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“Okay, whatever.” Cotter focused on the car ahead and tried not to get too close.
Billy answered. “Hey, Mom . . . . Yeah . . . . We’re fine . . . . Mom, I gotta go, okay? See you later.”
As Billy closed the phone, Cotter glanced over. The hint of a smile played on the young man’s lips.
At the alley’s end, the bluish car turned right. Cotter hurried to catch up. He reached the intersection, looked right, and saw the car stopped at a red light.
Cotter used the moment to snatch Billy’s phone from his hands. As Billy sputtered, Cotter checked the last call received. A private number.
“Billy, how did you know it was your moth—?” Cotter’s question was cut off by a right uppercut to the chin.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Jessica
“So nice to see you again, Cyn,” I said. “While I could see you, that is.”
Once bundled into the car, I was blindfolded. Apparently, I wasn’t even going to get a cheap tour of D.C. out of this ride to . . . wherever.
“Relax,” Cyn said, her voice dripping with venom.
“Kind of hard to do that blindfolded. And with no idea where you’re taking me. Or what you want from me.”
“I see you have your laptop.” Cynthia snickered. “You and that story of yours.” Her voice was filled with disbelief.
“Maybe I can help you,” I said. “I . . . I want to cooperate if I can. I’m . . . just not sure I know how.” At this point, I knew the agents were listening in. I’d managed to hit the switch on my buckle while pretending to adjust my seatbelt.
Cynthia fell quiet. The only sound was that of road noises and traffic.
“Can you be more specific about what you need from me?” My voice tweaked up a notch. I hoped I wasn’t overplaying my hand. That is, assuming I could even guess what game we were playing.
“Why don’t you just sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride,” Cynthia said. “We’ll get into specifics when we get there.”
Can’t wait. After trying to count turns and listen for clues, I finally gave up and took her advice. The only sound in the car was the road’s hum beneath the tires.
After what seemed like hours, we arrived. My door opened and someone grabbed my arm.
“Let’s go.” A man spoke the two words as if he were hard-pressed to share them.
He pulled me from the car and maneuvered me across what felt like grass. I tried to keep my wits and my balance. The only sounds were birds and distant traffic. We could be in a quiet suburb or in the middle of nowhere.
My feet hit pavement. A path? We halted. Keys jingled and a lock turned. I heard a door open and was then guided up one step and inside.
Two people, each holding my arms, led me further inside. My tennis shoes squeaked on the hardwood floor.
They lowered me into a chair. My face felt warm and I sensed a light shining beyond the blindfold.
Someone tore the blindfold off and I blinked into the brightness. A light was directed at my face. Eventually, I made out a windowless room, barely furnished with a couple of chairs, a cot, and a desk with a shelf holding a fax or printer.
A heavy-set man with a swarthy complexion squatted beside me. I gripped my carrying case in front of me, like a shield. My purse still hung from my shoulder.
“Now,” the man said. “Tell us what you know.”
“A-about what?” I managed to stammer. My mouth felt dry and pasty.
“About our plans. What did they tell you?”
I tried to think about how I’d b
