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CHAPTER TEN
The clock inside the unmarked sedan read midnight, its neon glare a beacon in the oppressive darkness of the deserted parking lot. Rachel squinted through the windshield at the reservation sheriff's office, an unassuming building that looked more like a fortress under the harsh cast of the floodlights. Beside her, Ethan's silhouette was rigid, his fingers drumming a silent rhythm on the steering wheel.
"Ready?" she asked, her voice betraying none of the unease that knotted her insides. She glanced into the rearview mirror, where Carlos was glaring sullenly at them. The man's teardrop tattoo quivered on his cheek, and his dark features were twisted into a permanent scowl.
"Let's get this over with," Ethan replied, his tone as taut as the air between them. His reservations had nothing to do with their suspect, but rather everything to do with the reservation police force.
He knew he wasn't welcome, and the two of them could sense the hostility emanating from the cold concrete of the structure itself.
They exited the vehicle, the sound of gravel crunching beneath their boots breaking the hush of the night. The frigid welcome, earlier, from the reservation cops hung thick in the atmosphere, an invisible barrier that made every step towards the entrance feel like wading through treacle. Yet they pressed on, bound by duty and the weight of the silver badges affixed to their belts.
Rachel's hand hovered near her holster, comforted by the presence of her service weapon, even as her mind echoed with warnings to tread lightly. This was not their turf, and the reservation police were a proud force, fiercely protective of their autonomy.
"Keep your eyes open," she murmured to Ethan. He merely nodded, his gaze scanning the surroundings, alert for any sign of trouble.
They reached the back seat where Carlos sat, shackled and sullen under the dim dome light. With a practiced motion, Ethan opened the door and pulled Carlos out, his hand securing a tight grip on the suspect's arm. Carlos stumbled slightly, his legs unsteady after the long drive, but he recovered quickly, his face a mask of defiance.
"Move," Ethan commanded, pushing the pimp forward with a firm hand. His voice was low, but it carried—the sound of authority that demanded obedience.
Rachel followed, her senses heightened, her mind running through the questions they needed answers to. Anna Longshadow's name whispered in her thoughts, a ghostly refrain that spurred her determination. She and Ethan moved as one.
As they approached the glass doors of the sheriff's office, she half-expected them to be barred, the reservation officers to confront them with crossed arms and narrowed eyes. But there was no such reception. The doors swung open with ease, a silent invitation into the belly of the beast.
The stillness of the lobby unnerved her, the absence of resistance leaving her braced for a confrontation that did not come. It was as if the building itself held its breath, watching, waiting.
"Let's find an interrogation room," Ethan said, his voice barely above a whisper yet clear in the void.
"Right behind you," Rachel assured, her eyes never leaving Carlos, who trudged ahead, the metallic clink of his cuffs punctuating the silence.
The click of the secretary's keyboard halted as Rachel and Ethan entered, her eyes flicking up to meet theirs. She assessed them with a cool detachment that bordered on suspicion. "Interrogation room?" Rachel asked, her voice steady despite the tension coiling in her gut.
"Down the hall," the secretary replied, rising from her desk. The dim light caught the lines of distrust etched into her face. Her steps were measured, echoing off the walls as she led them through a narrow corridor. The woman's silver and aquamarine earrings swayed with each step she took.
"Here." The secretary's hand lingered on the doorknob before she pushed it open and stepped aside.
"Thank you," Ethan murmured, though his gratitude seemed to dissipate in the charged silence.
They entered, Carlos shuffling between them, his head bowed. The room was a stark cube, the walls barren. A single bulb dangled from the ceiling, casting harsh shadows over the steel table bolted to the floor.
"Have a seat," Ethan instructed, nudging Carlos toward one of the chairs.
Rachel's gaze swept the room, noting the video camera in the corner—its red light a silent sentinel. She felt the absence of warmth, the deliberate sterility designed to unnerve. Her skin prickled, the chill of the room seeping into her bones.
"Ready?" Ethan's eyes met hers, a glint of resolve mirrored in his expression.
They positioned themselves across from Carlos, their figures rigid, authoritative. She could hear the subtle grind of Ethan's jaw, the quiet rustle of Carlos shifting in his seat.
"Carlos," Ethan began, his tone devoid of any inflection that might betray their urgency. "We need to talk about Anna Longshadow."
The mention of the name hung between them, a specter of truth. Rachel watched Carlos' reaction, the way his fingers tightened around the edge of the table. It spoke volumes more than words could, confirming suspicions without a confession.
"Never heard of her," Carlos said, but his eyes darted away, a brief flicker betraying his lie.
"Let's not waste time," Rachel cut in, her words sharp as shards of glass. "We know she worked for you."
"I don't know any Anna," he replied, his voice a hollow echo against concrete walls.
Ethan circled behind Carlos, a silent predator. His fingers drummed a staccato on the cold metal table, the sound jarring in the stillness. Rachel watched Carlos's eyes flicker to follow Ethan's movement, a bead of sweat tracing a path down his temple.
