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“The feds asked the same question, which is when she demanded immunity before giving them anything else.”
“Why?”
John clears his throat. “Because apparently, Madeline has been actively helping them recruit young women for many years.”
“Oh, shit," I mutter. "Why doesn’t that surprise me? What do we do now?"
“Hang back for now. Madeline gave them an address to an old warehouse in Van Nuys. She claims she was just there last week and that a group of about a dozen young women are currently undergoing seasoning. The feds are going to see if it checks out, and we’ll know where to go from there.”
“Is it normal for the FBI to share so much information with a contractor?”
“Not at all.” John clears his throat. “But Rafe knows the more information we have, the more we can help, and he trusts me to decide what should and should not be shared. For him, the rewards far outweigh any possible consequences in this situation. Let’s just say you’re not the only one with a personal stake in this.”
Huh.
“So, you’ll get back to me soon?”
“I’ll get back to you soon,” John confirms.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
JAZZ
“You’re doing great, Jasmine. When the light turns green, go ahead and take the northbound ramp up ahead.”
I glance at Evan, my driving instructor, out of the corner of my eye. “But, that’s an on-ramp to the freeway!”
“Exactly. I think you’ve proven you can handle the surface streets well enough. Let’s see how well you do with merging into traffic on the interstate.”
Okay, here we go.
I turn on my signal and pull into the right lane leading to the on-ramp.
“Good,” Evan says. “Now, hold steady on the accelerator and make sure you check your blind spot before merging left.”
I swear my pulse is racing a mile a minute, but I manage to follow his instructions without clipping someone’s side panel. Of course, the freeway is packed; this is Los Angeles, after all.
“Now what?”
I see him fiddling with his phone out of my peripheral. “Oh... uh... this is good. Just stay in this lane and watch your speed. Be on the lookout for cars in front of you suddenly hitting their brakes. We’ll go down for a few miles and then pull off.”
“Okay.”
I check my rearview and side mirrors periodically but mainly focus on the road ahead. I get a little heavy-footed on the brakes, causing Evan to jerk forward in his seat a few times, but he’s too busy playing on his phone to bitch about it. What the heck is going on with this guy? The few other times we’ve gone out, he’s been really attentive and helpful. Today, he seems distracted.
My instructor points to the green sign up ahead. “In one mile, take that exit and keep to the right. We’re going to switch, and I’ll drive us back.”
“What? Why? Am I not doing okay?”
“You’re doing just fine, Jasmine.” Evan’s thumbs fly over his phone screen again before he finally tucks it away in his jacket pocket. “Traffic is getting pretty thick, so I want to take over.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Well, that’s a bummer, but I guess I see his point. Even if the freeway is jam-packed with vehicles in LA, people are still speeding down the asphalt like they’re auditioning for a new Fast & Furious movie. I successfully make it back onto the surface streets without crashing into anything and follow Evan’s instructions through an industrial area. There’s hardly any traffic here—I’m guessing that’s because it’s Saturday and the surrounding businesses aren’t open on weekends.
“Go ahead and pull against that curb.”
I steer the car over toward the curb and manage to park less than a foot away from it, which is actually pretty impressive for me. For some reason, I can’t judge the distance between tires and curbs. Don’t even get me started on parallel parking.
