“To the field. She wants you to meet with Bo.”
Ten
Cassidy stretched out on one of Quinn’s patio chairs, a highball of Glenlivet on ice between her thighs and the warm night air soft on her sticky skin.
Special Agent Harris wanted her to meet with Bo. Bruce hadn’t given her any more details other than when he would pick her up the following morning. After walking Emily to the Muni stop, she returned to Quinn’s apartment, craving the comfort found inside those walls. She cancelled her flight—an action she had been doing a lot lately—and dug out the scotch.
She was halfway through her drink before her mind downshifted.
Who was Bo?
Had Bruce told Special Agent Harris about her encounter with him? Why? And why did they want her to meet with him? He had to be involved in the case somehow. She shuddered. And I gave him my number.
She sipped the scotch, wondering if she would spend the rest of her life trusting the wrong people. A bigger, more prominent worry began to take over her attention. Bo’s goal was to meet with Quinn. So did the new adventure involve him, too?
I won’t let them use him, she thought, setting down her empty drink.
Cassidy pulled a blanket across her lap, hoping the diffuse city noises and salt air might distract her enough to soothe her frazzled mind. But after an hour, with her thoughts still churning and her limbs tense, she gave up.
Once in bed, she tried the deep breathing exercises that Jay, her grief counselor, had taught her. She began to feel more settled, but sleep still did not come. She turned to her fallback of creating a to-do list. But the many tasks waiting for her once she left San Francisco kept piling up, creating a tower so big she began to feel it sway under its own weight, and the idea of it falling on her wouldn’t let go. In her dreams, this is actually what happened. She was running and running but the toppling tower never got any farther away, and when it landed on her it broke like a wave and she woke, gasping, expecting to be soaking wet.
When her alarm woke her at six a.m. she groaned. Her head felt dull and her eye sockets ached. A shower only marginally improved her outlook. Quinn’s door was still ajar, meaning he hadn’t come home. Her phone showed no messages or texts from him.
Good for him, Emily had said.
Had Quinn finally met someone he liked for longer than a few days? Though she was careful not to pry, to her knowledge, Quinn had never stayed over at a girl’s.
Nobody will ever keep me from you, sis.
The empty kitchen felt lifeless without him. She realized that she wouldn’t see him before Bruce picked her up. Not wanting to disturb him, she scrawled a note on the back of an envelope alerting him of her change in plans and to please, please text her when he got home.
I won’t let them use him, she thought as she added coffee to his stovetop espresso maker.
When Bruce’s text alerted his presence thirty minutes later, she dumped her half-finished bowl of cereal in the sink and slipped into her shoes.
Bruce’s SUV idled just outside the exit, its pale exhaust drifting into the still morning air.
“Good morning,” he said as she slid into the passenger seat.
“Morning,” she replied, buckling her seat belt. Only after did she look at him, hoping for reassurance, or some kind of warmth, or for him to tease her, even. But there was only the firm set of his jaw and the quick, dark eyes.
Cassidy sucked her lower lip between her teeth.
“I wasn’t sure if you would want more coffee,” he said, nodding to the empty console. “We can stop.”
“No, that’s okay,” Cassidy said as Bruce pulled away from the curb.
All of her questions pushed to the surface at once, but she held them back, knowing Bruce would only tell her that Special Agent Harris would explain everything.
The drive passed in silence, with only the hum of the engine moving through the gears as a distraction.
“Did I do something wrong?” she finally worked up the courage to ask.
He eyed her sharply. “No, why would you think that?”
Because you’re acting weird, she wanted to say. “Because it feels like I’m being punished.”
Bruce shook his head. “I’m sorry.” He leaned back, his lips tightening. “That’s probably my fault.”
“Your fault?”
“I’m kind of fighting a battle inside my head.” He glanced at her. “I want to nail these guys. They are doing horrible, awful things, Cassidy. But I am not okay with putting you in danger to achieve that.”
“And Special Agent Harris is?”
“She says she’s evaluated the risks. If you cooperate, this could be a huge break for us.”
Cassidy tried to coax a breath into her tight throat. “So, I have a choice?”
“Of course,” he said.
“Okay,” Cassidy said with relief.
Once inside the building, they signed in and Bruce led her down the hall to the same conference room they had used the previous day. Moments later, Special Agent Harris stepped into the room in a yellow blouse and gray suit, her hair slicked back into a power bun and carrying a large three-ring binder. Behind her, Special Agent Santiago followed, dressed in a white dress shirt, no tie, no jacket, his gun holster and weapon on full display and carrying a white paper cup wrapped in a brown sleeve.
“Good morning, Dr. Kincaid,” Special Agent Harris said as she settled in the chair across from her, setting the binder to her right. “Special Agent Keolani has given you some precursory details of our request, correct?”
Cassidy glanced at Bruce, then nodded.
“Bo Min is a person of interest for several reasons.” She paused to clasp her hands together on the table. “His interest in you and your brother’s business makes this an opportunity we are keen to pursue.”
Her severe blue eyes didn’t flinch. Cassidy shifted in her chair.
Special
