by Amy Waeschle
Tears tickled down her hot cheeks. “I can’t, Jay,” she said but it came out like a plea.
“You can always call me,” he said.
Cassidy held herself and sobbed quietly. Jay had told her he could still see her, either by video or voice call but the idea that she would need him so much that she had to hop on a Skype call once a week in Seattle was too much. And she hadn’t felt like she needed it when she left Eugene. She thought she was better.
But she wasn’t. I’m fucked up and it’s never going to get better, she thought. Tonight is proof of that. She knew saying this out loud to Jay would worry him, and he would try to tell her about the progress she’d made, but none of that counted if these things could still happen to her.
“Can you move to a place of safety where you can rest?” Jay asked.
Cassidy thought of Quinn’s apartment. “Yeah,” she replied.
“Okay,” Jay said in a voice tinged with relief. “Goodnight, Cassidy,” he said.
Cassidy nodded, though she knew Jay was hundreds of miles away, and slowly lowered the phone.
Standing under the trees, her lips feeling numb, she took a moment to collect her thoughts. Car whizzed by on the busy street a half a block away and the bright streetlights illuminated the silent parked cars along the road, the strip of dry grass along the sidewalk. Breathe, she told herself as the heavy weight of fatigue fell upon her like a lead blanket.
Walking back towards the corner, thinking she would find a more prominent intersection to call a ride, memories from the last few days flipped through her mind like a slide show, as if taking advantage of the emptiness there. She remembered the details from Cody, and the fight with William, the conversation with Preston Ford. Then there was Saxon, a person under suspicion for illegal forms of prostitution. Had he simply given Izzy a ride to the apartment she’d visited? Or had that been some ruse to steer her off the trail?
It didn’t matter now because she had failed. She was broken, beaten, with nowhere else to go, nowhere else to look.
I’m sorry, Izzy, Cassidy thought as the tears began to flow again.
Twenty-Four
Cassidy waited to cross, realizing that in her panic, she had fled past the university to Turk street, the same that paralleled the back of Silver’s on the other side of town. Her mind formed a plan: call an Uber, get to Quinn’s, book a flight to Seattle for tomorrow, pack, fly to Hawaii tomorrow night. Step one: get to Quinn’s.
After crossing Turk, she pulled out her phone to call up a ride, and was trying to figure out her location to complete her order when the sound of car wheels squealing caught her attention. She turned to see a shiny, dark car accelerate from beneath a two-story Victorian onto the street. The blonde woman sitting in the back was thrown against the seat by the sudden lurch in movement. Almost instantly, the car turned from view, but something about the flash from the woman’s hair and the brief glimpse of a profile connected several thoughts at once in her brain.
Izzy.
The car accelerated and Cassidy broke into a sprint. “Izzy!” she called. The car continued down the street, paralleling the university. “Izzy!” she cried again, her lungs heaving. She pulled out her phone and dialed Bruce’s number, keeping her eyes locked on the dark car.
“It’s her!” she gasped when he answered. “I just saw Izzy!”
“Where?” Bruce said into her ear.
Her feet pounded the pavement. “She’s in a car. She’s being driven somewhere. I know it’s her!”
“Can you see the license plate?” Bruce asked.
Cassidy swerved around a trash bin. “No!” she said, her breathing echoing into the phone. Ahead, the car slowed as it approached a stoplight. She begged her legs to go faster as she strained her eyes to read the symbols on the license plate. “Izzy!” she screamed, desperate for the girl in the backseat to turn around, but the figure sat motionless. The signal changed and the car, a Mercedes, moved to the right lane to turn. Cassidy made out the white plate with blue letters, the blurry “California” written in red cursive across the top. “Eight-T-R-M . . . ” Cassidy paused to squint but the car was moving too fast. It was turning away! “Two-four-four!” she exclaimed as the car’s back end flashed from view and turned down the street.
“Got it,” Bruce muttered.
