‘I didn’tdie.’ Emma closes her eyes and scrubs her hands over her face. ‘He only took the rings back from the girls who died.’
This brings him alert very quickly. ‘Was this something that came out in the papers? Is it something the police withheld?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t remember.’
‘Okay.’ They both know what this means. ‘So is this it? Are you sure?’
Emma kicks herself off the wall, her voice rough as dirt. ‘Take me to Quantico.’
CHAPTER FIVE
They’re met at Pittsburgh International by Special Agent Mike Martino. When he sees Emma and Carter approaching across the concourse, he wipes his mustache with a napkin and then dumps it and his coffee in a trash can.
‘Okay, we’re cleared to board. Hello, Miss Lewis.’
‘Hey.’ Emma has met Martino before, and she finds him bluff, of average competence. If the rest of the team is made up of people like Martino, she doesn’t trust the FBI to resolve this quickly.
Not without her help.
‘Straight to base, Mike.’ Carter passes Martino a thin folder of paperwork. ‘There’ll be a car set up for you at Washington National. Check in with Jack Kirby at the office. Miss Lewis, I’ll be in touch by phone tomorrow.’
‘Sure.’
‘We’re going to figure this out.’ Carter holds her gaze. She thinks he probably knows she doesn’t trust him yet. ‘We’re going to work this out, and we’re going to get you back home.’
‘You’ll make better progress with me on the team.’ The wordstumble stiffly from her mouth. ‘You said you’d appreciate my perspective – well, you’ve got me now, like it or not. Don’t make me sit in a room under protection, that would drive me crazy. Let me do something, or send me back to Ohio.’
Carter considers, finally nods. Emma wants to slap him for putting on the pretense of thinking it over. He’s got what he wanted without any expenditure of effort. She knows that’s not his fault, but she fusses with her overnight bag anyway so she doesn’t have to shake Carter’s hand.
She’s not feeling very charitable toward the FBI as she and Martino make for the boarding area. The lights are always too bright in airports. Emma feels sticky from so many hours of stewing in her own perspiration. Walking past the Military and Family Courtesy Center, she has the strongest urge to just go on into the little rest area and lay her head down on the couch.
Martino makes a noncommittal gesture. ‘Want me to take your bag?’
‘No.’
Emma gets the window seat again, and the view outside is like the landscape of her mind: black and vast and furiously cold. How is she back here? Only this morning she was considering working with the FBI again, but not like this. Not when she doesn’t get to set her own terms. Last time, she was motivated by survivor’s guilt; this time, she’s compelled because of the danger to herself. She’s chosen participation over helpless inaction. The result is the same. It’s like one of those kaleidoscope toys, where you twist it and the colored chips fall into different patterns, the same components in endless variation.
She thinks about the dead girl’s ring finger all the way to Washington National.
The flight is just over an hour, then it’s another hour in the car to Quantico. Fleetwood Mac’s ‘The Chain’ plays softly on the radio. They roll past the military police guard station about 00:30 – at this time of night they have to leave the requisitioned vehicle parked in the outside lot. Emma assumes all the oaks around the base have changed their seasonal colors, but it’s hard to tell by moonlight.
In the Jefferson building, they go through the process of signing in, and she has to show her driver’s license. The agent at the desk already knows her name. The interiors here are chillingly timeless: the same hollow sound of footsteps in the atrium, the same long windows. This is a nightmare she’s having. She just wishes she knew how to wake up.
Martino seems to be always reaching for her elbow to guide her, hastily pulling his hand back. Emma wonders who gave that order, the ‘give her space’ order.
He leads her to the elevator. ‘Okay, we’re going to see Special Agent Kirby in Behavioral Science.’
‘So I’m allowed into Behavioral Science now?’ She hitches her bag higher on her shoulder.
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Because it’s my case they’re studying.’
‘Uh, yes, ma’am. I’m afraid so.’
The rest of the trip is in silence. Emma feels her stomach hover a little with the elevator’s downward fall. Her mind is whispering asthe car descends, and the whisper says,Huxton, Huxton, back from the dead.
When they get out of the elevator and past the vending machine, Emma turns ahead of Martino and goes left.
