I NEEDEDa minute.
A moment to collect my thoughts and soothe my hackles and plan my next line of attack. And the only place I could be alone, not freezing my nuts off, and without being watched by dozens of uniformed officers, plainclothes detectives, or security cameras, was the bathroom on the ground floor. I put the lid down on the toilet and sat on top in one of the two stalls in the men’s room. My messenger bag toppled over on the floor, and I rested my elbows on my knees. I stared at the dirty grout between tiles.
The door opened and someone stepped into the room, disrupting the stillness. The echo of voices, ringing phones, and pings of the elevator bay slipped inside before the door fell shut. A man walked to the row of sinks, ran water, and then grabbed a paper towel.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
“Seb…?”
Neil?
I opened my eyes, stood, and unlatched the stall door. I poked my head out and saw Neil standing at the sink, studying the stalls and urinals in the mirror’s reflection. “What gave it away? My loafers?”
His mouth quirked a little. “Your bag.” He leaned to one side, tossed the wadded-up towel into the trash, and turned around.
I looked down at the bag between my feet. Max had bought me a pin for my last birthday—it readSUPER SLEUTHunder the lens of a magnifying glass. It’d been attached to the front pocket for months.
“Oh.” I stepped out of the stall, hoisting the bag onto my shoulder. “What’re you doing here?”
“Washing my hands.”
“Smartass.”
“Who do you think I picked it up from?”
“If it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck…”
“It must be Sebastian,” Neil concluded, smiling again. “I’m a cop. My presence here isn’t really a matter of conjecture.”
“Except that you don’t work out of the police headquarters.”
“No.” He slid his hands into his trouser pockets. “Why areyouhere, Seb?”
“I got out of an interview that bordered on an interrogation.”
“What?”
I pointed at the ceiling. “With a Major Cases detective.”
“Alex Wainwright?”
“Okay, you need to stop doing that.”
Neil shook his head. “I’m on my way up there to talk with him too. He’s one of the detectives assigned by the chief to investigate Calvin’s disappearance. I’m assuming he’s constructing a timeline of everyone who’s seen or worked with Calvin in the last few days.”
“Do you have to go now?”
Neil removed his hand to check his watch. “I have a few minutes.”
“Can we talk?”
“Do you want to get a coffee or something?” Neil asked, starting for the door.
I grabbed the sleeve of his winter coat, stopping him. “No.” I looked up at his face. “Those texts saidno cops, Neil. This is getting dangerous for Calvin.”
“You sound paranoid,” he answered, but Neil’s voice was quiet. Subdued. There was no malice in that statement, because he knew as much as I did that this was not the time—not the victim—to challenge the rules set forth by the Collector.
“I think I have good reason to be,” I replied.
