by Amy Waeschle
On her feet now, with his hand wrapped around her bicep, she quickly assessed her escape options. The ten-foot-high gate they had driven through had closed and the house was surrounded by an equally high wall.
“You’ll be free to go once it’s over,” Officer Nash said, as if reading her intentions.
“Once what’s over?” she replied, trying to loosen his grip on her.
“You wouldn’t want me to ruin the surprise, now, would you?” Officer Nash frisked her with his free hand.
“What are you doing?” she asked, jerking away from his touch.
“Precaution,” he grunted, then escorted her around the giant house to an arched entryway made of glass and metal so ornate and stylish it could have been stolen from a museum. She briefly wondered if it had.
Officer Nash released her arm to usher her inside. Her feet reacted before her brain could process and she took off running, aiming for a tree at the edge of the property. If she could climb it, it was a simple drop over the side of the fence.
But Officer Nash was on her. “You’re not gonna get what you want by acting like that,” he said, hauling her back to the door.
“I don’t want anything from you!” she shouted, ignoring his stoic expression.
“Keep an open mind,” Officer Nash said as they entered the building.
What did they have that she wanted? A prickle erupted at the back of her neck.
Officer Nash led her through the door to what would have been an impressive entrance if she cared: bright red Italian tiled floor, sweeping staircase arcing up and out of sight, an antique vase on a stand. The house smelled of the sea air and fresh pine. Dread pooled in her stomach as Officer Nash led her to the right, through a sitting room with a white leather couch, floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, giant TV, and a grand piano to a sunroom, the wall made entirely of glass. For half a second, she let herself be impressed by what was likely San Francisco’s most stunning view of the ocean. They were well west of the Golden Gate Bridge, so the near-180-degree panorama included the black cliffs across the channel and the westernmost point extending into the gray-blue Pacific.
Directly below her, a square of green lawn ended at a wall that separated the property from a steep drop to a crescent of caramel-colored sand. A guard glanced up at her from the corner of the yard, then looked away, his eyes scanning the grounds for threats.
Cassidy worked a breath into her lungs while her mind tried to come to terms with her situation. Officer Nash seemed to sense this shift, and let go of her arm. She heard him retreat.
Cassidy watched the waves pulse against the corner of the shoreline visible from this angle, noticing that the swell Bo predicted had arrived. She sifted through everything that had happened in the past few days, wondering what she had missed. Who was behind this? What did they have that she wanted?
Footsteps tapped the shiny wood floor and Cassidy spun to see a tall man in a white linen suit, his pale blue eyes dancing.
“Dr. Kincaid,” Preston Ford said, grinning. “So glad you could make it.”
All of the gears grinding in her mind came to a halt.
“Can I offer you anything? Tea? Whiskey?” He said this last word with a wink that ignited a sudden anger. If he knew she liked whiskey, what else did he know about her?
“No, thank you,” she said, her voice thick.
He turned to face the windows. “Gorgeous, isn’t it?” He clasped his hands behind him and rocked forward on his feet.
“What’s going on?” she asked. Was he just one of those freaky rich people who were obsessed with security? “Why did you bring me here? I would have come on my own if you had just asked.” She looked for Officer Nash and found him lurking twenty feet away, his eyes sharp.
“Because the situation was deteriorating.”
Cassidy shook her head, but it brought no clarity. “Is this about Izzy? Is she okay?”
Mr. Ford pursed his lips, as if thinking. “No, Dr. Kincaid, this is about you and the mess you and your brother have made for me.”
“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 wron
g, 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 off his face.
His nostrils flared. “They won’t find her.”
“Why? Are you keeping her captive, too?”
For the first time, she saw his confident mask crack. “Hardly.”
“She’ll be able to testify against the people who used her.” Cassidy’s blood went cold as she realized who else Izzy could bring down: her father.
“Used her?” he asked. “I think you have it backwards, Dr. Kincaid.”
Every fiber of her being tried to resist this bait, but it was too powerful. “Do you have any idea what I pulled her out of?”
A look of distaste passed over his features. “She was trying to get to me.” He gave a dramatic sigh. “I realized it too late.”
“Is she dead?”
Mr. Ford laughed, his full-belly chuckle echoing inside the sunroom walls. “Dr. Kincaid, despite what you might think, I’m not a barbarian.”
“How do I know you’ll release Quinn?”
He made a tsking sound, shaking his head. “So distrustful. You’ve brought that on yourself, you know.”
Cassidy gritted her teeth.