The numbers rang through Cassidy’s head again as she reached the corner and turned to follow. 8-T-R-M-2-4-4. The car was too far away now but she yelled Izzy’s name one more time, her voice straining so hard that her throat felt scorched.
The car continued gliding away from her, blending in with the other cars.
“Hey!” a woman’s voice yelled down from somewhere above her. “Shut the hell up!”
Cassidy slowed to a stop, gasping for breath. How could she follow them? She glanced up at the street sign to get her bearings: McAllister Street. The car had been heading towards the waterfront. Towards Silver’s. Just then a detail scratched to the surface. The memory played in her mind of a waiter: something about a sharp look. What was it? Cassidy concentrated, tried to filter out everything else. She replayed the memory again, and then it popped. Cassidy had mentioned Saxon’s name. At the time, Cassidy hadn’t thought much of it, but now, given what she knew, it didn’t fit in the same way. Why would she look at Cassidy like that?
The realization hit: she knew something.
Cassidy thought of the terrifying flashback, and the realization that she would never heal. I can’t let that happen to Izzy, she thought with desperation. I could go back to the club and find that waitress. Maybe she knew about Izzy, maybe she knew where Saxon might have taken her.
“Oh fuck,” Bruce breathed into the phone.
“What?” Cassidy replied. A bus pulled to the curb half a block ahead of her. Cassidy knew what she had to do.
“Did they see you?” Bruce asked.
“Who? The driver?” Cassidy asked, racing in the direction of the bus.
“The driver, the girl, did either of them see you?” Bruce asked, his voice more urgent now.
“No. I don’t think so,” Cassidy said. “Why?”
“I’m going to have to call you back,” he said, his voice tense.
“What? Why?” she protested.
“I want you to get in a cab and get somewhere safe, okay?”
“Bruce, wait, what’s going on?” The orange turn signal on the bus lit up. Cassidy began to run, her flip flops slapping the pavement.
“Just do it,” he said firmly.
“But what about Izzy?” she asked, arriving at the door of the bus. The driver’s gloved hand gripped the knob that closed the door, which stood open. She frowned down at Cassidy.
“I promise I’ll call you as soon as I can,” Bruce said, and hung up.
Twenty-Five
“Lucky I saw you,” the bus driver said as Cassidy dug her wallet from her backpack and dropped her fare into the collection box.
“Are you heading to downtown?” Cassidy asked.
“Yep,” the woman said as the bus swung into traffic.
Still breathing fast from her spring, Cassidy found a seat in the middle of the empty bus. She kept her eyes glued ahead for signs of the shiny dark car. Were they headed to the club? If so, how was she going to get Izzy out?
And why had Bruce reacted like that?
The bus sped down the darkened street, the trees lining the sidewalks passing by in a blur. The downtown lights of the financial district buildings seemed to brighten with each passing moment. Cassidy did not see the dark car. She thought about what Bruce had said, that Saxon and his crew used the clubs as advertising. Maybe the driver was bringing Izzy to Silver’s to show her off. The thought made her shudder.
They coasted through several green lights in a row, passing City Hall and the Orpheum Theater until McAllister intersected with Market. The bus swung onto the broad boulevard. They were nearing the club. Her stomach lurched upward as she realized what she was about to do.
Her phone ran
g, and Cassidy pounced. “Okay, what’s going on?” she asked Bruce.
“I still can’t tell you very much, except that you need to back off,” he said, his voice tight.
“Back off?” Cassidy said, frowning, her eyes searching the road ahead of them. “Why?”
Bruce sighed but it was almost a groan. “Let’s just say that plate I ran led to a group of people we’re trying to bring down.”
Cassidy’s eyes went wide. “For what?” she said, keeping her voice down.
“Cassidy,” he warned. “I’ve already said too much. Now will you please back off and let us handle this?”
“Handle this . . . you mean you’re going to find Izzy?”
A pause. “No.”
Every nerve ending in Cassidy’s skin sizzled. “What?” she cried. The bus driver glanced back at her.
