by Amy Waeschle
“You okay?” Bruce asked as he unlocked the doors.
Cassidy paused, taking in the gray concrete and dry, brown grass. Above her, a California flag flapped lazily. “I don’t know,” she said. “That was…intense.”
Bruce shot her a look of kindness. “Harris is a hardass, but she’s good.”
“I believe it,” she replied, sinking into the passenger seat.
Bruce got in and closed his door. Moments later they were accelerating down the residential street, passing tall trees and grand but tightly packed homes.
“What did they want Dutch to do?”
Bruce shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m a recent addition to this case, remember? But even if I knew, I couldn’t tell you.”
“Right,” Cassidy said. They passed a playground packed with children, their shrieks and chatter filling the air. She watched legs pump and arms swing. Three girls played a game of jump rope.
“What is going to happen to Brad’s information?” she asked. The idea that even one of these children could end up in the hands of someone like Saxon or a demented doctor made her feel sick.
“I’ll enter it into the log, and someone will follow up.”
“Do you think there’s any truth to it?” she asked as the playground faded into the background.
“It’s possible. But it’s also messy,” he said with a grimace. “Dirty cops?” He shook his head. “It’s always a possibility.”
“You mean someone tipped them off?”
Bruce nodded.
Cassidy thought again to Pete’s notebook on the conference room table. Did one of the unfamiliar names in it identify a dirty cop? She stayed silent, afraid Bruce would only chastise her for meddling.
“So, big plans tonight?” Bruce asked, giving her a sideways look.
Reluctantly, she shifted gears, putting her endless questions aside, for now. “Probably drag Quinn out for a surf, then grab fish tacos before he has to go in to work.” She also needed to deal with her car. If she decided to scrap it, she would need to go to Shasta to gather the items she had left inside. She spent a few moments running through her options—from flying to Shasta, to renting a car and driving there, to putting the project off until some later date.
“Am I safe here?” she asked him.
She watched Bruce’s eyes tighten behind his sunglasses. “What do you mean, exactly?”
“Saxon,” she said in a shaky breath. “I mean, he’s gone underground, but will he come back?”
“We have alerts set up,” he said. “Meanwhile we’re going to bust this case open.”
“How? It feels huge, like one discovery just leads to another.”
“I’ll probably catch hell for telling you this, but we have someone inside who we think can be flipped.”
Cassidy felt the word echo through her mind.
“Turned,” Bruce explained. “We provide protection from prosecution in exchange for information.”
“Is that how they got Dutch?”
“Probably.”
“So, he was involved somehow?” She could easily picture Dutch as a criminal, but not if it meant forcing kids into the sex trade.
“No idea, and again, I couldn’t tell you if I knew.”
Cassidy bit back her groan.
“You need to let us handle this from now on, okay?” he said, his eyes narrowing. “We have a dozen highly trained agents working on this. We have undercover agents, informants like Dutch, plus some solid leads.”
“Like Izzy,” Cassidy said sadly.
“Hopefully,” Bruce replied as they reached the edge of Golden Gate Park.
“I’m worried about Cody and William. They didn’t sign up to be FBI witnesses.”
“They should have thought about that a little sooner.”
Cassidy wondered if all of this would somehow come back to the University and the geology program. “What about Preston Ford? He’s a pretty powerful guy. Could he stop Special Agent Harris?”
“No,” Bruce snorted. “Cassidy, the “F” in FBI stands for Federal, remember? Izzy Ford is a witness. Hell, sounds like she was even an accomplice.”
“No,” Cassidy said, her voice firm. “Promise me you won’t let them throw that at her. She was acting under extreme circumstances. She believed that choice was her only option.”
Bruce shook his head again. They turned down Judah Street, the broad boulevard opening before them.
“You know…he was at the TV station yesterday,” she said, puzzling through the details. After the interview she had felt so wired, jittery almost, and then he surprised her.
“Preston Ford?” Bruce asked, looking confused.
“Well, he owns it,” she replied.
