They left the now-quiet building and walked to Bruce’s SUV, the streetlights casting a dull glow over the pale concrete. “I’m going to drop you at a restaurant in the Fillmore, then you’ll call a ride so it looks legit.”
Suppressing a shiver, Cassidy climbed into the front seat. “The other agents are listening right now?” she asked.
“Yes.” Bruce pulled out of the parking lot.
“So, I can talk to them?”
Bruce frowned at her.
“Say I needed to get them a message. I could go to the restroom and talk to them, right?”
“Technically, yes, but you probably only get one trip before he suspects something.”
“Right,” Cassidy replied, coaxing a long breath into her lungs.
“It’s a busy bar.” Bruce turned onto a busy thoroughfare. “I don’t expect this to be any more than Bo’s way of assessing Quinn’s willingness to play ball.”
“But if he suspects we’re setting him up, what will he do?”
Bruce’s jaw flexed. “He’ll end it quietly. There’s nothing in it for him to cause a scene.”
Cassidy tried to use this information to calm her galloping heart, but it was thumping so hard into her ears that she couldn’t think. “Where will you be?”
“Nearby.”
She tucked her hands between her bare knees. Was he purposefully not telling her because he couldn’t? Or in case something happened to her, she wouldn’t compromise his safety?
From the back seat, Quinn’s phone chirped. The car filled with his short responses, then he hung up. “Sorry, that was my manager. Should I turn my phone off?” he asked.
“As soon as you get to the bar, yeah, that’s a good idea,” Bruce said.
“Got it,” he said, followed by the sound of keys being texted.
They passed through several lights, the buildings changing from industrial to residential, to a mix of businesses and apartments, and then Bruce was pulling up on a side street.
Cassidy’s gut did a nauseating down-up bounce into her knees.
“After, call a ride and go to Quinn’s. I’ll meet you there.” He pointed to a glass-fronted restaurant with the name “Salvo’s” written in gold on the door. “It’s actually decent Italian,” he said, as if the three of them were about to grab a late-night meal together. Cassidy wished it were true and imagined the scent of garlic and the steam of noodles cooking, the intimate table where the three of them could relax and listen to Quinn tell stories that made them laugh.
The sound of Quinn’s door opening startled her from her reverie, and then she felt Bruce’s hand slide over hers.
She watched his face, trying to soak up every last bit of strength from him, but her throat shut down and her legs turned to jelly.
“You’re going to do great.” He squeezed her hand. “I’ll see you after at Quinn’s.”
Cassidy willed her furiously beating heart to settle, but the butterflies ran off with it to hide and she had to try again. Breathe. In, out. She held Bruce’s hand tight as her emotions and fears swirled inside her.
Bruce let go and flashed a smile, but Cassidy could already feel her walls going up. She slipped from the car and shut the door, then followed Quinn across the street. Behind her, Bruce’s SUV rolled from the curb, accelerating into the night.
Quinn was already tapping away on his phone for a rideshare. Beneath her t-shirt, the transmitter itched against her skin. She could not feel the wire and resisted the urge to check that it was still there.
“Three minutes,” Quinn said. “Hey, you’re going to have to quit looking like someone killed your cat.”
She shot him a look.
“How about a joke?”
“How can you even think about joking right now?” she asked.
He gave her a sympathetic glance. “Well, we need to do something.” His face lit up. “I know, tell me about your next project. Aren’t you going to New Zealand?”
Cassidy felt the tug of the familiar and grabbed it willingly. By the time she had given him the details of an upcoming research trip to Whakaari Island, their rideshare was pulling up to the curb.
Quinn didn’t let up once they were inside the car, asking her questions about the recent volcanic activity there and what her work planned to contribute, and before she had fully grasped what was happening, the car stopped at a corner and she was stepping into the warm night air.
“Right on time,” Quinn said, checking his watch. In the lamplight, his handsome face flashed her a look of kindness, of confidence. “Let’s do this,” he said.
Cassidy tried to banish her fear, to rearrange her face so that it looked more like Quinn’s.
Inside the narrow bar, Cassidy sighted down the length of stools but didn’t see Bo. He wasn’t at the half-booths lining the opposite wall, either.
“Let’s get a drink,” Quinn said, leading her to the one open stool in the center of the bar. Cassidy perched on it, taking in the hundreds of bottles stacked on the back bar, lit by a red glow.
The bartender swooped in with a damp cloth, then took their order.
“Have you been here before?” Cassidy asked, taking in more of the décor. Two rows of small, white lights lined the seams of the ceiling, two fans whirring ineffectively between them. Mirrors adorned with beer company logos and framed beverage company memorabilia covered the walls above the booths along the opposite wall.
“Yeah, a few times,” he replied, watching the bartender with interest.
As the bartender slid their pints across the bar, his gaze lifted to something behind them.
Cassidy turned to see Bo in a black t-shirt and jeans, his mischievous eyes dancing. “Damn. You guys starting without me?”
“We were thirsty,” Quinn joked.
Bo’s hand clapped Quinn on the shoulder. “Fighting Cock on the rocks,” he said to the bartender, who nodded and spun away.
Bo winked at her, then nodded at a vacant booth. “Let’s snag that, shall we?”
In the next moment, time slowed to a crawl: Quinn walked ahead with his beer, Cassidy stood with hers, and Bo fell in next to her, his hand pressing firmly into her lower back.
