“Yes, of course,” Bruce said. She pictured his keen mind working, making plans. “I’ll gather the team.”
After hanging up with Bruce, Cassidy opened her laptop then searched YouTube for “How to pick a lock.”
From the curb to the entrance of the task force HQ, Cassidy walked on legs that might as well have been made of wood. Everything felt stiff, frozen: her face, her insides, her shoulders—which felt pinned to her ears. How am I going to pull this off?
Bruce met her at the door, his face lighting up when he saw her. To her horror, he pulled her into a quick embrace. Cassidy forced her body to soften, but she felt immovable, like one of those department store mannequins.
When he stepped back, she tried to read any suspicion in his eyes, but saw only the same old Bruce.
He waited for her to check in with the guard, then led her down the hallway, passing the conference room where she had seen Pete’s notebook and the web of pictures on the wall. The door was closed, and if it was locked, she was ready.
They turned into the same meeting room as before. Special Agent Harris sat at the table typing furiously at the keys of a laptop, a set of navy-blue-rimmed glasses pinned to her face. She looked up sharply, then hit a key and shut the laptop. Her eyes were edged with fatigue and her face looked even more serious than usual.
“Welcome back, Dr. Kincaid,” she said stiffly, indicating the seat in front of her.
Cassidy slid into the chair. Bruce took the chair to her right, halfway between her and Special Agent Harris. Special Agent Santiago was not there. Cassidy was relieved—one less person who could call her bluff.
“Thank you for being so forthcoming, Dr. Kincaid.” Special Agent Harris paused, sliding her glasses off her face. “I’m curious, though, what brought on this change of heart?”
“What do you mean?” Cassidy asked while her heart pounded painfully behind her ribs.
“You were very reluctant to share your information about Izzy before.”
“I know. I’m sorry. She’s just been through a lot.”
Special Agent Harris sat back, tapping the arm of her glasses against her chin. “Go ahead.”
Cassidy drew a full breath into her lungs, or tried to. “She’s in Sweden.”
Special Agent Harris frowned. “According to Immigration, she hasn’t left the country.”
Heat flashed into Cassidy’s face. Of course, they would have already checked Izzy’s passport in their search. “Then she must have left under a different name, or something.” It sounded so lame, even she could hear the ridiculousness of it.
“I suppose it’s possible.” Special Agent Harris frowned, her blue eyes lasered on Cassidy. “Why Sweden?”
She’s humoring me, Cassidy realized. “Her mom’s getting medical treatment. She has some kind of terminal illness. Izzy took her there.”
Special Agent Harris immediately started jotting down notes on a pad of paper.
“You’re sure about this?” she asked, looking up with a piercing gaze. “This will take some work to verify.”
“Yes,” Cassidy said, feeling the lie coat her insides like poison.
“How did you know Izzy’s location?”
Cassidy’s mind went blank. “She…called me. She felt bad for the way she left.”
“Even though you essentially ruined her plans.”
Cassidy forced a nod. Cassidy remembered the way Izzy had refused to leave that warehouse, despite the horrific plans Saxon had for her. And after she and Izzy were safe in the back of Quinn’s car, how Izzy had turned her back on her. Cassidy understood Izzy’s plight, but she would never have left her to Saxon.
Even though she now had a target on her back.
“It was an apology, of sorts,” Special Agent Harris said.
“Yeah.”
Special Agent Harris held Cassidy’s gaze, and she felt the full power of the woman’s scrutiny—like being hit by a supernova. Cassidy resisted the urge to squint.
Finally, Special Agent Harris returned her attention to her notepad and fired off a bunch of questions—Izzy’s mother’s name, her illness, physical description, the city in which they were located—but Cassidy could only shake her head in reply.
“Sorry.”
“When did she call you?”
“About one o’clock.”
Special Agent Harris nodded, making a note. She then turned to Bruce. “We need to contact Interpol, Immigration, and who’s our contact for foreign security services?”
“I can work the Immigration angle. I have connections at ICE,” Bruce replied.
The two agents began hashing out their plan.
“Can I use the restroom?” Cassidy asked, rising from her chair.
Special Agent Harris barely looked at her.
Cassidy slipped from her chair, careful that her stiff movements didn’t knock it over. Once in the hallway, she forced a steadying breath into her lungs. Looking left and right and using all her senses, she tried to gauge where the other agents in the building were located.
To her right, towards the back of the building, the doors to the rooms were shut, with no light shining from under the doors. She set off toward the conference room, passing the bathroom.
Shuttered blinds covered the windows of the conference room and no light shone through them. At the end of the hall twenty feet away was the office and the security guard. From this angle, she could just see the back of his head and the bank of monitors. Thankfully none of the cameras were pointing at her.
The sound of her breaths echoing against the walls were so loud, she expected the security guard to hear her. She leaned closer to the door, listening for sounds. A burst of fear erupted inside her as she reached for the doorknob.
It opened with a click.
She glanced down the hallway in both directions, expecting Bruce or Special Agent Harris to burst out of the meeting room, or the guard to bolt out of his chair, but all was silent.
With her breath frozen in her throat, she stepped into the room. In this moment, everything changed.
Enough light peeked through the blinds covering the row of high windows opposite the door to show her that Pete’s notebook was no longer on the table.
