“Yes ma’am,” he replied, but she heard the lightness in his tone. Muffled voices sounded in the background and she wondered if his meeting was breaking up.
“I need to see you,” she said.
“Oh?” She didn’t take time to interpret the surprise in his voice. “Remember how I told you that Preston Ford stopped by the studio after my interview?”
“Right,” he said, with a sigh. “You were spooked.”
“Turns out he and my dad and Tony Ellis created some kind of charity organization for drug-addicted kids twenty years ago.”
“Tony Ellis, wow. Your dad must have been some kind of bigwig.”
Cassidy ignored this. “One of their projects is providing free medical care, Bruce.”
“You think they recruit for the sex trade? Come on, Cass. This is your dad we’re talking about.”
“I know!” she said, flustered. “But what if they’re linked? What if my dad was part of this?” Saying it out loud made her vision tunnel. She forced herself to focus on the edge of the white countertop across the room while she coaxed three full breaths into her lungs.
“Have you slept at all?” She pictured him frowning down at her, concern tightening his eyes.
“Yes,” she lied. “Bruce, I’m not delirious.”
She waited through a long pause. “Okay. Send me the details, and I’ll pass them on.”
Cassidy pinched the bridge of her nose. That doesn’t sound very promising, she wanted to say but held her complaints. It was pointless.
Bruce released another yawn. “I’ll go check on Quinn, okay?”
After ending the call, Cassidy returned to her data crawl. She made sure there were no other events in Seattle that night involving Preston Ford. Clicking pages and links, she read the individual websites of several of the intake centers: the one in Portland, and the two already established in Seattle. One was located in the heart of downtown, in an area she would never visit alone after dark.
A memory of Reeve and her dad fighting floated into her mind. Her dad had discovered his stash of pot. The irony was not lost on her. Reeve had been headed for danger while her dad formed an organization intended to help kids like him. Yet Reeve had still descended into addiction. If her father had lived, would he have been able to stop Reeve’s downward spiral? Would Reeve still be alive?
Her phone chirped, yanking her back from her memories. But it wasn’t Quinn.
“They released him last night,” Bruce said, sounding agitated.
“Oh,” she said. “That’s good.”
“No, it’s not.”
A tingle of anxiety rushed over her skin. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know what happened. He was safer here, so we held him. Cassidy, I have to go.”
“Wait!” she cried. “Bruce, what’s wrong? I don’t understand.”
“Somebody messed up. Do you know where he might have gone?”
“He’s not home?”
“No, someone’s already checked.”
“Oh,” she said as her mind played catch-up. Quinn hadn’t replied to her call or text, but she’d assumed it was because he was still in jail. “I think he’s got a girlfriend,” she said. Would Quinn have gone to her last night?
“Name? Address?”
“I don’t know,” she said, searching her memories of the past few days. Had he mentioned her name, even in passing? “I don’t know anything about her. Or even if that’s what’s been keeping him so busy at night lately. I’ve been teasing him about it, actually, but he hasn’t shared. He’s…like that.”
“Okay, don’t worry,” he said, though she knew this sudden downshift was for her benefit. “He’s probably just crashed out. It was a long night.”
“He’s rarely up before nine.” She checked the time: 9:50. Another thought came to her. “He could be out running. He never takes his phone.”
“That’s it,” Bruce said, sounding more sure of himself.
Her stormy thoughts quelled as an image of Quinn jogging the city streets, his tired face calm in concentration. It was exactly what he’d do after such a crazy night. “I’ll call you when I hear from him,” she said.
“Okay.”
“So, am I getting out of here soon?”
“Might be a little longer,” he said. “I know it’s tough,” he added quickly, as if sensing her protest.
“Can you at least tell me yet what happened?”
“We intercepted a shipment,” he said. “And it’s opened up several leads.”
“A shipment of people?” she asked. “Where are they? I mean, what happens to them?”
“Immigration has a system in place.”
“Will they get to go home?”
“Depends. Some don’t have a home to return to. Some families don’t want them back.”
Cassidy winced.
“Look, I’m going to catch a few hours of sleep,” he said, sounding exhausted. “But I still want you to call when you hear from Quinn.”
After ending the call, she gazed around the apartment, every surface so white it blinded her. Sun poured into the space, adding warmth and brightness she didn’t feel. She felt caged, helpless, shut out.
She heated a breakfast burrito but gave up eating it after three bites, then drifted into the bathroom. Her dry eyes accepted her contact lenses grudgingly, then she stepped into the shower. While the hot water seared her skin, she thought back to her conversation with Bruce and his reaction to her request to see him. She shook her head to clear the confusion. She and Bruce were friends. That night when he’d held her was just an extension of that, nothing more. So then why did he act so protective of her? Was that just part of his role?
With only one other spare set of clothes, dressing was easy, and she stepped back into the bathroom to brush her tangled curls, noting the dark circles under her eyes and her pale lips. Should she pack up her things? Would they come for her soon? What would she do all day if they didn’t?
Returning to the living room, she checked her phone, but there was nothing from Quinn. Don’t worry, Bruce had said, as if he could read her anxiety through the phone. But hadn’t he also told her that releasing Quinn had been a mistake?
The idea began to weigh on
