as rights are concerned, we have every right to take you back to the States, and to continue to question you until there is no possibility that you’re withholding information.”

The pair swanned out of the interrogation room, leaving me in the uncomfortable metal chair with a new understanding of the word helpless.

What was I going to do? What was Chelsea going to do? Why hadn't she told me about what happened with her boss? I didn't want to believe it was because of what Henderson had said. What if Chelsea had been too embarrassed, and knew what she'd done was wrong? I couldn't think of any other reason for it.

My sister didn't know where I was, and even if she did, would she do anything? A few hours ago, I would have said that she absolutely would, but now, I didn't know what to think.

Then again, maybe Henderson was right. Maybe I just didn't know my sister anymore.

* * *

“Ready to go?”

I looked up and saw Greaves standing in the doorway. I'd had my face pressed against the cool metal of the table for the past fifteen minutes, and had almost been able to convince myself that this was all some sort of horrible dream.

Almost, but not close enough.

“Actually I have a few errands I need to run before we leave,” I said tartly, rising from the chair.

Greaves chuckled humorlessly and walked behind me, pulling my hands back and snapping the cuffs back around my wrists.

“This would be a lot easier for you if you'd give up your sister,” he murmured. “What has she done for you? Nothing. You're up to your neck in shit because of her, and where is she?”

I swallowed down a bitter retort. I didn't have the energy to argue anymore.

“Just take me to the airport. I'm tired, and I'd like to see somebody else's face for a change.”

“Whatever you say.” Greaves led me out the door, then down the long hallway.

Apparently, my star factor hadn't decreased during my time in confinement. The officers in the precinct still stared at me like a circus attraction on my way through. I stared at the floor.

Henderson was waiting outside, smoking a cigarette. She sneered at me as Greaves loaded me into the back of their SUV.

We rode the bumpy drive in silence. Greaves and Henderson had nothing left to ask, and I had nothing left to say. Not that I'd had much to say in the first place. I stared out the window at the scenery, wishing I could be anywhere but here. The Bahamas had been my paradise not long ago. In fact, the tropical environment had afforded me one of the best nights of my life—one that I would never forget.

But I was alone now, in the back of a car with tinted windows, so I couldn't even feel the sun.

The security entrance of the airport was desolate when we arrived. I supposed the two FBI agents didn't trust me around large groups of people, so they parked and unloaded me far away from the bustling departures entrance of the building. The door Greaves steered me toward was dull and gray, and I expected much of my trip back to the States would be the same.

The sound of squealing tires had all three of us snapping our gazes behind us. A sleek black coupe had just made a quick stop next to the agents' SUV, and I wondered idly if I was about to be kidnapped by Chelsea's former employer. The situation was certainly dramatic enough.

Both doors opened, and my mouth dried as I watched Joel get out from the driver's side. He appeared genuinely distressed to see me in handcuffs, my arms held tightly by the two agents. I was genuinely distressed that he had to see me like this, too. I wanted to tell him to leave, to go back to his plane and his practice and forget this day ever happened. I didn't want him to remember me like this.

“Wait!”

Oh, no.

Chelsea bounded over from the other side of the car. “She's innocent. I swear. I'm the person you want.”

Greaves and Henderson exchanged a look of surprise.

“You're Chelsea Redfield?” Henderson asked.

“Well, I'm certainly not her freaking clone,” Chelsea replied. “I'm here to turn myself in.”

Though I mentally congratulated Chelsea for the quip she directed at Henderson, I knew it wasn't going to bode well for her in the long-term.

Joel stayed beside the car, watching but not intervening. I supposed there was nothing he could do. He was a doctor, not a lawyer, and certainly not an FBI agent. I tried not to focus on him.

Henderson pulled out another set of handcuffs and gestured for Chelsea to turn around. “Come on. We'll miss the flight if we don't go now. We'll have to do extra paperwork now that there are two of you.”

Chelsea took a step back, eyes wide. “No! You have to let her go. Megan didn't do anything.”

Henderson's smile was predatory. “That's for the legal system of the United States of America to decide. You're both going to have to come with us.”

“You heard her,” Joel said, finally making his presence known. “Megan didn't do anything. Let her go.”

Henderson looked Joel up and down, clearly appreciative of his fine physique. “You should watch yourself, or I'll be taking you, too.”

“Your threats don't scare me.”

I'd never been more attracted to Joel than I was in that moment. He was standing up for me, even though he barely knew me. Even though he probably still had only the most basic understanding of what was going on here.

I wanted to kiss him. But I would probably never kiss him again.

“Come on, Chelsea.” Henderson rattled the cuffs. “Turn around and put your hands behind your back before I come over there and do it for you.”

Chelsea, tears welling in her eyes, looked to me. I gave her the tiniest of nods. Then, she turned and reluctantly held out her hands for the FBI agent, who roughly cuffed her and yanked her towards the security door.

“Thanks for the delivery, handsome,” Henderson called behind her.

Greaves turned me and nudged me toward the door, but I cast one final look behind me.

Joel was standing there still, eyes narrowed in an expression of deep consternation. It broke my heart to see him like that, just as it looked every bit as though it broke his heart to see me dragged into the airport in handcuffs.