“Not right now,” Bruce said quickly. “We need a few days.”
“A few days?” Cassidy replied. “Bruce, you aren’t serious, are you? I saw her being driven off . . . what if she’s being forced to do something she doesn’t want?” A tendril of fear wrapped around her middle and slowly squeezed. “What if they hurt her?”
“We’ll do everything we can,” he said.
Cassidy shuffled her flip flops against the gritty bus floormat. She felt like a teenager getting denied a straightforward request, like borrowing the car. “So whatever cloak and dagger shit you’re playing is more important than saving her?” she hissed, barely able to get the words out, she was so furious.
“It’s not like that and you know it,” he replied quickly. “The team has been building this case for a long time, Cassidy, and we’re just getting deep enough now. Do you know what that means? Once we can nail them, we can help more than just one person. Hundreds, maybe thousands.”
“Izzy,” Cassidy breathed, resting her head in her hand.
“I’ve put in a request for contact with our agent, but it takes time. If we blow his cover, not only will he be dead, we’ll be at ground zero, only it’ll be worse because they’ll know we got to them once so their guard will be up.”
“Isn’t there anything we can do?” Cassidy gasped, blinking again at the road for signs of the dark car. She thought of herself being dragged down Mel’s stairs and the way she’d tried to stab him with the knife she had unfolded from her multi-tool. Then Mel was looking down at her with those compassionate yet fierce eyes while the needle plunged under her skin.
I can’t let that happen to Izzy.
“I promise we’ll do everything we can,” Bruce was saying, but Cassidy wasn’t really listening.
“Now please get to Quinn’s so I can stop worrying about you,” he added.
“I will,” Cassidy replied, her voice sounding far away.
“Okay,” Bruce said, his voice relaxing. “Good.”
Cassidy slipped the phone into her pocket.
She pulled the cord and swung her backpack onto her shoulders, and as the bus coasted to a stop at the curb, Cassidy jumped to her feet and darted down the steps. Back on solid ground, she turned away from the bus, which hissed loudly as it lumbered back onto the road.
She knew she should follow Bruce’s orders and go to Quinn’s. She wanted to go to Quinn’s and put all of this behind her. But she couldn’t. Not yet. The waitress might know something. Izzy might even be here.
Nobody is coming for her. I’m her only hope. What if Bruce hadn’t shown to save her in Costa Rica? She would be dead, her body buried in the jungle somewhere, or worse, dumped in the streets to be labeled as an overdose.
Cassidy stood on the boardwalk across from the club, reviewing what she’d learned from Lars, Cody, Alice, and William, of the journey she’d completed in tracking her.
I’m sorry, Izzy had said. Why would she have called Cassidy and not one of her friends? If she was in trouble, why not call her father?
The club’s hot-pink neon blared into the black night. Another rush of nerves tightened the back of her stomach. If the Mercedes had stopped at the club, maybe it was parked nearby while Izzy was escorted inside. She thought of the backdoor Saxon had ushered her through and headed that way.
On a hunch, she walked to the parking garage where Saxon had parked his bike, but it wasn’t there, and no other cars inside matched the Mercedes. She continued to the back of the club, her eyes scanning the rows of darkened vehicles parked on the street but the Mercedes wasn’t among them.
She passed a mission and the minimart, both closed now, then tucked into the space inside the construction fencing behind the club. Mostly in shadow, the construction lot stood empty except for a few scruffy-looking cars parked near the hulking shape of a dirt mover.
Just outside the construction fencing behind her, a group of young men passed on foot, talking loudly. Spooked, Cassidy moved deeper into the shadows until she reached the corner of the building. Cowering behind a dumpster, she waited for them to pass, panting so loud she was sure the group would hear and investigate. Finally, their voices faded and Cassidy lay back against the brick wall, feeling frazzled.
She had to get back into the club. Moving silently, she stepped to the back door and grabbed the hard, shiny knob and gave it a twist, wondering if it was guarded on the other side. But the door was locked.
