I use your phone?” she said.
Paul’s voice was heavy with concern. “Are you all right, Irene?”
“I’m fine,” she said. “What’s up?”
Paul dropped a beat. In her head, she could see him scratching a spot behind his left ear, his tell for being uncomfortable with a subject. “Look, I know that you’re up to something, and that it’s urgent. I heard it in your voice last time we spoke, and I hear it now. The fact that you’re not at the office in itself speaks volumes. I don’t know what’s going on, and I’ll stipulate that I probably don’t want to, but I want you to know that I’m here for you in case you need me.”
Irene appreciated the gesture of kindness, but resented the time it consumed to be delivered. “Thank you,” she said, though her tone told an entirely different story. “Is that why you paged me? To tell me that?”
“No,” he said. “I paged you because of what I pray is just a crank call. There’s a guy in North Carolina named Sam Sadler, he’s an attendant or a cashier at an Exxon station in someplace called Hoffman, population something like four. He called your line five times apparently, and then ultimately called the front, who snagged me as your partner.”
That was way more preamble than Irene either needed or desired. “What did he want?”
“His Exxon has a kind of store attached to it, and he said that a little family of three came in there to do some snack shopping. A father and two girls, maybe eleven and thirteen. Sadler said there was a weird vibe to them—”
Irene’s eyes flooded with tears that she fought desperately to control. This was it. This was the hope.
“—but he couldn’t really put his finger on why. Anyway, the older girl needed to go to the bathroom, and apparently, this freaked dad out. He told her that gas station bathrooms were dirty or some such, but Sadler did his best to set the guy’s mind at ease. Anyway, the girl ended up going to the bathroom, but on the way out, she tripped and knocked some cans off of a shelf. This really pissed dad off, and he hustled them out of the store. Here’s where it gets interesting. Sadler said that the little girl gave him, Sadler, a pleading look, and then cast a glance over to where the spilled cans lay.”
Please, God, just get to the point.
“When Sadler picked up the cans, he said he found one of your business cards on the floor among the cans.” Paul paused. “What’s going on, Irene? Are those girls yours? I tried calling your house before I paged you, and no one answered. Is someone coming at your children?”
Irene’s breathing started to race as she considered the possibilities. Now they at least had a patch of geography to start searching. “How long ago did this happen?” she asked.
“I hung up from Sadler just about a half hour ago, but he said he’d been trying to get in touch for well over an hour.”
“Did Mr. Sadler by chance get a license number?”
“He did, and it’s from a stolen vehicle. I’ve already taken the liberty of asking North Carolina PD to put out a BOLO for it.”
Irene nodded and pressed her hair off her forehead with her free hand. “That’s good,” she said. “That’s very good. Do you have an address for this Mr. Sadler?”
“Irene?” Paul asked. His tone had changed to something between suspicion and sympathy. “Tell me what’s going on.”
Shit, shit, shit. This was why rules existed—if only to be able to share useful details with a wider audience. “Look, Paul,” she said. “Some bad things have happened in the past few hours, some of them at my hand.”
“Don’t need a confession,” Paul interrupted. “I just need to know if those are your daughters, who the bad guy is, and what I can do to help.”
By the time she finished telling him, she figured that he was sorry he asked.
Chapter 8
Irene said nothing as she departed Amanda’s house, leaving the once and future star agent to wonder what the hell
Paul’s voice was heavy with concern. “Are you all right, Irene?”
“I’m fine,” she said. “What’s up?”
Paul dropped a beat. In her head, she could see him scratching a spot behind his left ear, his tell for being uncomfortable with a subject. “Look, I know that you’re up to something, and that it’s urgent. I heard it in your voice last time we spoke, and I hear it now. The fact that you’re not at the office in itself speaks volumes. I don’t know what’s going on, and I’ll stipulate that I probably don’t want to, but I want you to know that I’m here for you in case you need me.”
Irene appreciated the gesture of kindness, but resented the time it consumed to be delivered. “Thank you,” she said, though her tone told an entirely different story. “Is that why you paged me? To tell me that?”
“No,” he said. “I paged you because of what I pray is just a crank call. There’s a guy in North Carolina named Sam Sadler, he’s an attendant or a cashier at an Exxon station in someplace called Hoffman, population something like four. He called your line five times apparently, and then ultimately called the front, who snagged me as your partner.”
That was way more preamble than Irene either needed or desired. “What did he want?”
“His Exxon has a kind of store attached to it, and he said that a little family of three came in there to do some snack shopping. A father and two girls, maybe eleven and thirteen. Sadler said there was a weird vibe to them—”
Irene’s eyes flooded with tears that she fought desperately to control. This was it. This was the hope.
“—but he couldn’t really put his finger on why. Anyway, the older girl needed to go to the bathroom, and apparently, this freaked dad out. He told her that gas station bathrooms were dirty or some such, but Sadler did his best to set the guy’s mind at ease. Anyway, the girl ended up going to the bathroom, but on the way out, she tripped and knocked some cans off of a shelf. This really pissed dad off, and he hustled them out of the store. Here’s where it gets interesting. Sadler said that the little girl gave him, Sadler, a pleading look, and then cast a glance over to where the spilled cans lay.”
Please, God, just get to the point.
“When Sadler picked up the cans, he said he found one of your business cards on the floor among the cans.” Paul paused. “What’s going on, Irene? Are those girls yours? I tried calling your house before I paged you, and no one answered. Is someone coming at your children?”
Irene’s breathing started to race as she considered the possibilities. Now they at least had a patch of geography to start searching. “How long ago did this happen?” she asked.
“I hung up from Sadler just about a half hour ago, but he said he’d been trying to get in touch for well over an hour.”
“Did Mr. Sadler by chance get a license number?”
“He did, and it’s from a stolen vehicle. I’ve already taken the liberty of asking North Carolina PD to put out a BOLO for it.”
Irene nodded and pressed her hair off her forehead with her free hand. “That’s good,” she said. “That’s very good. Do you have an address for this Mr. Sadler?”
“Irene?” Paul asked. His tone had changed to something between suspicion and sympathy. “Tell me what’s going on.”
Shit, shit, shit. This was why rules existed—if only to be able to share useful details with a wider audience. “Look, Paul,” she said. “Some bad things have happened in the past few hours, some of them at my hand.”
“Don’t need a confession,” Paul interrupted. “I just need to know if those are your daughters, who the bad guy is, and what I can do to help.”
By the time she finished telling him, she figured that he was sorry he asked.
Chapter 8
Irene said nothing as she departed Amanda’s house, leaving the once and future star agent to wonder what the hell
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