Chapter Six
Fun With Agents Carter and O’Hara
The second she opened her eyes, Daphne knew she was in major trouble.
She sat in a small chair, staring across a metal table at an empty seat. Blinking against the sudden light, she looked around, her heart racing as she took in her surroundings. The room she was in had white walls that reflected the light from the fluorescent bulbs overhead.
“Just great,” she muttered as she saw she’d been handcuffed to the table. The metal bracelets felt icy against her wrists. The chains had been slipped through holes in the table, restricting her movements.
There was a black door just behind the chair that faced her. Across the room was an identical door. On her left was a mirrored wall that Daphne immediately knew was two-way. Her reflection stared back at her, but she knew people on the other side were watching her.
She was in an interrogation room, she realized, remembering the SUVs that had stopped in front of her apartment building earlier.
As the handcuffs dug into her flesh, Daphne suppressed a groan. She’d never been arrested before. Then again, she’d never fallen out of a crashing plane in a lavatory before either or split herself into two halves that were divided between two worlds. She was down a rabbit hole of first-time experiences, none of them pleasant.
This couldn’t possibly get worse , she thought.
Just then, the door within her line of sight swung open, and a man and a woman stepped in. The man wore a blue windbreaker, a checkered shirt, and brown trousers. Daphne figured he was in his late thirties. Between his mustache and scruffy brown hair, he looked like a cop. He was scowling.
The woman looked closer to Daphne’s age. She was short and plump and wore her dark hair tucked in a ponytail. Adjusting her black suit, she pulled out the second chair and took a seat opposite Daphne, setting a recorder and a file down on the table.
“Good to see you’re awake,” she said, regarding Daphne with gentle black eyes. She flashed a badge. “I’m Agent Carter, and this is my partner, Agent O’Hara.”
She gestured at the man who now stood leaning against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. He glowered at Daphne, looking like he’d rather be throttling her than spending his time interrogating her.
“I assume you know what’s going on?” asked Carter while scrutinizing her.
“The FBI has arrested me,” Daphne replied. “On what charges?”
The man scoffed but said nothing. The woman opened the file.
“You are Daphne Emerson,” she said without glancing up. “Is that correct?”
Daphne nodded.
“Please give a verbal response.”
“Yes.”
“Forty-three years old?”
“That is correct.”
At this, Carter glanced up with a frown. Daphne knew what the woman was thinking: She doesn’t look a day over thirty.
“And you work as a… linguistics professor?”
“Part-time,” Daphne replied.
“Part-time terrorist,” she heard O’Hara murmur. “Figures.”
His partner turned to look at him, and he merely shrugged.
“Any family? Parents? Siblings? Cousins? Children?”
“None. I’m the only one left,” Daphne said, shifting uncomfortably in her chair. She stared at the cuffs on her wrists. If she still had her magic, she could have broken free with little more than a thought. Her gaze washed over the bold K still visible on the back of her hand. Bound, she was practically human, like these two.
Not to mention, I’m still weak , she thought, feeling somewhat grateful to be sitting.
“You purchased a ticket on the 10th of November. Is that correct?”
“It is.”
“Vegas to Chicago? Flight 17, Daystar Airlines?”
“It was Flight 18,” Daphne corrected, then realized Carter must have deliberately said the wrong number.
“And did you board that plane?”
She hesitated, then said, “Yes.”
With a sigh, Carter leaned back in her seat. “Do you know why you’re here, Miss Emerson?”
Daphne had a pretty good feeling she knew exactly what was going on. She also knew that if she said the wrong thing, she just might dig herself into an even deeper hole.
“I’m not saying anything else until I get an attorney,” she said.
“ What ?” O’Hara practically shrieked.
“You heard me.” She hoped she sounded as confident as she hoped.
