I leap to my feet. It’s a fifty-minute drive into the city, so I only have nine minutes or less to get ready. Rickon scrambles after me, sorting clothes and tossing me the deodorant.
As I smash a brush through my hair, I watch Callisto. He calmly rolls up his sleeping bag and sets it to one side, stacking his pillow on top before fitting his belt through his pant loops and shaking out his suit jacket. Even with his shirt creased to high heaven, he looks good.
He catches me watching and smiles.
My heart scampers and I jerk away, feeling like a child caught doing something naughty.
As we leave the tent, I stare at the huge concrete walls capped in barbed wire. Behind those walls, Zack’s starting his day without us.
Callisto offers to drive, and we pile into his car, which is luxurious with none of Brad’s pretentious sports-car vibes. We’re halfway back to the city when a thought occurs to me. “If this is a matter for national security, why is Leroy telling us about it?”
Callisto throws a lop-sided grin into the rearview mirror. “You figured that out, huh?”
I hold his gaze. “Shouldn’t this be something he tells you aboutafterit’s done?”
He nods, hands tightening on the steering wheel. “Well, if any of us are involved in the crime, this would be the precise moment we’d frantically call someone to give a warning. And he can’t ignore the fact I got an anonymous tip.” His brown eyes flick back to meet my gaze in the mirror. “You’re already under a kind of surveillance from the OCB.”
I never thought about Josef and Pierce that way, but I suppose he’s right. And the Bureau has my old phone now.
“So, this is a test?” Rickon asks, scorn hardening his voice.
“Yep, think so,” Callisto says. “I’d say more for me than you two.”
I scoff. “How ridiculous. We’re the ones trying to solve this crime! We don’t have anything to hide.”
“No, we don’t,” Callisto muses.
I stiffen, my hand tightening around Rickon’s. I’d say I’m pretty good at detecting lies, and my instincts tell me Callisto’s lying. But about what, exactly? He wouldn’t hurt me, and I know for a fact he’s doing everything possible to get Zack out of prison. So what isn’t he telling us?
A chill grips me. What if Ray’s blackmailed him too?
I can’t even ask because if his theory about the OCB is correct, then they could be monitoring our conversation right now. With a sigh, I rub my forehead and turn back to watch the road.
We zip past semirural landholdings where people water veggie patches and search under their car hoods. Are their days as complicated and exhausting as mine? The pace is frantic and the hardest part is we don’t get any mental rest. With filming, the scene takes a day to shoot, and then it’s done and dusted and everyone goes home.
In my reality, nothing ever wraps up.
After doing identity checks and signing confidentiality agreements at the OCB headquarters, we’re escorted to the tenth floor. I shudder as I recall being dragged here against my will after Hudson attacked us, cutting my freedom run short.
Rickon notices. “You okay?” he asks.
“Yep. Just some unpleasant memories.”
He slips his arm around my shoulders, and we walk close together, bumping with each step.
An agent ushers us into a conference room where three men wait, only one of them familiar. The last time I saw the OCB assistant special agent in charge, I was naked and delirious from Zack’s bonding. Heat blazes in my cheeks as I remember.
The head agent lifts his hand in greeting. “You’re just in time. Take a seat.” If he suspects us, he doesn’t show it, turning away to put on a headset.
The big screen at the head of the conference table displays video feeds, all presumably mounted on helmets or vehicle dashes. One of the other agents explains we might see violence, if people inside the building resist arrest. He says the agents mostly use rubber bullets but can switch to live rounds if necessary.
“Sure you’re okay to watch, Red?” Callisto asks, studying me closely.
I nod. “Anything that gets us closer to freeing Zack.” Plus, if they really are raiding a place connected to Ray, it involves me too.
Leroy holds up his fist, and the agents ask us to be quiet. Rickon takes my hand as the clock on the wall ticks over to 9 am.
On the screen, the video feeds all jump at once, rushing forward to surround an oversized warehouse. I pick one camera to focus on so I don’t go dizzy watching all the shifting views, and the agent opens a side door and darts into the building, weaving between hoists and tall tool chests. Rubber tires hang on the wall, along with signs showing evacuation points and safety warnings. The camera sweeps over two city taxis. The whole garage looks just like a regular workshop.
