Chapter 6
Gabe
Monday morning I’m sitting in my home office, logged in for the team meeting. Alicia Morgan is working from home as her daughter doesn’t have school, and my colleague, Noah Bennett is dialing in from Alicia’s basement. Given he’s on site with her, I’m also working from home today.
Evie is in her office in the Capitol. Safe for the day.
Saturday afternoon I assessed her car. At first glance, it could have been age or a maintenance oversight. But it was the mechanic looking over my shoulder who cinched my theory. “A line doesn’t just crack like that.”
He’d been spot on. I snapped photos. Asked Hudson if he had a contact with the DC police. The cops at the crash had been most interested in clearing the vehicle to minimize traffic impact. But a second look is warranted.
When I shared the update with Evie, she took it in stride, like she already knew.
Evie should drop this Safe Passage case as instructed. Trust that WITSEC kept Lina safe and she’s choosing to remain off-grid—untouchable.
She’s doing important work on authorized cases. There’s no need for her to take this one on. But judging from her home office, she’s in too deep. Backing off isn’t an option—not from her perspective.
My phone rings, and I read the name. Scott.
I’ve got a few minutes, so I answer. “Morning.”
“What’s it going to take to get you to come up?”
“To New York?”
“No. Toronto. Yes, New York.”
He can be such a schmuck. “My strip club days are over, man. No interest.”
I don’t say that lightly. Yes, as a military guy, I’ve been to my share. But it’s not my scene. I also don’t drink like I used to. Maybe it’s age, but it doesn’t deliver a thrill anymore.
“Who said anything about a strip club? It’s a private club. And it’s phenomenal. Like, seriously, you’ve never seen anything like it. Membership fee is sky high but lucky you, I’ve got a guest pass.”
“I’m good. Thanks.”
“Buzzkill.”
“What’s up? I’ve got a meeting in two.”
“Working man. Fine. Dad wants an update.”
The light catches on a small river-polished stone, smooth from years of handling. Out of habit, I pick it up and flip it through my fingers.
“She’s the one with the update. Ask her.”
“Is her car totaled?”
“I didn’t get the estimate.”
“Dad’s worried it’s someone she’s prosecuting. Did it look like that to you?”
I hesitate—only because I know Evie doesn’t want her dad to worry—or to interfere. But if it was my sister, I’d want to know.
“That’s what you suspect,” Scott says, proving he can still read me. “Should we be doing something to keep her safe?”
“She works in a highly secure building. And at home—if Evie would allow it, I could add a home security system. I’m not a huge fan of that back alley—”
“Would you do that? The security system? Send whatever bill my way.”
“She has to agree.”
“No. Just do it. I can’t give Dad an update like this without a solution step in place. And if you put that security system in, can I tell him that you’re confident she’s safe? Dad’s gonna want your seal of approval.”
“A security system is a good first step. But you can’t install it without her agreement.”
“I’ll talk to her. And speaking of talking, when were you going to tell me you moved here?”
My neck itches and I scratch it. “Move happened pretty fast.”
“Let me guess. It happened shortly after I asked you to look into what she’d gotten herself into.”
The screen comes to life and a woman with long, curly blond hair and glasses midway down the bridge of nose fills the video screen—Quinn.
“Or is it coincidental timing?” There’s a not-so-subtle dig there—but I don’t have time to deal with it.
“My meeting’s starting.”
“We can talk later.” There’s a pause, and I hold my breath, carefully still since my image is seen on the video call by the team.
“Gabe? Look, I know you have my sister’s interest at heart.
She’s basically your sister too.” I set the stone down, flat on my thigh.
“I appreciate this—you looking out for her. Later, man.”
Scott ends the call. I pick the stone back up and resume flipping it through my fingers.
Scott picked up that I moved after he raised concerns about Evie—of course he did.
But he’s not reading into it. There’s nothing to read into.
I move when the work requires it. That’s all this is.
As for not mentioning it—I move around. I’m not in the habit of announcing my moves—it’s not news that matters.
