Cut met my eyes through the scanner. He hadn’t gone through yet. He didn’t say a word, crossing his arms, waiting for my decision.

I bit my lip. “No, here is fine.”

“Alright.” Clasping her hands, she ordered, “I need you to spread your legs and hold your arms out to the side.”

Other passengers milled around, slyly watching as they grabbed their bags and slipped into shoes and jackets.

I did my best to comply, but my arm burned. God, how it burned.

Without asking for permission, she swept swift hands from my wrists to my shoulders and down the front of my chest. My white jumper with a unicorn in the same grey colours of Moth gave way beneath her touch. Her fingers pried at the underwire of my bra, ensuring there was nothing hidden. Skimming my leggings, she returned to my chest and slipped her fingers beneath my diamond collar.

I held my breath, forcing myself not to choke as she tugged a little, running her touch right around my neck.

She pursed her lips. “You’ll have to take the sling off. I want to x-ray it.”

I awkwardly shrugged out of it, passing it to her one-handedly.

She placed it onto a tray and gave it to another guard to run it through the x-ray machine.

“I’ll also need to see inside your cast.” Pulling free a torch from the arsenal on her belt, she said, “Stand to the side and hold out your arm.”

Air suddenly turned to soup.

Tears pricked as I handed over my broken limb, throbbing with the crime of diamonds.

Cut was wrong.

A cast didn’t offer sympathy these days. Perhaps in the past it had. Once upon a time, the sign of weakness and pain might’ve allowed a trafficker free range to import whatever they wanted by tucking a parcel of contraband in a fake cast. But not anymore. People had no empathy these days. High on their careers and pompous on their commitment to protect the borders—any shred of compassion had disappeared beneath strict training and no-nonsense.

I stiffened as the woman bent closer, her torch illuminating the inside of my cast. Could she see? Did the sparkle of diamonds glitter through the plaster?

Cut came through the body scanner, cleared by the male officer. He never took his eyes off me as he collected his briefcase and my sling from the conveyer belt. Coming closer, he pulled free the envelope the African doctor had given him before we boarded. “I have the x-ray if you need it. She’s my daughter-in-law.” Yanking out the images of my abused arm, he shoved it at the woman currently peering down my cast.

She pulled back, frowning. “I didn’t ask for evidence. The signs of pain are obvious.”

Cut smiled smugly. I knew his thoughts—they glowed in his eyes. I told you people could see a faker from the truth.

Dropping her torch, she inspected the x-ray quickly. The light of the airport showed what Cut had done to my arm with clear precision.

Stupidly, I’d hoped Cut had been wrong. That the mallet had only severely bruised me. That the snapping sound I heard wasn’t an internal structure giving way, merely a movement of the table.

However, the image clearly showed a clean break on one of the two bones in my forearm. The two pieces hadn’t separated, but the large shadow was enough to make me faint. Cut obviously had practice. The fracture would knit together, eventually.

Won’t it?

He’d broken me, and I hadn’t had proper doctor care.

Would it need to be reset? How long did something like that take to heal?

I squeezed my eyes. Will I die with this fracture?

“How did you hurt your arm, Miss?” The officer pursed her red-painted lips.

My heart fluttered as fear ran amok. “I don’t—I’m not—”

Jethro.

Lie better.

Cut crossed his arms, crunching the x-ray in his grip.

“I—I fell.” Standing taller, I sucked in a breath. “My father-in-law and I were on a safari. One of those open top, no door Jeeps. I didn’t listen to the guide and we went over a gully and bounced quite hard.” I dropped my eyes. “I fell out of the car and broke my arm.”

Cut laughed. “Kids. Can’t teach them survival skills these days.”

Annoyance painted her face. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to step back.” The woman pointed toward baggage claim. “Your daughter-in-law will catch up with you when she’s finished here.”

I narrowed my eyes.

Morbidly, I didn’t want him to go. I didn’t want to give him any reason to hurt Jethro. He’d bolstered my tale, given x-rays with evidence. I wasn’t delusional to think it was to keep me from breaking my promise to Kite.

All he cared about were the diamonds stuffed in my cast—smuggling his own wealth to avoid taxes and government thresholds.

My stomach twisted.

He would cut off my head before Jethro managed to find a way to chase me back to England. And Jethro would have to live every day knowing that he failed.

That fate was worse than death.

My shoulders slouched as a rogue tear escaped my control.

The airport officer softened. “It’s okay.”

Cut moved a few steps away, always watching, always controlling.

“Is there anything you want to tell me, Miss?” The woman widened her eyes. I guessed she tried to come across as sympathetic and helpful, but it only made her more duplicitous.

I shook my head. “No, I’m just in pain, that’s all.”

Holding up the sling Cut had passed back to me, I asked, “Can I put this back on?”