“Are you insane?” He gave a sardonic chuckle, pushing off the wall and coming to the table, his hands bracing the edges. “You think this is a police station? Do you think you got arrested for speeding? He leaned across the table, his features settling into a scowl. “This is the FBI, lady. You’re a prime suspect in an ongoing investigation of what we’re starting to think was a terrorist attack.”
“Mark…” Carter began.
O’Hara ignored her. When he spoke, spittle flew from his mouth, just missing Daphne’s hands. “You’re lucky we’re the ones handling this matter. You could be dealing with Homeland Security right now. You got any idea how badly they want to squeeze information out of you?”
“Mark, cut it out,” his partner warned.
“After what you’ve done, Emerson,” he went on, “your rights are pretty much forfeited. You’re a threat to national security. No one—and I mean no one —would give two shits if you left this room in a body bag.”
“Mark!”
He retreated, still fuming. It took Daphne a moment to realize her heart was pounding like a set of drums. She shook her hair out of her face with a jerk of her head, avoiding Mark’s gaze.
“Sorry about that,” Carter said, flashing her a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “The reason you’re here is that a Mrs. Patricia Elliot placed a phone call to the police claiming she had information about the missing airline. According to her, one of her neighbors was acting rather strangely, claiming she was on the plane when it…” She frowned. “When it crashed . She thinks you must have had something to do with it. Her complaint didn’t make much sense at first until the FBI did some digging and found that you had connections to that missing flight.”
She leaned forward in her seat, biting her lip. “Do tell me, Miss Emerson, how come you’re here if you boarded the flight?”
Well, I’m a witch, and I cast a spell that split me in two.
How the heck was she supposed to tell them that? They’d never believe her. As far as she knew, the FBI already thought she was a terrorist. No way was she getting out of this problem.
“I told you,” Daphne tried again, “I’m not saying anything unless I get my attorney. I know my damn rights.”
She had a feeling O’Hara had been bluffing, trying to spook her. Then again, the odds really weren’t in her favor right now. She was a prime suspect, and it was not for murder or robbery but for terrorism. The United States took that seriously. O’Hara was right. She was lucky things hadn’t gone worse for her.
But she had the feeling they were about to.
Carter sighed again. The agent looked almost as tired as Daphne felt. She picked up the recorder and set it at the center of the table, her finger hovering over the play button.
“This,” she said solemnly, “is a recording of a distress signal that was sent to air traffic control. We retrieved it just this morning. It’s a message from the pilot himself, right before Flight 18 went dark.”
Daphne’s throat went dry. She wanted to be anywhere but here. Maybe if she banged her head on the table hard enough, she’d wake up on Frost Mountain again. August Kane was a madman who seemed to hate her even more than she hated him, but she would give anything to be back there right now, not to mention he wasn’t bad to look at…
She allowed herself to think of his broad, muscular chest, his solid middle, and the part of him that settled proudly between his sinewy thighs. She despised the man more than anything, yet there was something about the memory of him being on top of her that aroused her, turning her nipples into rock-hard diamonds in seconds.
And when she’d accidentally kissed him…
“Please listen,” Carter said, jerking Daphne out of her reverie and back into painful reality.
The agent pressed play.
“ Mayday! ” screamed a voice thick with agitation. “ Mayday! Daystar code 7700!”
There was some static, and a woman’s voice, much calmer than the first, replied, “ Daystar code 7700? ”
“ Dual engine failure! ” the pilot screeched. “ Negative response from the throttle. Requesting—”
His voice was cut short by another wave of static. By the time it cleared, the pilot was screaming at the top of his lungs.
“ Please! We’re all going to die! I can’t—I have a wife and kids at home. Oh, God, pl—”
There was more static, and then the recording went dead.
The interrogation room was silent for the next few seconds, but Daphne could still hear the horror in the pilot’s voice. She felt her throat tighten. That had been one man. And everyone else, all the scores of passengers and crew on Flight 18, had witnessed the same terror. Had anyone survived? That protection spell couldn’t possibly have worked. If it had, the plane wouldn’t have come apart.