Bruce cruised down Quinn’s street. Through her open window, she tasted a puff of sea breeze, brisk and salty.
“He said he was in town for some big charity event, and that he noticed I was going to be on the air so…”
“Huh,” Bruce said.
Cassidy thought again about his reference to her father. How were they connected? If only you were here so I could ask you, she thought with a pang.
“You ever surf Fort Point?” Bruce asked her as the car pulled to a stop.
Cassidy shook her head. “Quinn’s not a good enough surfer, and I hear the locals are jerks.”
“The conditions look good for tomorrow if you want to go.”
“With you?” she asked, then realized how stupid that sounded.
He chuckled. “Yeah, with me. We had a lot of fun surfing in Costa Rica, remember?”
A sudden rush of memories filled her mind. She remembered surfing just the two of them in Nicaragua during her search for Reeve, followed by the image of the two of them on his wheelhouse roof drunker than skunks and laughing their heads off.
“Of course, I remember,” she said.
He watched her with that half-cocked grin.
“I’m game,” she replied as a tingle of excitement zipped through her. Fort Point was one of the most photographed surf spots on the West coast. Supposedly, the waves were little more than a steep drop followed by a mushy shoulder, but it was one of those surf spots she had always longed to try.
“It’ll be early, though. High tide is at eleven so we should be in the water by first light.”
Ouch, that’s early. But Cassidy knew she’d likely be awake well before then.
He turned off his engine and a breath of cool breeze filtered into the cab.
“I’m sorry I had to do what I did, at the warehouse.” She hadn’t meant to make such a mess of everything.
“Is that why you didn’t call me back all last week?” he asked. The rush of traffic on Judah whooshed softly in the background.
Cassidy scraped along the open windowsill with her thumbnail, the metal hot under her touch. “I guess I was scared.”
“Scared of what?”
“That you were angry. That I’d sacrificed our friendship. That I was in trouble.” She hugged herself. “That it was all real.”
Bruce shifted in his seat to face her. “I know that was tough for you, going into that warehouse. As your friend, I commend your bravery.”
“But as a federal agent you want to arrest me?” she finished for him.
“When you hung up on me and I couldn’t be there to help you…” he said, his lips forming a hard line.
“So, is surfing with me tomorrow another way to keep tabs on me?”
He shook his head. “Nope.” He smoothed the leather grip of his steering wheel for a moment, then glanced at her. “But it is a way to spend time with you. Is that all right?”
Her navel gave a sudden tug inwards. “So, we’re good? You’re not still mad?”
“I’m maybe still a little bit mad,” he said, his eyes softening. “But it’s only because I care about you. What you did was extremely dangerous, Cass.”
Another gust of salty-gritty air whispered into the cab. I care about you too, she thought.
“But y
eah, we’re good,” he added.
“At least until I drop in on you tomorrow,” she said with a grin.
He tossed his head back and laughed. “Do that and I will arrest you.”
Seven
“Come on, please?” Quinn groaned as they walked back from Ocean Beach after their afternoon surf session—the best antidote to her grueling day. “It’s Ladies’ Night. Two for one cocktails.”
“You’re going to make me pay for my drinks?” she teased, stepping carefully on the gritty sidewalk, her eyes roving for broken glass or other unwanted items waiting for her bare feet.
“Of course not. I’m just saying it’s a fun night.”
She thought of the six hundred unanswered emails, the two papers she was writing, and the follow up with her Hawaiian team. “Okay, fine,” she said.
“Yessss!” Quinn hissed. They turned onto his street, slipping into the cool shade. Cassidy shivered in her wetsuit.
“It might be the only way I’ll see you tonight anyways,” she said, giving his shoulder a jab.
“Can I help it if I’m irresistible?” he replied.
Cassidy rolled her eyes. “Any thoughts about my car?” she asked as they filed up the stairs of his building, leaving a trail of salty drops on the concrete. In between waiting for waves, they had been too busy discussing the details of the interview to circle back on her car project.
