Cassidy shook hands with Special Agent Harris and her partner, Special Agent Santiago.
“We have a lot to cover Dr. Kincaid,” Special Agent Harris said, her words sharp. “Shall we?”
Without waiting for a reply, she led Cassidy down the hallway. Cassidy used the distance to erase the image of Pete’s notebook and the images on the board.
At the doorway to a conference room, Bruce’s hand was at her back, as if to steady her as he ushered her inside.
Special Agent Harris wasted no time. After they entered the room, this one with an oval table at its center and no windows, she directed Cassidy to a chair, then closed the door behind them. A square side table in the corner held an opened case of clear plastic water bottles.
Once they were settled, with both task force agents across from her and Bruce to her left, Special Agent Harris pressed the button on a black device in the middle of the table. Cassidy noticed her unpolished yet perfectly curved nails.
“Please state your name and occupation for the record,” Special Agent Harris said, folding open a medium-sized notebook and clicking on a black pen.
Cassidy inhaled a steadying breath and complied, forcing the tremor from her voice.
“Special Agent Keoloani has given us the rough draft, so let’s fill in the blanks. We’ll start at the biker rally,” Special Agent Harris said, tilting her head. “What led you there?”
“I got a call from someone I met earlier at a truck stop in Biggs Junction, a biker.”
Cassidy watched Special Agent Harris jotting notes, her black pen moving fluidly across the page.
“I had been there the day before.” She remembered interviewing the trucker and the convenience store stocker. “Hitchhiking seemed like the only form of transportation out of there.”
Special Agent Harris looked up, expectant.
“I gave this biker my number.”
She watched Special Agent Harris’s eyes flash. Cassidy could almost hear the scolding.
“The biker told me he saw Izzy at the rally with this other guy, Lars.” Cassidy suffered through a moment of anguish. Lars, who was now dead. Her palms felt sticky again. She licked her lips.
“Lars told you about Saxon?” Special Agent Santiago asked, tapping the end of his pencil against the table.
Cassidy nodded. “Someone saw her leave with him.”
“So you just thought it was okay to track him down?” Special Agent Harris said, her voice edged with irritation.
Cassidy couldn’t hold her gaze. “I didn’t think it would be dangerous.”
“Sounds like you didn’t think at all,” Special Agent Harris said, crossing her arms.
“You’re right,” Cassidy said with difficulty. “I was under the impression that Izzy was just blowing off steam, not about to get involved in…selling herself.”
Special Agent Harris narrowed her eyes. “Let’s move on to the club,” she said, flipping the pages of her book to one full of notes.
Cassidy described the wait at the bar, being escorted upstairs by the bouncers, and how Saxon had offered to take her to the place in the Mission where he had supposedly dropped Izzy the night before.
“It was stupid,” Cassidy said in a rush. “But I had no other option.”
“Where did he drop you?”
“I don’t remember,” Cassidy said, her head thudding as she remembered the smell from the diner that had sent her tumbling into another terrifying flashback. “But Izzy wasn’t there. I searched the apartment buildings. Knocked on doors.”
“So why did you go back to the club?” Special Agent Harris said, her eyes narrowing. “You had just learned that you couldn’t trust him.”
The memory of the flashback and the conviction that she would never be right again surged through her once more. “Because she had no one else, okay?” The words shot out before she could soften them. “Her father wasn’t coming, and he forbade us to contact the police.”
Special Agent Harris’s nostrils flared.
“Once I got back to the club, I found out what was about to happen, or at least what could be about to happen, and I wasn’t going to stop until I found her.” Cassidy tried to slow her fast breaths. She wished there was a window she could open to erase the feeling of being trapped in a box. I’ve got this fear that you’re going to go in there and never come out...
“The warehouse,” Special Agent Harris said, her frustration with Cassidy evident in her hardened expression.
“Dutch gave me his bike,” Cassidy began.
“Whoa. Dutch?” Special Agent Santiago said, connecting eyes with Special Agent Harris for a moment.
Cassidy reached through her memories. Hadn’t she already explained her connection to Dutch? “He’s the biker who told me Izzy was at the rally. He gave me a ride to the club after my car broke down.” Her heartbeat jumped when she remembered her hasty goodbye. “They beat him up or he probably would have driven me to the warehouse, too.”
Bruce shifted his position, but his eyes were blank when she looked at him. He gave her a reassuring nod.
She shared the story of finding the warehouse and getting in through the back window, watching Special Agent Harris’s face darken with each of Cassidy’s missteps.
“You went in there in full defiance of orders from an FBI agent, Dr. Kincaid,” she fumed. “I could arrest you.”
Cassidy grimaced. “I didn’t think about it like that at the time.”
Special Agent Santiago stood from his chair. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” he uttered, rubbing his chin in distress.
“It’s my fault,” Bruce interrupted. “I should have tried harder to stop her. I really didn’t think she would go in there.”
Special Agent Harris glanced at Bruce. “But you were in D.C.” Her gaze refocused on Cassidy. “No, Dr. Kincaid did this on her own.”
A sense of frustration rose up inside her. “You weren’t there,” she said, feeling like she might burst. “I couldn’t let them hurt Izzy.” A flash of memory popped into her mind of Mel dragging her down the stairs of his treehouse while her fingernails scratched desperately to get the knife open.
“You very nearly destroyed eleven months of work, Dr. Kincaid,” Special
