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He pulls me closer, trying to soothe me as my shivering, soaking-wet body practically convulses in his arms. He wanted to get me some dry clothes, but I refused to stop at home first. I have to show up for my parents.
That thought has me wishing for the sunrise like never before.
“I’ll always show up, Ace. No matter how dark it gets, I’ll always fucking show up. That’s our fairy tale.”
The dark, blustery world whirls around the car as Doug jolts to a stop. Even the streetlights have withered in the whiteout, barely discernable. Something about that imagery is comforting. Us, parked here—still and small—as Mother Nature throws an absolute tantrum. The sun retreating, whether out of fear or routine or pure wisdom. The trees and wind and clouds all willingly becoming her pawns. It looks like a checkmate move. Like the end. But no matter how much havoc she wreaks, the sun will reign again.
So, whether or not my golden god illuminates this nightmare tonight, I can weather this storm.
I cough and sputter through several cleansing inhale-exhale cycles before I glance at Rex. “I’m good. I’ve got this.”
He nods at me and knocks on the window separating us from Doug. When the door opens, I rush inside with Rex hot on my heels.
It isn’t like a police station, which is what I pictured. It’s an office building. Men and women in business attire scurry about, chatting on phones and banging on keyboards, oblivious to the treacherous scene unfolding beyond the windows. It’s nearly seven o’clock, and not one of them seems to be prepared to end their day.
The guy who gave me the card swaggers out, all smug and cocky. He’s lost his overcoat and suit jacket, but his white button-up is still dotted with the drippings of our previous encounter.
“Miss Carver”—he offers his hand, so I take it, inwardly reeling—“thank you for arriving so quickly. Cooperation is best for everyone. I’m Agent Matthew Colehorn. Follow me.”
He may have shaken my hand and greeted me cordially, but the pleasantries are nowhere to be found. The snowstorm was warmer. But I can do icy.
Play their game.
He guides me to an empty office room, but a cursory look around reveals it’s anything but ordinary. There are cameras in the upper corners and nothing but a simple table and a handful of seats. Pulling out a chair, he gestures to it with a wordless request for me to sit, so I do, folding my frigid, gloved hands in my lap. The more compliant he thinks I am, the better.
Never let them see.
His scrutiny switches to Rex with irritation. “There’s a waiting room around the corner. Coffee, water. Don’t touch the food. It’s probably been out all fucking day.”
“I’m good where I’m at,” is all Rex returns, arms stiff in front of him, one hand clasping his wrist on the other. Bodyguard mode in overdrive. His gray eyes look downright lethal.
Colehorn pins me with a formidable glare. “Time to call your guard dog off. This case is classified. He can’t be in here.”
Rex clears his throat, issuing a subtle threat with the noise. “I’ll leave when Miss Carver’s lawyers arrive.”
It occurs to me that I might get further if I have a few minutes alone with Agent Asshole. “I’m good, Rex. I’ll let you know if I need you. Go wait for the attorneys.”
“Cee—”
“Please.” I cast him a stern, entreating stare. “Let me handle this.”
I respect his hesitation. It’s what Liam would expect, but I need to get my parents released quickly. If the FBI wants something from me, I’m not going to waste another minute before figuring out what that is.
A silent nod is Rex’s only response before he slips out of the room. That power my father mentioned might be valid. Rex would’ve argued with me in the past—or at the very least spewed a slew of instructions. I need to harness that authority. Maybe I don’t have much to stand on inside this room, but if I widen my lens, I’m the one in control here. I just need to find my angle.
Colehorn plops into a chair, flashing me his best bad-cop glower. It’s mildly impressive. He certainly nails the grumpy, threatening, my-mission-is-to-ruin-your-life scowl. If I wasn’t intimately connected to the country’s wickedest puppeteers or aware that those I love bury people who cross them, I’d probably cower at the sight. But since those are my closest and most cherished relationships, I simply wait quietly, unfazed and void of any expression.
His face softens, like he’s come to a decision—a new tactic. “You know what? I’m going to jump right in, Celeste. No need for any hard-ass bullshit. As I said, you have everything we need to make a deal on behalf of your parents. This can be nice and easy. Cooperate, and you’ll all be home before this storm traps us all here.”
“Well, I do appreciate the accommodations.” My mouth curls into a sardonic grin. “We aren’t quite on a first-name basis though, are we, Matthew?”
“You give me what I’m looking for, you can call me whatever the fuck you want, darling.” He opens a drawer on his side of the table and tosses a file down in front of me. “Let’s start there.”
I school my features, ingest a cleansing breath, and flip open the folder. The picture on top is of Liam, but I show no notion of recognition. Impatient, Colehorn spreads the pictures out. One after another, he flops them down with a smack. He is failing miserably at adopting the not-so-bad-cop demeanor he attempted a minute ago.
The photos transform the tabletop into a collage of my family. More of Liam. Wells. Ty. Gage. Various places. Sometimes alone. Sometimes together. No Ivy. That’s a positive.
Still, my insides coil around my spine, causing acid to jump for my throat, but I gulp it all down. My eyes meet his with the best poker face I’ve ever fashioned. “And?”