Should she try the front? Surely someone would recognize her.
Just then she heard a sound behind the door. Quickly, she jumped back behind the dumpster. The thudding music from the club filtered into the night as the door swung open, sending a stripe of light across the pavement. Who was coming out? Could it be Izzy, about to be forced into the car again?
Something heavy hit the ground.
“Don’t ever show your ugly face here again,” a voice sneered, making her remember the muscular bouncer with the earring. The door closed with a soft squeak.
Cassidy peered out from around the dumpster just as the crumpled figure slowly rolled to his feet. The pale glow from the streetlights washed over his face, and Cassidy gasped.
The figure on the ground was Dutch.
Twenty-Six
“Dutch?” she whispered.
Cassidy raced to his side as Dutch pushed to stand, groaning. Even in the darkness she could see the damage to his face.
“Oh my God!” she cried. His lower lip was split and bleeding and a puffy red mark on his cheekbone had already swollen.
“Don’t worry,” Dutch said, wincing as he fingered his rib cage. “It looks worse than it is,” he added, his voiced tight with pain.
“You need to go to the hospital,” she said sternly, remembering the smug look on his face as the waitress had led him off.
“Nah,” he said, straightening slowly. He grimaced again, his eyes pinching shut.
“Did you get a little too frisky with your lady friend? They had to throw you out?” she said.
“Huh?” he said, his face twisting in confusion.
“I saw you,” she said, hearing the anger in her own voice. “From Saxon’s office,” she added, crossing her arms.
“Whoa,” he said, realization dawning on his broken face. “That wasn’t what you think it was.”
Cassidy huffed her disbelief.
“Think what you want,” he growled, starting to hobble away. Cassdiy followed. “But after you didn’t come back, I tried to find you.” He paused, wincing. “I didn’t . . . like the idea of you alone with Saxon,” he added, an edge to his voice. “The waitress said she’d take me to him.”
“They said you were enjoying yourself.”
Dutch grunted. “If you call getting your ribs cracked, then yeah, it was a barrel of laughs.”
Cassidy sighed as the facts spun around her mind again. Everything was flipping upside down, taking her heart with it, and she could feel her strength waning. “I saw Izzy,” she said.
Dutch squinted at her, his face still tight with pain. “Here?” he asked.
Cassidy shook her head. She explained her trip to NOPA and the search of the apartments. She skip
ped over her flashback and described the sight of the Mercedes whisking Izzy away.
“Did you see where it went?” he asked, following him through the gap in the construction fencing. He paused to breathe, his chest visibly straining.
“No, but they were heading in this direction.”
“I didn’t see her inside, though I didn’t exactly get the full tour,” he said, grimacing as his eyes met hers.
Cassidy took this in, but all she felt was confusion, which made her wary. “You really should go to a hospital,” she said. She could smell the blood on him.
“Just give me a minute,” he said, after a few steps his gait becoming smoother. They crossed to the opposite side of the street. In the light from the overhead lamp, Dutch’s battered face came into sharper focus.
“Saxon said . . . that you carry a weapon.”
“Of course I do,” he grunted. “You’ve heard of the second amendment, right?” he added.
“Why didn’t you use it tonight?”
He glanced at her, and even though one of his eyes was swelling, his look was shrewd. “It’s not like I carry it on me. Do you know how hard it is to get a concealed weapon in this city?”
Cassidy shook her head. The only thing she knew about guns was how to fire one, thanks to growing up in Idaho and the mandatory training she did for field work in bear country.
“I keep it in my box when I take trips. Every now and then some drunk asshole gets a little too excited.” He rested the back of his head against the bricks. “Wearing it tonight wouldn’t have done me any good.”
“But you could have defended yourself.”
“Ha!” he guffawed, then hissed in pain. “That’s not exactly how it works. What would I have done? Aimed it at them in the club?” He shook his head. “Talk about causing a scene.”