But they had also promised her they would protect Quinn, and had failed.
She had not seen Bruce all day, though she sensed he was in the building, likely going through a similar grilling process though certainly worse. Over the last thirty-six hours, he had broken about a hundred rules. She remembered their conversation on Quinn’s patio. I love my job. What else would I do?
Would they fire Bruce for helping her? Had her unrelenting stubbornness ruined everything?
Yet she knew there was no way she would have acted differently. She even wondered if leaving the plastic evidence sleeve behind had been subconsciously intentional. If Bruce hadn’t found it, and she had met Preston Ford alone…would she still be alive? Would Quinn?
She had imagined Quinn’s body being thrown overboard and swept off with the ebbing tide a hundred times. If the sharks didn’t find him, the current would push him out to sea, never to be found. Cassidy would live a life never knowing what had become of him. She shuddered.
Quinn shared his version of the rescue by the Hostage Rescue Team, but he said it all happened so fast that most of it was a blur. He had been in a cabin below deck when he heard gunshots fired. Moments later he was being freed by an agent named Marks who explained that there was a bomb and they had seconds to get over the side.
“I didn’t have time to be scared,” Quinn had said. “One minute I was running and the next I was in the water.”
Special Agent Harris stepped into the interview room, dressed in the same white shirt and blue skirt suit as earlier. Was it really the same day?
She settled into the chair opposite Cassidy. “I recognize the extreme circumstances this situation put you in,” she began. “But I can’t condone your choices.”
Cassidy stiffened.
“You should have told us they had Quinn.”
Cassidy held her tongue. They had been through this already and the agents had not been pleased with Cassidy’s lack of regret.
“I was able to keep them from drawing up charges,” she said. “But there will be a fine.”
Even though Cassidy would have taken whatever consequences they threw at her, the idea that she would not have to endure a prison cell came as a relief.
“You’ll pay for any damages to the boat you stole as well.”
Cassidy nodded. “Of course.”
Special Agent Harris stood. “We’re still monitoring the situation, so you’ll have a security detail for the time being.”
“Oh,” Cassidy said, imagining walking to Johnson Hall with a bodyguard while students gawked at her. “For how long?”
“Until we deem it’s safe for you and Quinn.”
“What about Bruce? Is he going to lose his job?”
A flicker of warmth passed through her eyes. “No, but he’s on admin leave until further notice.”
Cassidy sucked in a breath. “How bad is that?”
“It’s standard operating procedure anytime a federal agent discharges his or her weapon.”
“He won’t lose his job?”
Special Agent Harris straightened, and the stern gaze was back. “Not likely. He acted in what he believed was the best interest of the situation. But he should have known better than to let you try to make that trade.”
“I didn’t give him a choice,” Cassidy said. “If anyone else had gone in there, Ford would have killed Quinn.”
Special Agent Harris’ thin mouth curved into a frown. “That’s where we’ll have to disagree.”
“So, where does the case go from here?” Cassidy asked, unable to stop the question from looping through her mind. “If Preston Ford is really dead, who blew up the boat?”
Special Agent Harris seemed to think this over for a moment. “There could be someone above Mr. Ford, and as you observed, some sector of the police force has been compromised.” She tilted her head. “I have long suspected that the police have an informant. Now we have confirmation.”
Cassidy remembered Preston Ford’s words: Your father was a good man, and he was also an excellent businessman. Did the FBI suspect her father was dirty, too? She bit back the anguish rising inside her mind, but she knew it was only a matter of time before she would need to face the possibilities. Was her father involved in Preston Ford’s horrific misuse of the clinics? Did her father, the person who taught her integrity and determination, have a hidden side?
“What about Pete’s murder?” she asked.
“We’re still looking into that.”
Cassidy frowned. “Do you think Preston Ford had him killed?”
Special Agent Harris tilted her head, as if debating what to say. “No,” she replied.
“But Mr. Ford told me he was worried about Brad Sawyer. He basically admitted that he’d had him killed.”
Special Agent Harris paused, looking pensive. “Possibly. Or he just may have wanted you to think that.”
“Do you think we’ll ever find out who killed Pete?” she asked as her chest swelled with a painful ache.
“I hope so.”
Cassidy realized that they had come to an end of the information sharing. She supposed she should be grateful for what Special Agent Harris had been willing to divulge, but it still stung that she was being shut out.
“So, you’re not done with this case?”
“Not by a long shot. The death of Preston Ford and what we’ve accomplished since turning Bo has put a major dent in their operations, but we are far from finished.”
Cassidy knew she would never feel completely safe until they were all behind bars.
“Hopefully, we can capitalize on the new information you’ve provided—and this unexpected vulnerability—and act fast.” Her blue eyes hardened. “Bring them down once and for all.”
Cassidy watched her go, then leaned back and stared at the ceiling tiles. She replayed her conversation, storing away the bits she needed to re-examine later, discarding
