CHAPTER FIFTEEN #2
Now, I had to face the FBI alone without a clue why. The idea terrified me.
My hands would clench into fists if I thought about it too long.
Mom always jumped at the chance to offer me up to the professionals.
She might have my best interests at heart, wanting to make sure I received the help I “needed.” Nonetheless, when had things deteriorated so much that she’d leave me exposed like this?
Even if the FBI wanted something innocuous—and that was a big if—it would still be better to have my parents with me.
This far out into the doorway, Manuel’s form caught part of my attention in my peripheral, making me glance his way.
His frown deepened when he caught sight of me.
Did I look that bad?
“Well,” Mr. Richards continued, drawing me back, “I don’t care what this paper says. If you need to be bailed out, just blink at the camera in the corner three times.”
“Camera?”
“Yes. To the left near the window on the back wall. Sit so you can see it. You won’t be able to miss it.”
I nodded, feeling a surge of gratitude at the safety net he was risking his own skin over. “Thank you,” I mumbled.
“Richards, Walker,” the FBI agent called, having dug his heels in farther up the hall.
It was like he thought I’d disappear if given half a chance.
“I hope you aren’t conspiring. It would go against the nature of that underage rights release form.
” He wore a devil-may-care smile, but his eyes projected anything but laid-back fun.
“I just have a few questions. Walker isn’t in any trouble. I promise.”
What choice did I have?
Richards patted my shoulder, a brief flare of warmth before it was gone. “Remember what I said, Willa.”
I nodded and began my march. The closer I got, the harder it was to ignore the feeling of being analyzed beneath the agent’s sharp gaze. It tracked every microscopic movement.
Mr. Truth indeed.
“Hey, Willa,” Manuel called, breaking some of the tension. “Am I still walking you to class later?”
We planned no such thing, not today, so my mind blanked on how to answer long enough that Veritas answered instead. “I’m sure we’ll wrap up long before then, son.”
Manuel’s face darkened, gaining a dangerous edge. “I’m not your son.” He turned to me, the shallows of his cheeks softening. “I’ll wait for you.”
Veritas scoffed behind me, so I gave Manuel a watery, shaky smile in lieu of a verbal answer before entering the room. The FBI agent followed on my heels, shutting the door on Mrs. Handy’s cross-armed stare down.
“Tough crowd,” Veritas joked.
Almost instantly, I noted the camera Richards mentioned and maneuvered toward the chair across from it. It probably seemed weird to him, but I didn’t care. It was a lifeline, and I intended to use it.
Veritas grinned as if he was amused, then he circled to the other side of the table, not quite taking the chair opposite me but placing his folder down there. It might have been my imagination, but it seemed as if he, too, was well aware of the camera’s location.
He stuffed his hands into his pockets, electing to stand. “Right, Willa—do you mind if I call you that? As I said earlier, my name’s Gray Veritas. I work with the FBI.”
Work with? That was an odd way to phrase it.
He smoothed his tie. “I’ve asked you here because there are a few questions I’d like you to answer. It would help to dot some i’s and cross some t’s for the case I’m working.” He paused, studying me. “Do you think you can do that? Can you help me dot some i’s and cross some t’s, Willa?”
Did I have a choice?
He phrased it like I’d be doing him a favor, but he didn’t seem like someone who would tolerate many forms of refusal.
“I don’t know how I could be of help with anything the FBI is interested in.”
Except… maybe… if someone, someway, somehow stumbled across the cover-up?
Were the goings-on of the local authorities a problem the FBI stuck their fingers into whenever whispers of conspiracy began circulating?
The agent smiled. “That’s honest.” After another beat, he sat, pulling a small device from his pocket.
With a click on the top, the spherical device lit with spinning lights.
It was almost hypnotic. “This is a transmitter interrupter. The case I’m working on is highly classified, and I can’t have eavesdroppers listening in to our conversation. You understand, I’m sure.”
My lips parted in surprise. “It—what?”
Veritas flashed a smug grin. “The cameras. It disrupts the signal of the cameras. Nothing to worry about. We need privacy for this conversation, and once we get started, you’ll appreciate that I had this handy little gadget.”
He spoke with such surety, and the excessive confidence dehumanized him in a way. It felt impossible to picture him as a young toddler, unsure of the world, as if he’d been born a grown man.
With one tool, he’d decimated my single lifeline and came prepared for it too. That was terrifying.
He watched my expressions, drumming his fingers on the closed folder between us.
Slowly, surely, the realization dawned that he was a cat toying with an anxious mouse. The cat held all the power in the world, amusing itself with the futile antics of an increasingly desperate prey that hadn’t realized or still held out the hope that it hadn’t met its demise.
Without the camera, how could I call for help?
Call!
A shiver of urgency raced along my spine as I remembered my phone, open in my pocket, ready for me to thumb the call button and open a line to Hunter.
Veritas tilted his head, lips quirking. “I should mention that this device” —he tapped it— “works on any cellular device as well. In fact, we can go ahead and assume it works on all devices and save us a lot of time. What do you say?”
“All technology?” My eyes strayed to my watch, wondering if the programming would still work to alert me if I had an episode.
Mr. Truth caught the motion. “Yes, even on smartwatches,” he assured me, but not for the reasons I worried about.
Although, who knew? He seemed to read my thoughts.
“Now, Willa.” He opened the folder, displaying a stack of papers—notebook papers, printed papers, newspaper clippings, and more. He took one off the top and slid it to me, tapping it. “Let’s talk about the night you escaped Vedault.”