He slipped his key from the hidden pocket inside the leg of his wetsuit and unlocked his door. “Are you ready to let it go?” he asked as they stepped inside his apartment.
Cassidy followed him to his balcony, where they zipped their surfboards into protective travel bags. Her mind turned back the clock to an image of Pete in the driver’s seat of her car, reading one of his works in progress aloud to her, a bag of bulk cashews sitting open on the console.
“No,” she said as a wave of emotion rose inside her. She coaxed a long breath into her lungs and rode the wave until it ebbed. Though she had learned to stop fighting these tides, she knew thinking of Pete would always hurt.
“Then you have your answer,” Quinn replied, unzipping his wetsuit and peeling it to his waist.
Cassidy nodded, but she had the feeling that the decision wasn’t quite settled. “Maybe if I go see it one last time.”
Quinn finger-combed his wet hair from his forehead, his playful blue eyes softening with compassion. “Want me to go with you?”
Cassidy shook her head and stepped back inside. “No, I’m okay,” she replied, though she wasn’t sure this was true.
After showering, Quinn barbecued his signature chicken and Cassidy made a salad, which they carried to the balcony with a beer each. The softening light of late evening cast a warm glow over the street and sidewalks below, the sound of passing cars creating a background hum of city life. It was a nice change from her hotel stay in Hawaii, where the thick walls swallowed all sound and the windows were locked shut.
“Hey, check this out,” Cassidy said as they dug in. “Guess who paid me a visit at the TV studio?”
“Mark?” Quinn asked, forking a giant bite of salad into his mouth.
“Well, yeah, he was there,” she said, ignoring the jolt of anxiety brought on by Mark’s invitation to get a beer. Why couldn’t she just enjoy his friendship? “Preston Ford.”
“Izzy’s father?” he asked, reaching for his beer.
“He said something weird,” Cassidy continued, pausing with her beer halfway to her lips. “It’s about Dad.”
Quinn’s expression soured. He set down his beer bottle and cut her a look.
Cassidy took a sip, her gaze drifting to the opposite building where a woman was hanging clothing over her balcony railing. “He said that Dad was the reason he was in Seattle. Does that make any sense?”
“Did they used to do business together?” Quinn asked, forking another bite.
“No idea.” Cassidy tried to remember where her father’s advertising accounts were located. Could there be some link in Seattle—one of her dad’s clients?
“Have you looked into it?”
Cassidy shook her head. “I just thought you might know.”
“Look up what was going on in Seattle yesterday. Maybe there’s something in the news. Like a building he dedicated or something.”
Cassidy tapped bites of lettuce onto her fork, thinking about this. Her father had been dead for sixteen years. “But why would Dad be involved in some kind of ribbon cutting now? There’s no way it’s taken that long to build something.”
Quinn chewed a bite, his face set in thoughtful contemplation. “What about a charity or nonprofit? Dad always gave to the Special Olympics, remember? I think he won an award one year for the amount of money he raised.”
Cassidy combed her memories but got nowhere. “I think I was too busy being a hell raiser then.”
“Oh, yeah,” Quinn replied, nodding. “You started wearing black eyeliner and snuck off to smoke pot with the cool kids.”
She gave his shoulder a shove. “Good thing it didn’t last.”
“Yeah, you’d be in jail, probably.”
A tightness pulled at her chest. “I was afraid they were going to put me in jail today.”
“Cooperating probably helped.”
“I think Agent Harris wanted to hang me up by my toenails.”
“I guess it’s good that she’s ruthless. It means she’s going to get these guys.”
“You’re right,” Cassidy replied, cutting a bite of chicken.
“Why don’t you invite Bruce to come out tonight?” Quinn asked.
Cassidy frowned. “Why?”
Quinn shrugged but she could see he was downplaying whatever was on his mind. “I just thought he might need to blow off some steam, too. You’re probably not the easiest job he’s taken on.”
