“Mess?” Her hackles rose to full alert. “Wait, what does this have to do with Quinn?”
“I need you to do something for me, and in exchange, I’ll let him live.”
Blood drained from her face as several thoughts came together at once: Quinn’s unexpected release. Bruce’s worry. Her unreturned calls. “Where is he?” she cried. “What have you done with him?” Images of Quinn beaten and bloodied flashed into her mind.
“He’s completely fine, I assure you.”
She lunged at him, her fingers burning to strike, but Officer Nash moved like lightning, restraining her in a giant bear hug.
Mr. Ford watched her resist, his gaze flashing. A hideous realization rose through her panic: he liked watching her struggle.
“You’re behind all this?” she cried, willing the pieces to fall into place.
“The clock is ticking, Dr. Kincaid,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “We can spend time playing games, or we can come to an agreement.”
Cassidy felt the fight drain out of her as one single thought filled her mind: Quinn. Of course, they had been the ones to release him early. Had they pretended to drive him home in the same way they had with her? Or had they captured him? The thought was too much. “Please don’t hurt him,” she said.
“That all depends on how well you perform.”
“What does that mean?”
“I see you’re coming around now. We’re making progress.” He nodded to Officer Nash, who released her.
Her anger flared but she managed to hold back from lunging for his throat.
“I have many connections, Cassidy, but I have yet to get inside the FBI.”
Cassidy blinked as she realized what he was getting at.
“That changes with you.”
Cassidy wondered how much he knew. “Wait, what are you asking me?”
“Last night was a disaster that cannot be repeated,” he said, his lips tightening. “I need to know who they’ve been talking to, what their plans are.”
“I don’t know any of that!” she said, panicking. “I’m a geologist, not an FBI agent!”
“But you’ve become very close with one, haven’t you?” he said, that twinkle in his eye.
A startled laugh left her lips. “What?” she said, picturing Bruce’s inquisitive brown eyes and his smile.
“Oh, yes, I know all about your little crush.”
She bit the inside of her cheek, tasting blood.
“The point is you have an in, Dr. Kincaid. It would be a shame not to put it to use.”
“He won’t tell me case details. I know because I’ve already tried.”
“Then you’ll have to get resourceful,” Mr. Ford replied, straightening. “You’ve already proved yourself to be a talented investigator. I have every faith in you.”
The impossibility of her task broke on her like a sneaker wave. “No,” she said, but it came out like a whimper. I can’t do this.
Mr. Ford raised an eyebrow, then nodded at Officer Nash standing behind her.
Cassidy spun, fearing he was going to grab her, but he entered the living room and picked up a remote control. The television clicked on.
The black-and-white image on the screen stopped her cold.
Quinn sat in a chair, a wide swath of tape covering his mouth. His legs were bound to the chair’s legs and his hands appeared tied behind his back. His left eye looked swollen and the dark coloring of a bruise covered the side of his head. A time stamp along the bottom read 8/24 13:11.
“Quinn!” Cassidy cried, racing toward the television. But of course, Quinn couldn’t hear. His frightened gaze broke her heart into a thousand pieces.
Cassidy wheeled around. “Where are you keeping him?”
“I assure you he’s safe.” From his tone, the implication was clear: for now.
Her knees buckled, and she slowly sunk to the floor. How had this happened? She tried to follow the trail, tried to see where she went wrong, but her thoughts were like shifting sands.
A woman dressed in a gray suit arrived carrying a tray with a teapot and two china cups. She set up the tea service on the dining room table facing the big windows, then left, her eyes not meeting Cassidy’s.
“Now listen carefully,” Mr. Ford said, pouring tea into one of the cups.
Cassidy stared up at the image frozen on the screen, her shattered heart trembling. What was he thinking about right now? Was he afraid?
Mr. Ford stirred sugar into his tea, then took a sip, his soft slurp breaking through her mounting terror. “You gave Special Agent Keolani a notebook,” he said, taking another sip. “Bring it to me.”
Cassidy blinked in surprise. The notebook? Pete’s notes? She pictured its plain blue cover and beaten-up spiral edge, tossed casually on the task force’s conference room table. “What do you want with Pete’s notes?” she asked, looking up slowly. “How do you know I gave them to Bruce?” More questions piled up, making her head pound. “How did you even know about Pete?”
But Mr. Ford just looked at her, sipping his tea.
Cassidy stood but her legs wobbled. “You had him killed.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he said with a chuckle, setting down his teacup.
Cassidy shook her head, but it did nothing to make the ground feel solid. The floor might as well have been a boat rising and falling in heavy seas. Her thoughts broke loose inside her mind, spinning and crashing against the walls. A question rose to the surface and she glared at him. “Why did you tell me about my father?”
“That was a mistake.” He drew in a long breath. “But it ended up working in my favor. It’s no wonder you get yourself into so much trouble.”
Cassidy turned away in frustration. “I’ll never believe that he had anything but good intentions when he helped you and Tony Ellison set up that charity.”
Mr. Ford just smiled. “Your father was a good man, Dr. Kincaid, and he was also an excellent businessman.”
Her gut sank further into the floor. No. I am not going to let him torture me like this. “The FBI is looking for Izzy,” she said to throw him off track. Anything to wipe that look of supreme self-assurance