He’s right. I do care about Evie. It’s slightly annoying that Scott doesn’t step up more and look out for her too, instead handing it off like an assignment.
But that’s the way it’s always been. When we were in high school, I was always the one reminding him to pick her up from after-school activities, oftentimes being the one who picked her up when it wasn’t convenient for him.
When his dad was away on business, I was the one who remembered to go hunting for her in the house, to ask if she wanted to join us for dinner.
Once, I found her in the basement with a pile of rocks and a hand polisher, completely absorbed, like she was the only person in the world.
What are you doing? She’d looked up—not startled, just unhurried—and said she was thinking about starting a business.
I’d looked at the rocks and then at her, and didn’t say what I was thinking, which was that she could probably do exactly that if that’s what she wanted.
I still think that.
The idea of Mr. Thompson putting weight into my opinion is an unusual one. Growing up, he never had much to say—always stern and hard to read.
Additional squares fill the monitor now that Quinn has officially started the call.
Hudson Stone, KOAN managing director, assumes lead. Hudson doesn’t waste words. When he asks a question, it’s because he already knows half the answer.
Quinn Palmer, tech support, appears more focused on her keyboard than the meeting—because whatever she’s seeing matters more.
Noah Bennett, the guy I’ve worked closest with since joining this small outfit, offers answers that are clipped and efficient. No wasted syllables. Military habit.
Alicia Morgan’s case—the official reason I’m in DC—runs quietly in the background. No new risk identified.
“Martin, do you agree with Bennett’s assessment?” Hudson asks.
“Yes, sir,” I answer.
I haven’t observed any questionable presence while monitoring Morgan & Company’s DC office or when accompanying her to her New York office.
“I’ve got a feeler out to the DC police on Ms. Thompson’s vehicle,” Hudson says.
I nod, knowing he can see me.
“Rhodes MacMillan has asked to be kept abreast of any developments,” he continues.
“I met with him on Saturday,” I say. “Evie Thompson and I both did. He’s assisted her on cases occasionally.
As an update to the team, Evie Thompson is a childhood acquaintance of mine.
She’s an assistant US attorney in the Human Trafficking division.
Her brakes failed last week. She reached out to MacMillan as the case she was working was dropped by the DOJ.
” I hesitate, then add, “But she hasn’t dropped it.
She’s specifically searching for a missing witness. Shared the information with MacMillan.”
“Daisy briefed me on that,” Quinn says.
“Daisy Jonas,” I say. “MacMillan mentioned her at lunch.”
“MacMillan hands over projects like this to her.” Quinn confirms. “There’s also an FBI contact of Evie’s that’s MIA. SSA Daniel Price.”
“He hasn’t responded to Evie’s emails,” I amend. Missing is an overreach.
“No, he’s actually off the grid. Leave of absence,” Quinn says, clipped and matter-of-fact.
Huh. That would explain why he hasn’t responded to Evie.
“You might want to give Evie a heads up,” Quinn says. “When she emails him, there’s a good chance someone is reading those emails.”
Of course, Quinn’s right. The questions are: Where is he? And why the leave of absence? I picture her office wall. The names. The photos.
“Gabriel, what’s your read on the situation?” Hudson asks. “Is a protective detail needed for Evie Thompson?”
“If resources aren’t a constraint—”
“They aren’t,” Hudson states. He doesn’t share the budget. He states facts and expects the rest of us to adjust.
“She’s a prosecutor, not a witness,” Quinn says. “Protection could complicate her cases.”
While Quinn is correct, I sidestep her point. “Protection is a reasonable step but she won’t allow it. She’d be an unwilling subject and based on what I know of her, she’d use the law to block a detail.”
It’s a truth that’s hard to swallow.
The stone is now warm between my fingers. Like so many times before, the smooth surface soothes something deep inside, even as my thoughts refuse to slow.
If someone cut her brake line once, they’ll try again. Next time, they might not fail.
Evie Thompson won’t consent to protection. That doesn’t mean she won’t have it.