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The last police car had flashed by only ten minutes before.
She plucked a strand of fiber off her shirt, tossing it on the breeze. She came to a halt in the tunnel, watching occasionally as cars cut by and headlights flashed in the darkness, the whir of wheels echoing in the tunnel.
Cora leaned back casually against the concrete wall, avoiding the pink graffiti—it looked fresh, with trails of color like the glossy arms of some jellyfish.
In one hand, she held her phone, spinning it between her fingers as she considered her options. Her thumb pressed against the waterproofing case she’d used ever since her first case with the FBI.
She exhaled faintly, letting out a puff of air. She considered placing a call to the police. If she told them the mayorknewthe identity of either the killer, or at the very least his employer, then would they do something about it?
She frowned, considering this possibility.
She thought back to the police presence outside the mayor’s home. Clearly, the cops were working closely with Castillo. She frowned even more deeply as she recalled the threatening text messages on the mayor’s phone. He hadn’t seen any reason to conceal them...which suggested no one on the police force had requisitioned his phone. Or phone records for that matter.
She shook her head in frustration. If that was the case...Then likely the police were a friendly entity where the mayor was concerned. It was the same world over—politicians in power put their own folk in the law enforcement ranks. They called it “owing a favor.” But the nepotistic bent was as predictable as taxes.
No. The cops wouldn’t touch the case with a ten-foot pole, and by the look of things Castillo wasn’t about to start volunteering information either. The mayor was scared.
He knew he’d pissed off someone dangerous. Someone he was more frightened of than he was convinced of the police force’s ability to protect him.
This thought troubled her even more deeply.
Someone was playing them all like puppets...Someone who had the means to reach the mayor’s wife, his advisor, and his own daughter in his protected mansion.
She leaned back, head against the stony wall of the tunnel. Her ears remained attentive for any distant sirens. A brief lull in traffic gave her quiet and space.
She gave a little huff of air, still playing with her phone as she decided her next step. Of course, Johnny had promised to pay her, but at this point, she was beginning to wonder if the heat was worth the pay. Whoever had the mayorthisscared wasn’t going to be easy to tangle with.
Then again...
She hadn’t eventhoughtabout a drink or a pill in the last twenty-four hours. She smirked at the thought.
Not exactly a twelve-step program.
More like a two-step program: kick ass and take names.
She reached a decision, scrolling through her contacts and dialing a number. She turned the phone on speaker and raised it to her lips.
Another one of the reasons she’d chosen a bridge to place this call was in case anyonewaslistening in or keeping an eye on her number—like the old supervisor who’d had it out for her job ever since she’d shown up at the FBI—then the tunnel would help obscure the GPS lock. They’d likely assume she was in a car. And since one road cut north, and another—above, on top of the bridge—cut west, they’d have a difficult time locating her.
It was all precautionary, but she was getting the sense that on this particular mission, she’d need all the precautions she could take.
The phone call connected after a few seconds. And she bit her lip, listening intently. “Cora?” said the voice on the other line. A voice of urgency and concern. This wasn’t a professional tone of one greeting an errant colleague, but rather the sound of someone worried out of sheer affection.
She couldn’t help but smile at the sound of her old partner’s voice.
Agent Saul Brady wasn’t like anyone she’d worked with before. She could picture the fifty-five-year-old in her mind: a pure, white beard, neatly trimmed, a shaved head, and his expression a permanent poker face.
Brady had been described by some as tidy and fastidious, but Cora thought of him more as considerate. Oftentimes, the reason he kept things neat and in order was to allow him to focus on the discrepancies in the expressions of others. Saul was a smart and intelligent man, but his real superpower came in his emotional intelligence—this was off the charts.
In her mind, her old partner could only really be described as an old-fashioned gentleman. His eyes often twinkled when she entered the room, and she had it on good authority that Saul had never been nearly as fond of any of his other partners.
He’d always been something of a father figure to her.
And now, hearing his voice, Cora found that she swallowed back a strange lump in her throat. Her mind went off in directions that she’d prefer to avoid, whispering about her last experience with herownfather. He’d never quite understood Cora.
But the fifty-five-year-old black man had grown up knowing what it felt to double prove himself. Cora had often felt that it took her twice as hard to prove herself to her colleagues.
Even in the SEALs. She’d passed the same fitness exams and the same psych evals. She’d executed the same missions, but among some of her teammates and commanders, there had always been an undercurrent of doubt.
