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Brown's gaze landed on our SUV, and our eyes locked for a brief moment. Then, with an unreadable expression, he turned away, continuing his path toward the municipal building housing both the sheriff's office and Downing's headquarters.
“Agent Carter Brown," I murmured, tension knotting in my stomach. In the past, we'd argued. His less-than-serious attitude regarding our case over time had become a difficult issue. Catching Giuseppe eyeing Brown, I wondered if he sensed my disquiet.
"I sense there's a traitor among those associated with Rosedale," Giuseppe stated, his voice hard as stone. His proclamation hung heavy in the air, filling the space with a tangible sense of foreboding. Was our mission proving to be even more hazardous than we had initially anticipated?
"What do you mean?" I asked Giuseppe, leaning in closer to ensure I didn't miss a word.
"I sense it as well. I think somehow Carter has betrayed us," Courtney chimed in, her affirmation reflecting a shared unease.
“She took the words right out of my mouth," Giuseppe confirmed, his voice barely above a whisper.
In the wake of his affirmation, an uneasy silence wrapped around us, only to be broken by the distinct silhouette of Agent Carter Brown emerging again, making his way toward the entrance of the building. His hurried strides echoed our shared unease. His presence served as a poignant reminder of the stagnant progress of the Rosedale case.
We were in the thick of it, the eye of the storm, but we'd weather it together, exposing the hidden traitor and navigating the intricate maze of deceit—at least, that was our intention!
The SUV drew to a halt in front of the formidable municipal building. An unshakeable sense of dread stirred within me as I gazed at the monolithic structure. Stepping into the shadowy maze of the building, the chilled silence within its hallowed halls seemed claustrophobic.
Agent Downing's office, a clinical expanse bathed in the cold glow of multiple screens, lay ahead. The hum of covert operations resonated in the air as Downing emerged, his face betraying no emotion. His reputation as an astute and composed field agent was evident in his demeanor.
"Downing," Courtney greeted him, her voice a modicum of calm.
"Courtney, Brad," Downing nodded at us, a flicker of concern briefly crossing his otherwise stoic face.
"We're ready," I said, my voice echoing our resolve.
Downing nodded, gesturing toward a soundproof booth in his office's corner. It was prepped for our mission—to place the initial call to Tyree.
"Listen carefully, Courtney," Downing began, his gaze steady. "I will be monitoring the call, trying to trace it. It's imperative that you keep Tyree on the line for as long as possible. I need time to pinpoint his location."
Courtney gave a quick nod, Downing's game plan soaking into her like a sponge. She shared how she had tried reaching out to Nanc via her trusty flip phone, checking to see if Tyree had visited City Deli since her last report. Nanc's categorical 'no' only intensified the enigma of Tyree’s whereabouts.
"Good," Downing affirmed, his tone crisp and reassuring. He steered Courtney towards the solitude of the soundproof booth. Just as she was about to step in, she glanced at me for reassurance.
'I love you,' I mouthed to her, my confession hanging silently in the space between us. The booth door clanged shut, echoing a sense of finality. We were back to the stifling silence of Downing's office. The hum of machinery and the sporadic pings from active equipment were the only intrusions, punctuating the heavy quiet.
The glow from screens morphed into elongated, eerie shadows, turning the room into a scene ripped straight from a contemporary suspense novel. The silence was pregnant with anticipation. The tension wound tight, ready to snap at the tiniest trigger.
ChapterFifteen
Courtney
Plantedin the heart of the sound booth, the cool dampness of anxiety slicked across my palms. The understated drone of machinery hummed through the room, weaving an unusual harmony with the steady rhythm of my pulse echoing in my ears. Downing's recent rundown of our strategy had my nerves jangling like an overplayed guitar string, and the plan—a delicate cocktail of high-risk maneuvers – was starting to feel more like a tightrope walk above a canyon.
The room was bathed in a dim wash of light, the pale glow casting uncanny specters across the space, each shadow seeming to dance and morph with a life of its own.
Outside, through the glass, I could still feel the frosty weight of Brad and Giuseppe's stares. Their faces carved deep with worry lines, were like open books of concern. Their laser-focused attention on me sent ripples of chill cascading through me, making the reality of the situation all the more palpable. It was a high-stakes chess game, and I was the queen piece, vital and vulnerable, with the outcome of our perilous gambit balancing precariously on my every move.
With a deep breath, I lifted the flip phone, the tiny device feeling ominous in the palm of my hand. Despite the chaotic storm of emotions threatening to consume me, I managed to keep my hand steady as I located the number on the photo of Clint's business card.
The line started ringing, each tone echoing ominously against the silent walls. Time seemed to stretch on. Then, abruptly, there was a click, and Clint Tyree's voice filled the booth.
"Courtney! Where are you? I’ve been trying to find you!” He sounded both surprised and pleased, a chilling contrast to the dread pooling within me.
"Mr. Tyree," I replied, forcing an uncharacteristic cheerfulness into my voice to match his seemingly upbeat demeanor. I lied to him, saying I was in Maine with my father. It felt strange and unsettling to be so deliberately deceitful.
To my surprise, Tyree mentioned that he was starting a new business venture in Seattle. Then, he began talking about the need for someone with my skills, particularly in information technology and app development.
"But, Mr. Tyree, I was only an assistant," I protested weakly, my voice faltering slightly.