“We don’t know what happened after that,” Carter said. “The pilot, the passengers, the entire plane… just gone. Vanished into thin air. We were suspecting some kind of advanced technology.”
No, not technology , Daphne thought, remembering the violent tremors that had rocked the plane. Magic. It was a portal.
She remained silent, casting a sideways glance at the two-way mirror. Her reflection stared back at her.
Who else is watching? she wondered.
The agent absently straightened the lapels on her suit. “Now, at first, we assumed it was just an accident because of the code 7700. Aircraft in emergency. We figured there must have been some kind of malfunction. But the craft disappeared. There must have been some kind of powerful force behind it…”
Daphne suddenly realized she was holding her breath.
“We’re thinking Russia or China,” Carter went on. Her brows furrowed as though she was still trying to make sense of everything. “And then you appeared on our radar, which suggests something else entirely.”
“Terrorism?” Daphne guessed.
“You claim you boarded the flight, Miss Emerson, but here you are. And yet, you couldn’t possibly have known about the crash or anything else about the flight unless you’d been aboard it. That tells us that you’ve got some information we could use—”
“I don’t,” Daphne said, which was only partly true.
Frustration crossed the agent’s face. “Look, these are perilous times. Everyone’s getting involved—the FBI, the CIA… everyone . The entire country is on alert. It’s like the sword of Damocles is hanging over our heads. Everyone’s been wondering if what happened was a foreign attack or a homegrown threat. And right now, you’re the only one we’ve managed to link to the missing plane.”
“Now,” said O’Hara, a sinister grin creasing his face, “how the hell does a linguistics professor get involved in a terrorist attack?”
“I’m not a terrorist,” Daphne said, feeling a flicker of annoyance.
“Oh, for goodness sake.” O’Hara rolled his eyes. “What, you’re a sleeper agent or something?”
The flicker would soon become a tidal wave, she thought, scowling back at him. He was clearly determined to make her out to be something she wasn’t.
“How did you do it, anyway?” The man’s mustache twitched. “How did you make the plane vanish? Was there anyone else involved, or was it a solo mission? Names, Emerson. We want names. Tell us who your co-conspirators are.”
“That’s enough, Mark,” said Carter.
“Oh, Suzanne, I’m just getting warmed up.” He rounded the table, coming to stand next to Daphne, and brought his face close to hers. His breath smelled like peppermint. “You know why I’ve got a bone to pick with you, Miss Terrorist? My brother was on that flight.”
Daphne’s lips parted in a silent gasp.
“Kenneth O’Hara. That’s his name.” Mark swallowed, and for the first time, she registered the pain in his voice. “ Was his name. He was an attorney. A really brilliant kid. He had a bright future ahead of him and had a really beautiful girlfriend with him, too. Emily. And you know why they were on that plane yesterday?”
He didn’t wait for her to respond to continue. “Kenneth was taking her to meet our parents. They were going to get married eventually. Now they’re both gone. My brother is gone. Do you have any idea how our parents feel? How… I feel?”
His voice had risen considerably in the past couple of seconds. Daphne fought the urge to once again deny his claim that she’d had something to do with the missing plane. Guilt squeezed her chest like a vice. In a way, she did feel responsible for the fate of Flight 18 and its passengers.
Maybe if she hadn’t cast the spell, everyone would be safe. Maybe the passengers would be in Chicago now with their families.
“You terrorists never think about the lives you take,” he snarled. “I wonder if you have a family of your own.”
“She doesn’t have any,” Carter reminded him, pulling him away. “Take five, will you? We can pick this up later.”
With that, she gave him a gentle shove toward the door. O’Hara shot Daphne one last glare, then stepped out of the interrogation room. Agent Carter followed suit, grabbing the file and the recorder from the table. She paused at the door, glancing back at Daphne.
“I’m trying to help you out here, Miss Emerson,” she said. “I can’t do that if you don’t help us.”