A knock on the apartment door made her jump. Oh, thank goodness, she thought, bolting for the door. Finally, they’re letting me leave. She pictured herself striding into the apartment to rouse Quinn from sleep so she could give him an earful.
Rising to her tiptoes, she took in the police officer standing outside her door: medium-build, neutral eyes, his hands clasped in front of him.
“Yes?” she called into the door. Where was Officer Hutton?
“Officer Nash from San Francisco P.D.” he said, rocking on his feet. “I’m here to escort you home, ma’am.”
Cassidy glanced back at her belongings strewn about the apartment. “Just a minute,” she said, then wondered if she should invite him in. If she had neighbors, they would surely think it strange to see a cop parked outside her door. “Do you want to come in?”
“Up to you, ma’am.”
Cassidy unlocked the door then stepped aside for him to enter, his presence at odds with the white space. “Be right back,” she said, then hurried into the bedroom and bathroom, stuffing her things into the bag as she went, double checking to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything.
She returned to the living room for her laptop. Before tucking her phone into her bag, she checked for messages, but there was nothing more from Quinn or Bruce. Wouldn’t Bruce have texted her that an officer was on his way to free her? Though he was likely asleep—probably the entire team was, and her mind tripped up on a sudden image of Special Agent Katrina Harris passed out in a sleep mask and a white silk nightgown. “Shoot, I haven’t done my dishes,” she said, moving to the sink where she had left a coffee cup and fork.
“No need,” the officer said behind her. “The cleanup crew will handle that.”
“Oh,” Cassidy said, halting. She took one last glance at her bright-white dungeon, spinning slowly to make sure everything was in its place. Officer Nash waited, the image of patience.
Why did she feel like she was leaving something behind? Cassidy paused a minute longer, trying to see what she’d missed, but the apartment was as white and empty as it had been when she arrived. Finally, she turned and followed the officer out the door.
Inside the elevator, the mirrored walls gave her an opportunity to notice his features: the mustache, the thin lips, the scar above his left eyebrow, the tattoo peeking out from under his short sleeved uniform shirt. He stared straight ahead, ignoring her almost.
As a teenager, she’d been brought home once by a local cop. Back then, she hadn’t understood how lucky she was—he could have taken her to the police station but instead he’d delivered her safely home to her father as a favor. After the officer left, Cassidy expected her father to be furious, but instead he simply begged her to talk to him, to tell him what was driving the bad choices she was making. But words had felt foreign to her then.
Once on the street, Officer Nash opened the trunk of his all-black cruiser and indicated that she should place her bag inside.
“It’s regulation. For your safety.”
Cassidy complied, eager to get off the street where people were surely watching her. Officer Nash closed the trunk then let her into the passenger side. Sliding into the hard seat, she took in her cage-like surroundings. Wire mesh closed her in on three sides; a thick plexiglass divider separated her from the front seat. The front console of the vehicle was crammed with a giant laptop and a dashboard with buttons, a radio. The barrel of a shotgun extended vertically between the front seats. A stab of unease tugged at the corner of her mind, but she shook it off. Soon she would be back at Quinn’s and away from all this. Officer Nash walked around the front and got in. After buckling her seat belt, he pulled away from the curb.
They headed west on a broad boulevard, the tall skyscrapers transitioning to neighborhoods, restaurants, businesses. Cassidy reached to the door panel to lower her window but realized there were no buttons. She also discovered that there were no door handles on either side. Another pulse of unease wormed through her. She wished she had thought to put her phone in her pocket so she could text Bruce, let him know she was on her way home.
Relief began to trickle through her as they neared Golden Gate Park. They passed familiar landmarks, each mile making her feel more eager to reach her destination. I wasn’t cooped up that long, she told herself. Relax.
But at the intersection where she expected Officer Nash to turn south toward Quinn’s apartment, he continued west, towards the Presidio. Cassidy tried to catch the officer’s eye in the rearview mirror, but he was focused straight ahead.
“You know Quinn’s address, right?” she asked, though with the thick plexiglass and the windows closed tight, her words bounced back in her face.
“Yes,” he said, not taking his eyes off the road. “There’s a concert today in the Park. We’ll take the coast.”
Cassidy nodded, though her mind chewed much more slowly on this new piece of information. Had she read about a concert today? It was the kind of thing she and Quinn would consider attending. They could walk to the concert grounds from his apartment.
“On a weekday?” she asked, but it came out soft, and Officer Nash didn’t seem to hear.
Cassidy sat back, watching the nicer homes along the edge of the Presidio pass. Tall, lush trees lined the road; ivy crawled up the side of some of the buildings; joggers and walkers dotted the sidewalks. At an intersection, Officer Nash turned