“You will bring the notebook to me.” He made a show of checking his watch. “I have an appointment tonight, so let’s say by eight o’clock.” He returned his gaze to the view. “Then, I will make the call. Quinn will be released, and you two can go on with your lives.”
“You don’t expect me to believe that you’ll just let us go free. We know too much.”
The twinkle in his eye sharpened. “Smart girl,” he said. “And I don’t blame you for being cautious, but I know you’ll keep your word.”
Cassidy eyed him cautiously. “What if I don’t?”
He smiled. “Are you willing to accept the consequences?”
She swallowed the lump forming in her throat.
“I’m guessing they offered you Witness Protection, am I right?”
Cassidy’s face flushed with heat.
Preston Ford’s eyebrow shot up again. “But that would be a disaster for you.”
Feeling the heat travel into the back of her skull, Cassidy closed her eyes.
“You keep this little agreement between us, and you get to keep your life.” He gazed out the window. “But even if you have a change of heart, it will get you nowhere. I have built up a formidable wall of protection for myself. I’m a well-loved public figure, a generous philanthropist, plus I have many loyal friends.”
Cassidy wondered if that included the police. “What about the clinics?”
He shook his head. “What about them? We help thousands of homeless victims every year.”
An image of her father and Mr. Ford smoking cigars in a dark room flashed into her mind. “Only, some of those kids disappear.”
“They’re vagrants, Dr. Kincaid!” he said, sounding exasperated. “They don’t exactly give us a forwarding address.”
Cassidy looked away, realizing the futility of her situation. After a deep breath, she refocused. “So, we’re supposed to forget this ever happened?”
“How could you forget?” He widened his arms. “Remember what I said earlier? The notebook will buy you Quinn’s life, but it’s not the end of this partnership.”
She shook her head so hard the colors of the room swam. “Look, I can get you the notebook.” The understanding that she had no choice but to comply hit her with full force. “But partner with you?” A hot pulse of anger shot through her. “I have a life, Mr. Ford. A career.” She thought of the quiet space that was her very own lab, her office with the broad window overlooking campus, and a lifetime of projects.
“After I hand over the notebook, I’ll walk away from all of this,” she continued as a painful realization ripped at the edges of her tattered heart. To do this, she would have to let go of so many things—finding Pete’s killer, understanding her father’s intentions, even a keeping person she cared about in her life. “I’ll stay away from Bruce.”
His amused expression turned grave. “No, Dr. Kincaid, he’s the reason this works so beautifully.”
“But if he finds out…” Her throat clamped shut.
“You’ll just have to make sure he doesn’t.” He glanced at Officer Nash behind her, who stepped forward, his body only inches from her back. “Meanwhile, you have a job to do.”
On the screen above her, Quinn sat looking beaten.
Her choice was clear.
“Bring me the notebook by eight o’clock tonight. Or you’ll never see your brother again.”
Twenty-Four
Cassidy climbed the stairs to Quinn’s apartment as if in a daze. Inside, everything was just as she’d left it, yet the space and everything in it felt foreign. She drifted past the jumble of Quinn’s running shoes by the door, the couch with his sweatshirt tossed over the side, the breakfast bar with his empty coffee cup.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket, startling her. Seeing that it was Bruce, she forced a series of deep breaths into her lungs before answering it.
“Oh, hey,” he said, sounding surprised.
“Hey,” she said, her voice shaky. Act normal, she told herself.
“I was worried there for a minute.” He paused. “I woke up and found out they’d broken you loose.”
Cassidy cringed at the memory of how trusting she had been, letting Officer Nash lead her from the apartment. “Yeah, I…came home and fell asleep.” It sounded so lame, but it was all she had. I’m going to have to get better at this, she realized. “I didn’t sleep last night.” At least that part was true.
“Sorry to hear that.”
His compassion only made this harder. “Quinn’s here,” she lied. “He’s still asleep.”
“That’s good.”
The notebook, she thought with desperation. “So, I’m guessing you need us to come in?”
She tried to wipe the hopeful tone from her voice.
“No,” Bruce said. “We’ll bring you guys in tomorrow for a debrief. I’m just calling to make sure you’re okay.”
She tried to make her breaths measured, but they kept getting stuck behind her diaphragm. “I have some new information. I don’t think it can wait till tomorrow.”
“Oh?” Bruce’s voice had that sudden edge to it, and she knew she had taken her first step in her betrayal.
“It’s about Izzy. I…know where she is.”
“Did she contact you?”
Cassidy nodded as the lie grew in her head. “Yes.”
“Oh. Wow,” Bruce replied. “When?”
“Do you want me to come in?” she asked, holding her breath. “Then I can tell everyone?”
“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.