‘You look good.’ His voice is gruff. ‘Your hair is …’
‘Weird,’ Emma says. ‘I know.’ Her next words are impulsive. ‘You don’t have to do this.’
He sighs. ‘Well, you’re not doing it without me.’
Emma presses her lips together. ‘Are you still angry?’
‘I’m worried.’ Bell shifts on his feet, uncomfortable with what he’s about to say. ‘It’s not just the danger of being in the club. Doing this stuff is bad for you. Emotionally bad. You know that, right?’
Emma takes a breath, releases. ‘I know.’
‘Just tell me …’ He turns his head, eyes closing briefly, before looking back. ‘Explainfor me why we’re doing this. Is this about feeling guilty? Because of the other girls in Huxton’s basement?’
‘No.’ Emma shakes her head, emphatic. ‘It’s not about guilt. I feel a responsibility. If we can stop this guy, if we can save even one victim …’
‘Okay.’ Travis seems more settled in his mind, or at least more accepting.
She lets him really see her, hopes he can read beyond the paint on her face. ‘Travis, no one should have to live through the things I did.’
He nods, and his expression shows more understanding. Then he sighs again. ‘I still think this is a terrible idea.’
‘Every FBI operation we’ve ever been involved in has been a terrible idea.’ Emma gazes into his eyes. ‘That’s us, Travis. We make the best of terrible ideas.’
When he gazes back, she feels as if they have reached a moment of accord.
Kristin arrives with her armful of clothes and the makeup case. She smiles at them. ‘Oh goodness, you look fabulous. Travis, your shoes are very fancy, I love them.’
Bell’s cheeks redden. ‘Okay, we should get moving. Kristin, you’re staying here at headquarters – there’s enough bodies in the field, and it’ll be safer if you stay. Emma, they’ve got some equipment for us, Reyes is going to explain in the van.’
‘Then we should get going.’ Emma turns to Kristin. ‘Thank you for … all this.’ She indicates her outfit with an awkward gesture.
‘It was no trouble at all.’ Kristin envelops Emma in a hug. ‘Be careful. I know you’ll look after each other, but please be careful.’
Kristin’s hug is peach-smelling and soft. Emma appreciates the hug on a number of levels, not least because it gives her a brief respite: she can hide in Kristin’s hug, just for a few seconds.
Then those seconds are gone, and Special Agent Carter has appeared in the hallway entrance to the bullpen. ‘Mr Bell, Miss Lewis, are you ready?’
Bell nods in return, before turning back. ‘Emma?’
He holds out his hand. Emma is shocked to find herself taking it. His hand is warm and large and calloused, but clasping it feels natural, and above all reassuring, as they walk down the hallway to the bullpen.
Emma clears her throat, tries to stay focused. ‘Okay, so we’re both underage. How are we going to get into this club?’
The corner of Bell’s mouth lifts. ‘The same way underage kids all over America get into clubs. Fake IDs.’
Reyes has the fake IDs. He’s a slight, bandy-legged man with large spectacles who walks with Carter and Horner as they all move downstairs and outside to the staff parking lot of police headquarters. The nighttime air is cool and damp.
A group of black-uniformed SWAT are prepping beside a white van in a nearby bay – Emma sees caps and rifles, hears barked commands. Last time she was involved in a law enforcement strike, she wanted to be close to the action, not just listening to the radio communication at police headquarters. Now, she wishes she were anywhere but here.
‘Mr Bell, you’ll have a wire,’ Reyes says, moving briskly with them to an unmarked navy Ford Econoline with dark-tintedwindows. He yanks the rolling side door open. ‘Miss Lewis, we’ve got something else for you. Jump in, we’ll get you set up inside.’
The interior of the van is red-lit and dim, and modified with a bench stacked with recording devices and headphones, plus surveillance equipment niches. Carter nods at the driver in front before he climbs in with them in the back. He’s removed his suit jacket and added a tactical vest. Clyde Horner is in operational black; he pulls the door closed and takes a rear seat.
Once Emma and Bell have found their places – Bell nearer the front, Emma on a side bench – Reyes resumes his explanation, holding up a small appliance with a coiled wire.
‘Here’s the radio frequency transmitter we’re going to use with you, Mr Bell.’ Reyes has a small roll of athletic tape in his other hand. ‘Could you open your shirt, please? Thank you.’
Emma sees Bell begin to unbutton, looks away quickly. The van has already started moving, and she can smell gasoline fumes and the fungal scent of old sweat. Tension permeates the van interior and spins in her chest. All the occupants brace as the vehicle exits the parking lot and sharply corners.
