Chapter 47
CHAPTER
FORTY-SEVEN
Duke heard three sharp raps against the door—firm, professional, unmistakable.
Conversation in the room instantly seized.
It had only been fifteen minutes since Andi had gotten that phone call.
If this was the feds, they were fast.
Matthew’s fingers froze over his keyboard. Mariella looked up from her phone. Ranger straightened from the wall, already reading the air. Simmy frowned, ever the empath. Andi met Duke’s gaze, the same realization settling between them.
Duke crossed the room and opened the door.
Two agents stood in the hallway, expressions neutral in the way that meant nothing good followed. One of them glanced past Duke, taking in the cluster of people behind him.
“Evening,” the taller one said. “We’re here to escort you to our field office.”
Duke stepped aside. “Come in.”
As soon as the agents entered, the hotel room suddenly felt smaller, tighter. One stayed near the door.
Andi moved to Duke’s side without comment. He felt the subtle tension in her posture, the way she squared her shoulders—not defensive, but ready.
“Are we being detained?” Duke asked.
“No. Not at this time.”
At this time. That phrase lodged deep in Duke’s gut.
“We’d like you to come down to the station,” the agent continued. “All of you. For formal statements.”
A ripple of concern moved through the room.
Andi spoke first. “We’ll cooperate.”
As they gathered their things, Duke felt the truth settle over him.
The narrative had shifted—and not in their favor.
As the team followed the agents into the hallway, a familiar sensation crept up his spine. The same one he’d felt before things went wrong.
The room was too cold—intentionally so.
Andi noticed it the moment the door shut behind her: the FBI seal mounted beside the observation glass, the hum of fluorescent lights, the faint sting of disinfectant in the air. A bare metal table was bolted to the floor, the chairs positioned with bureaucratic precision.
Everything about the space applied pressure without ever raising its voice.
Cold rooms made people uncomfortable. Uncomfortable people talked.
No windows. No clock. Just a single chair across from her and a recorder placed carefully between them.
They hadn’t put Duke in the room with her.
That, more than anything, told her how this was going to go.
But Andi knew the rules. The feds didn’t have enough to legally hold them. They had no real evidence to implicate them.
The young agent seated across from her—a different one than Alvarez—flipped open a thin file. He didn’t introduce himself. He didn’t smile. Those were choices too.
“Ms. Slade.” He kept his voice level and professional. “Let’s start with your travel schedule.”
Andi folded her hands on the table, careful to appear cooperative without being yielding. “We’re on a booked tour. The schedule is public.”
A factual answer. Verifiable. Nothing extra.
“Yes. Seattle. Portland. San Francisco.” He glanced up. “All cities where women have gone missing.”
There it was. The premise slipped in as fact.
Her pulse kicked once, but she didn’t let it show. “That’s true.”
He tapped the file. “The timing is interesting.”
Interesting wasn’t a question. It was bait.
Andi said nothing.
Silence made people uncomfortable. She’d learned early that the first person to fill it usually lost ground.
The detective shifted, then continued. “When did you first learn about Gina James?”
Andi answered cleanly, telling him about how they were contacted.
Then came Kate. Then Jen.
Dates. Times. Flights. Hotels. Names.
Andi tracked each question like a chessboard. What he knew. What he didn’t. Where he was reaching.
Each question was polite.
Each one sharpened the edge.
“Your podcast focuses on unresolved cases,” the agent finally said. “Disappearances. Violence. Tragedy.”
“That’s correct,” Andi said. “We tell stories. We don’t create them.”
He studied her a long moment, then leaned back in his chair. “You’re aware another podcast has connected these crimes to your presence in each city.”
“Yes. We’re also aware it’s irresponsible.”
“Maybe. Or maybe they’re asking the question no one else wants to.”
Her jaw tightened. His statement was an opinion masquerading as investigation.
She didn’t bother responding.
He leaned forward again, resting his forearms on the table. “I guess it all boils down to this question, Ms. Slade: Why do people keep disappearing when you show up?”
The question was loaded—assumption stacked on implication stacked on accusation.
Andi met his gaze and didn’t look away. “They don’t. People disappear every day. We just happen to notice patterns because it’s our job to look for them.”
“Or you profit from noticing them.”
There it was. Motive.
Andi let the air leave her lungs slowly. “If you believe we’re suspects, then say it.”
The agent’s expression didn’t change. “Right now, I think you’re a complication.”
“We’re the ones who called this in. Why are you taking this other podcast more seriously than you’re taking our initial phone call?”
He didn’t respond.
Instead, he clicked off the recorder. “This investigation is ongoing. I strongly suggest you and your team stop inserting yourselves into it.”
Andi stood, legs steady despite the tension humming under her skin. “With respect, we didn’t insert ourselves. Someone pulled us in.”