The hole in my chest that formed when my mother was murdered aches. Absent-mindedly, I rub my sternum but stop when I notice both Huntley and Cassidy tracking the movement.
The remaining sixteen names are easy to recite. When I’m done, my tone turns hard. “These women were not disposable. Who they were and the choices they made do not determine their worth. They were mothers, sisters, and daughters. They had people who cared about them. I would never label them disposable.”
“You mean they were prostitutes.”
“Cam girls,” I correct.
He sneers at me. “You’re just like him, you know?”
My shoulders feel heavy as the muscles along my spine go rigid.
“Huntley,” Cassidy warns, taking a step forward.
Agent Huntley continues as if no one else has spoken. “You think they’re dirty—an abomination—just like your father did.”
I can hear my heartbeat in my ears. “No.”
Huntley practically spits at me. “Admit it.”
The door bangs open, and a Hispanic man with short dark hair and what looks to be a million tattoos walks in. His gray suit and briefcase make him look like he’s some type of professional.
If his expression is anything to go by, he’s not happy with Huntley. “Are you questioning my client without counsel, Travis?”
I open my mouth to speak. “Wh?—”
“Not another word, Savannah,” the man instructs me in a kind voice, but when he turns back to Huntley, the man’s glower is firmly in place.
“Yourclient?” Huntley narrows his eyes.
“Who is this?” Cassidy asks.
“Rio Flores. Nice to meet you,” the new man greets Cassidy, then strides to my side like he’s guarding me. “That’s right. Miss Foster is my client. Why hasn’t she called me?”
Because I’m not actually your client…
“She hasn’t been mirandized. This isn’t an interrogation. Miss Foster is helping us with a current case,” Huntley explains. “You have nothing to worry about, Flores.”
So now I’m Miss Foster?
Agent Cassidy coughs to cover the scornful sound he makes.
Rio scrutinizes the blank walls as if they’re a threat. “Interesting. Do you question all helpful New York citizens inrooms like this? Looks like the FBI needs to step it up in the hospitality department.”
“You’re such a—” Huntley starts, but is interrupted.
Rio waves his hand in a sweeping motion to the images on the table. “And do you show all of your witnesses photographs of mutilated women?”
Huntley grinds his teeth.
Rio has done a horrible job faking amiability, but then he releases his inner pitbull, tearing Huntley to shreds.
“Questioning Miss Foster without counsel is a flagrant violation of her rights, and in my absence, you have ignored procedure and protocol, along with subjecting her to intimidation tactics. So, congratulations, Travis. Every word she has spoken is now inadmissible. If you attempt any further questioning, you can explain your unprofessional behavior to your supervisor, SSA Aaron Marreli.”
Huntley looks like he’s ready to blow with how tightly wound his muscles are, and the deep shade of red that colors his face.
Rio places his hand on the table and leans over, asserting his strategic position. “This is what’s going to happen. You’re going to gather those photos, put them back in your little file, and never show them to Miss Foster again. Then Miss Foster and I are going to walk out of here, and you will not bother her. Any questions you have for her can be directed to my office.”
Rio offers me his hand.
