Chapter 1 #2
“Trust me, the kind of people who have worked their way into positions of power know how to take advantage of the system, and they do not respond well to that power being threatened,” Noah told me. “But knowing why you were framed doesn’t help us clear your name.”
“Then what does?” I asked, because a week was more than enough time living on the run.
I never wanted to sneak out of the Stanford police precinct in the first place, but the lead agent on the case—SSA Briggs—had forced my hand when he’d detained me in that interrogation room without a lawyer present and no plans to get one anytime soon.
He had made it abundantly clear that he didn’t have any other leads on Monica’s killer and wasn’t looking in any other direction than me.
“Evidence. The kind that doesn’t just introduce reasonable doubt but that proves you were framed,” Noah said. “Why were you there that night?”
Noah spoke in a hushed voice, like he was trying not to spook me. Like I was someone who was easily spooked by hard questions. I knew we would have to talk about this eventually, and I felt the sting at the corners of my eyes.
I wasn’t going to cry. I’d done enough of that the first few days living on the lam and it hadn’t gotten me anywhere. I wasn’t some helpless damsel weeping at the drop of a hat, I was a fully trained FBI agent.
Or, I would be, as soon as I could prove I hadn’t killed anyone.
The rest of my crimes—fleeing from custody, obstruction of justice, and anything else they tried to throw at me—could easily be handled by pointing out that technically I’d entered that interrogation room to provide a witness statement and Agent Briggs hadn’t said I was under arrest when he locked the door behind him.
Unlawful detention would be my argument and if I could prove that I hadn’t killed Monica then none of the other charges would stick.
“Monica texted me,” I explained, and it felt good to tell my side of the story, finally. “The message said she had information on a cold case I’d been looking into and to meet her at that address.”
We stopped talking as the waitress brought out our food.
A full plate of biscuits and gravy for me and a waffle for him.
I made a face as he took the syrup and began pouring it all over the plate.
He raised an eyebrow at me before giving my five-sugar-packet coffee a pointed look.
I took a big gulp of the coffee, refusing to be ashamed.
“I have a C.I. in Oregon who dabbles in forgery,” Noah said abruptly, cutting into his syrup with a side of waffle. “He owes me a favor, and he can get you set up with a new identity.”
“I don’t need a new identity, Noah, I need my old life back,” I argued between mouthfuls of eggs and gravy-covered biscuit.
It was the first good, hot meal I’d had in a week, and I didn’t have it in me to be polite about things.
All the places inside me that used to be filled with social grace were now empty, gnawing voids of hunger.
He winced, and I couldn’t tell if it was due to how obviously dire my situation had gotten or because he knew I wasn’t going to like what he had to say.
And I already knew what was coming, what his change in subject implied.
Because if he thought that hiding me away behind a new name was the next move, that meant he didn’t have any leads on who had framed me.
“I found something,” Noah told me, and the direct contradiction between my thoughts and his words caused me to freeze with the fork halfway up to my mouth.
I set it down, sitting back and raising a brow, motioning for him to continue.
He shook his head, letting out a breath.
“It’s bad, Avery. Worse than I expected.
I was wrapping up my assignment notes for our corruption case, looking into the activity logs on the back end, and I noticed an entry on Director Grant’s account that was timestamped for exactly when we were all in that mock interrogation room together.
Which means that it couldn’t have been him.
Someone else—someone higher up—was using his credentials at that exact moment to reassign you to North Carolina, of all places. ”
“What does a reassignment have to do with anything?” I asked, going back to wolfing down my meal. The waitress passed by again, offering to freshen up our coffees, and I waited patiently until she was gone to get my answer.
“Once I noticed that entry, I went digging and found that there were other activities under Director Grant’s credentials that he couldn’t have performed,” Noah replied.
“He scheduled a message to be sent to you from Monica’s console, but it has since been deleted.
Which means she probably wasn’t the one who sent that text asking you to come. ”
I’d wondered if that was the case. The chances of Monica being murdered the same night that she claimed to have a lead on my mother’s murder were astronomically small. Still, knowing that Monica hadn’t sent that text made my heart ache and my head spin.
“So show the deleted entries to Briggs and let him compare the timestamps to the text on my phone,” I suggested, stabbing the last bit of biscuit on the plate and running it through the gravy.
“I’m sure an analyst could even retrieve that deleted message off the servers to prove they’re a match.
Briggs will see that someone lured me to Monica’s on purpose, covered it up, and then framed me for her death. ”
“That’s just it, though,” Noah shook his head, looking down at the soggy waffle on his plate. He’d barely touched his food.
“What?” I asked, feeling more than a little impatient. I was desperate for a shower now that I’d had some food in me, and the sooner we solved this the sooner I could go home.
Noah hesitated for a moment, then winced as he spoke. “Your phone was never checked into evidence.”
“What?” I said again, alarmed. The waitress popped her head out of the kitchen, and I shoved down my distress long enough to send her a reassuring smile before I leaned in and lowered my voice again.
“That can’t be true. I gave them everything.
My phone was one of the first things they took after they gathered the blood samples. ”
“I’m sorry, McHale, it’s not there,” Noah said.
“Which means that this isn’t some amateur frame job.
Whoever did this is a professional who has access to FBI resources.
I’m worried that if you’re caught before we have what we need to prove you’re innocent, there’s every chance you’ll disappear inside the system and never be heard from again. ”
“Whoever is doing this knew me,” I pointed out.
“They knew exactly what to say to get me to show up at Monica’s at the exact right moment, they had access to my prints, and they timed it down to the last second.
And that means that they made a mistake, because it’s not just professional, it’s personal too.
I’m not backing down or running away from this, Noah.
Not yet. Not when there’s still a chance to get my life back. ”
“Okay,” Noah said, nodding his head and looking like my own resolution had redoubled his. “I’ll keep digging, try to find the personal thread that leads back to whoever is pulling the strings here. But you have to promise me something, Avery.”
“What?” I asked, eyes narrowed.
“If it comes down to choosing between getting caught and running, you run.”
Shaking my head and muttering under my breath, I poured the coffee back into the pot and set it on the warmer before grabbing my tennis shoe from where it still sat in the middle of the room. I hopped a few times as I pulled on my shoes while grabbing my wallet, phone, and keys before heading out.