Cassidy stifled a laugh. “Me? I mean, yeah, I’m stubborn, but I’m not dangerous.”
Quinn’s face darkened. “He called me, you know, when you didn’t answer him.”
Cassidy chewed her bite slowly, then washed it down with a sip of beer. “It was his job to track me down, so of course he would call you.”
“He was really worried. Hell, I was worried.”
“But I answered your calls.”
He shot her one of his you-are-not-listening-to-me looks. “Let me rephrase that. I am worried, as in present tense. You’re now tied to that criminal, and whatever sinister stuff he’s orchestrating. You crossed him, and you’ve seen his face. You can connect him to the goings-on at that warehouse.”
“But he’s in Mexico.” Even as she said it, the words felt hollow.
“Not forever.”
Hot prickles erupted on her skin. “Stop, okay?” Cassidy said, dropping her fork on her plate. “This last week I had to push it all out of my mind so I could work, so I could sleep at night. And now, Bruce has made it sound like they’re going to get him, they’re going to bring it all down.”
“But you’ll still have to testify.”
“Of course, but he’ll be behind bars then.”
“I just don’t want you taking any more chances. I’m sure Bruce told you the same thing, but I want you to hear it from me, too.”
Cassidy was going to protest that he was being overly protective, but his deadly look stopped her cold.
“Promise me,” he said.
“Okay, okay, I promise,” she replied.
By the time they arrived at Drift, the line at the bar stood three rows deep and the noise nearly knocked her off her feet. Quinn led her to the bar, elbowing his way through the crowd and snagging a stool just as someone vacated it.
“Jer, this is my sister, Cassidy,” Quinn shouted over the noise at the bartender filling a line of beers across from them. “Make her whatever she wants.” With a “be right back,” Quinn left her side to make his rounds.
Alone with the noise and crowd pushing into the space around her, Cassidy took in the familiar dark wood of the bar top, the hundreds of bottles lit up on the
shelves, the bartenders and servers with their classy black button-down shirts and long white aprons.
“What’ll it be, doll?” Jer asked her, tossing down a coaster, his rolled-up sleeves revealing a tribal tattoo on his left arm.
“Manhattan,” she replied.
“You got it,” he replied, and spun away.
Cassidy watched him work, his movements efficient and swift. The two other bartenders on either side of him engaged in similar actions, moving back and forth, hands reaching for glassware or pulling beer taps or scooping ice, all without crashing into each other.
The bartender tapped down her drink, then spun away.
Next to her, a set of forearms slid onto the bar, a fifty-dollar bill pinched between two fingers. “Do I gotta flash some titties around here to get a drink or what?”
“It might help,” she said, taking her first sip. “It is Ladies’ Night after all.”
“Yeah, but I’m the one who’s paying.”
She snuck a look at him: broad shoulders, a Chinese-character tattoo on his bicep, and sharp, almond-shaped eyes.
“I see you didn’t pay,” he said, nodding at her drink.
“Oh,” Cassidy said as a rush of heat crept up her neck. “That’s because this is my brother’s place.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Yeah? How come I haven’t seen you around?”
“I don’t live here,” she answered, stirring her drink. And after I nearly drank myself into a coma a year and a half ago, bars aren’t exactly a safe place for me.
Jer returned with two highball glasses filled with amber liquid and two oversized ice cubes. The man sifted a ten-dollar bill from the change and slid it across the bar, then pocketed the rest.
“You here visiting Quinn?” he asked, taking a sip of one of the drinks.
Cassidy sucked the juice from the orange wedge as she considered her answer. “Yeah. Just for a few days.”
He nodded, then picked up the other drink. “Well, safe travels,” he said, and slipped back into the crowd.
She saw Quinn talking to a pair of women, a sly smile on his face. He laughed at something one of them said, and though Cassidy couldn’t hear the joke, the sight of him enjoying himself made her smile. Moments later, he reappeared, his easy look gone. “Was that guy bothering you?” he asked, nodding at the man who was sauntering toward the far end of the bar.