Chapter 44. Isabel, the Assistant
Isabel, the Assistant
PRESENT DAY
“Do you want to go back to Easton’s for your car?” Scout asked, over the rush of the wind.
“No.” I pressed deeper into the passenger seat. “I don’t want to go back to that house ever again. I’ll call a tow.”
We continued across the highway in silence, Scout driving fast, curving around the few cars on the road.
The day hung heavy over us. After ten years, one of Georgia’s killers was dead and the other was being held where we’d just left, at the FBI office on Wilshire.
The agents there had scraped Easton’s blood off our cheeks and asked for our clothes as evidence.
In exchange, they’d given us matching gray sweatpants.
They’d let us wash off the blood, at least.
The wind was blissfully cool against my clean face. I was exhausted, but I didn’t want to close my eyes. I knew I’d hear the crack of the gun, feel the drench of warm blood, see Easton’s body on the carpet. So I searched the city lights instead. Brooks was somewhere out there, battling a terrorist.
A terrorist. Would it ever stop feeling like the world was one whisper away from madness? Was that just my trauma speaking, or was this a sixth sense, like how animals could feel a looming storm?
And what, God help me, did it mean that Brooks had ignored his orders and put his career on the line to drive to Easton’s house?
“Do you think Brooks—” I started to yell, at the same time Scout shouted, “I don’t feel it.”
As always, I turned to her. “Feel what?”
“Justice. I’ve been waiting to feel it.” Her eyes remained on the road.
“When Alden killed himself and I didn’t feel it, I thought it was because he’d robbed us of a trial.
But Georgia’s real killers confessed, and they’re dead and in custody, and we did it—we actually solved her murder.
So where’s the justice? The joy? Jesus, I’d even take relief.
That’s what I’ve been chasing.” She took a deep breath.
“With every girl we’ve helped since Georgia died. ”
I pushed the hair out of my face. “Scout, Emmy made it clear someone else is out there with a vendetta. You don’t feel justice because it’s not over.”
She glanced at me. “I’m starting to think there isn’t any relief waiting. The only thing that would make me feel whole again is if Georgia was still alive.”
We drove in silence until I said, “When Emmy picked up your gun, I was convinced we were going to die. But we’re sitting here, alive.
Give it time. Detective Holloway will talk to Emmy and realize you were framed.
The LAPD will clear you and you’ll go on your big world tour and be a star and everything will be okay. ”
Scout let out a shaky breath. “Actually—”
The harsh ring of her phone through the car’s audio system interrupted us. Cybele’s name flashed on the screen.
Scout looked at me. I nodded. “Take it.”
She pressed Accept and Cybele’s frantic voice filled the car, loud enough to be heard over the wind. “Where the hell have you been? We’ve been trying to reach you and Izzy for hours.”
Scout and I frowned at each other. I’d never heard Cybele sound so shaken. “Izzy’s here with me,” Scout yelled. “We just left the FBI. We have a lot to tell you.”
“So you know?”
“Know what?”
“That they arrested Juliet for bombing the Knox tower.”
The convertible swerved to the side of the highway and Scout threw the car into park.
“What?” I screeched, into the sudden stillness. Cars whipped past us.
“Tell me you’re joking,” Scout shouted.
“Everyone’s losing their minds over here,” Cybele said. “How have you not seen the news? The LAPD have her in custody. There’s a smoking gun, something about a backpack and footage.”
“The terrorist the FBI is after is Juliet?” Scout looked as dazed as I felt.
“The same detective who arrested you arrested her. There’s video of it all over social media.”
“Detective Holloway?” I asked. What were the odds?
Scout must’ve been thinking the same thing. Her knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. “Is Juliet being framed? Is Holloway involved?”
“I don’t know.” Cybele’s tone made me wince. It sounded like she did know, she just didn’t want to say.
“What aren’t you telling us?” I shouted as a truck roared by.
“You guys haven’t been around,” she said. “And I get it, you don’t have to explain—but you haven’t seen what’s been going on with her. She got in deep with this group called the Green Lions.”
“The what?”
“Green Lions,” Cybele repeated louder. “Have you heard of Luca Clearwater? She’s some progressive political hero. Juliet worships her.”
“I’ve heard of her,” Scout said. “I think I’ve seen her on the news.”
“Juliet wanted us to combine forces.” Cybele sighed.
“She was starting to do things that pissed us off, I think to impress Luca. The truth is … I could see her doing this if Luca told her it was a good idea. Juliet had issues, you know? She was young and on her own for too long. She was hungry for validation.”
“Shit,” Scout cursed.
“None of us know what to do,” Cybele said. “This is bigger than anything we’ve ever dealt with.”
The three of us fell into silence, considering the magnitude of it. Not only was Juliet in staggering, life-ending trouble, but the ripple effects would surely spread wide—to Scout, to me, to all of us.
Scout looked at me and waited.
I took a deep breath and made a decision. “Call the full network,” I told Cybele. “Every woman we’ve ever helped who’s in LA. Tell them to meet us at Scout’s house at eleven.”
“And when they ask why?”
“Tell them we’re calling in our favors.”