“I want you to remain here until we have him in custody,” Special Agent Harris said. “Stay in this room. If I’m right, this will all be over fast and we’ll be back soon.”
Cassidy had expected something like this, but still bristled at the scolding tone. “What if something goes wrong?”
“Both Special Agent Santiago and I will be close by. Plus, we have backup standing by if we need it.” She moved around the table to stand by Quinn’s side. “This is what we do, Dr. Kincaid. We won’t let anything happen to him.”
Cassidy closed her eyes. How many times had she been promised that the people she loved wouldn’t leave her?
“Come here,” Quinn said, and pulled her into his arms.
Cassidy held him tight, burying her face against his collarbone. If only Bruce were going to be there, too, I wouldn’t be so scared. Where the hell was he? What could be more important than this?
“It’s time,” Special Agent Santiago said behind her.
Reluctantly, Cassidy let him go. Quinn winked at her. She held his gaze for a long moment, hoping it conveyed everything she wished she could say. Then, he turned away.
Cassidy sank into the chair, her mind slowly petrifying to a hard, empty void. Sliding her arms across the smooth, cold table, she glanced at the clock on the wall opposite her. Had it been here when this building was a school district headquarters? She imagined principals and administrators gathering here with paper coffee cups in their hands to talk about things like building codes and budget cuts.
The wall clock ticked, signaling a minute had passed. Cassidy groaned, knowing there was no way she was going to be able to sit here and wait.
She used her burner phone to text Bruce but didn’t receive a reply.
She imagined Quinn driving his motorcycle to the alley behind Drift. Would Bo already be there? Or would Quinn have to wait? She pictured them shaking hands, Quinn inviting him inside. During the daytime, Drift felt too bright, too quiet. She noticed things like the color of the flooring, the art on the walls, the smell of the glassware coming out of the dishwasher. It was impossible to imagine the vibe that took over the place after dark.
Where would Bo propose his favor? In the bar? In the alley? Maybe they wouldn’t even get inside.
How would Bo suggest it? She remembered the predatory look in his eyes the night before. What if this was all a setup and Quinn was in danger? A shiver electrified her spine.
She checked her phone again. No reply.
Desperate to do something, anything, she bolted to her feet. But there was nowhere to go.
The first half-hour passed minute by minute while Cassidy tried to distract herself with thoughts not related to Bo and the setup. She forced herself to think through the steps to a research idea she was pursuing in New Zealand; creating a mental checklist of grants she could apply for, imagining the team of scientists and students she would orchestrate. It worked for a while, and then she was back in this windowless prison, pacing, her fears stacking up in the corners of her mind.
A knock at the door startled her. “Come in,” she said, taking a step back.
An agent named Andy poked his head into the room. “Hey, you need anything?”
Cassidy scanned the room, looking for what might be missing that he could bring her. “Where’s Bruce?”
“Busy,” he answered smoothly.
“Do you know how it’s going? At Drift?” she asked.
The agent shook his head. “They’ll report when they have something.”
Cassidy nodded.
“Okay, well, I’ll check back in a bit, or sooner if I have news.” He paused a moment longer, as if he was about to say something, then tucked back behind the door.
Cassidy moved on in her mind to the paper she was cowriting with Dr. Brian Dobbs in Cambridge about the application of harmonic tremor data to mapping the plumbing of an active hot spot volcano. But her thoughts kept getting interrupted by unwanted flashes—Bo’s body pinning her to the table, Bruce pulling her close on Quinn’s lounge chair, Bo’s arm draped across her shoulder and his startling invitation to take her home, Bruce’s bare torso wrapped in a towel and the visible, pink scar.
If the agents didn’t catch Bo in the act, what would happen? Or what if they did, but couldn’t turn him into the informant they needed? Would it ever be safe for her to return to San Francisco? Would Quinn be safe here?
Too much is riding on this, she thought, imagining Special Agent Harris explaining their plan to place her in the Witness Protection Program. She would never see Quinn or Bruce or Emily again.
“No!” she said, her voice a garbled growl. She shut her eyes. That can’t happen. I’ll do whatever it takes to prevent it.
Somewhere in the building, a door opened, followed by voices she recognized. Moving quickly to a location out of sight from the doorway, as if needing to hide in this windowless room, she held her breath as the voices grew closer.
“I told you, I can’t be here!” Bo’s angry voice blared as they approached.
“Take it easy,” Special Agent Santiago’s steady voice replied. “All we want to do is talk, and if what you’re saying checks out, you’ll be free to go.”
“If I’m not there tonight, don’t bother because I’ll be as good as dead.”
“You’re safe now with us,” Special Agent Santiago said.
“Fuck you,” Bo sneered. “You think that’s supposed to reassure me?”
They moved closer, nearing her door. She heard the sharp tapping of what she assumed was Special Agent Harris’s pumps. Cassidy shrunk back further.
“Who set me up?” Bo said. “Quinn?”
“Offering to wash your dirty money is a federal crime, Bo. He’ll get his day in court, too,” Special Agent Santiago said. “You guys
