He’s talking to you. He’s actually talking to you!
“Um…” she stuttered. “I heard you got third in the hundred-ten-meter hurdles the other day. At the meet.”
“The other schools weren’t really that good.”
“But third, I mean, it’s still pretty good, right?”
He shrugged. “I guess.”
More silence.
Oh, man.
“So, how’s your speech coming along for graduation?”
“Good,” she lied.
“Good.”
“It’s not, I mean, you know, it’s not that big of a deal.”
“From what I hear you’d be valedictorian, if you’d come at the beginning of the year.”
He was so, so different from most of the guys who showed any interest in her. He seemed to actually value intelligence, rather than just, well, wanting to get into a girl’s pants.
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
She found herself lowering her gaze as if her shoes were suddenly the most interesting thing in the universe.
“If you need to practice it, the speech, I mean maybe, um… Well, I could listen to it.”
What?!
“Um…”
Do not do this! You’re on your way to tell Thacker that you’re not gonna write the stupid thing anyway!
Her hesitancy to agree seemed to cause Aiden to backpedal. “Not that you need someone to—”
“No, I mean, that’d be great.”
“Yeah?”
Tessa, shut up!
“Yeah.” She saw the school’s public safety officer walking her way.
“So you have my number?”
Seeing the cop distracted her. “What?”
“My number. So you can text me, you know. To get together.”
“Oh, right. Yeah. Um, no, I don’t.”
The officer was just down the hall and had obviously singled her out, because he made eye contact and then angled through the crowd directly toward her. The kids between them started to filter back into their classrooms.
Aiden pulled out his phone. “What’s your number? I’ll text you, then you’ll have mine.”
She told him, barely getting out the words. He tapped at the buttons of his phone and then she saw his number come up on hers.
He wants to see you, at least. That’s something. That’s a start.
Over the years she’d had a few run-ins with the police and she definitely did not want to have the public safety officer start talking to her with Aiden here. “Hey, I gotta go. Thanks. So, I’ll text you.”
He looked a little confused by her sudden urgency to leave. “Sure.”
Then another thought: Patrick wanted you to go to the office. Something’s going on. Something’s up.
She hurried down the hallway, figuring she’d double back again after Aiden had left for class.
She made it around the corner and, when she glanced back, saw the school cop rounding it right behind her.
“Miss Ellis.”
“Is it Agent Jiang? Did something happen?”
“No.” He looked confused. “Are you alright?”
“Sure. Of course. What’s going on?”
“Your father wanted me to check on you.”
“Why?”
“Don’t worry, it’s just as a precaution.”
She knew what that phrase meant. It was Patrick’s way of saying he was worried about someone.
“Is it Basque?”
“All I know is that I was asked to stay close until he could meet up with you after school.”
“Oh.”
Fortunately, the halls were almost completely empty of students now. “I’ll only remain near your room,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep my distance. I won’t embarrass you or anything.”
“Wonderful.” Just what she needed, a cop tagging along behind her for the rest of the day. “How thoughtful.”
The tardy bell rang and she shook her head. “Listen, okay, whatever.”
And instead of aiming for the assistant principal’s office to bail on the speech, she went to her study-hour classroom.
Thinking about Aiden. About having his number.
And about the speech that she was now going to have to give.
And about the fact that Patrick was concerned enough about her to send a cop to watch her while she was still at school.
She wasn’t stupid. Basque must have done something or Patrick wouldn’t have taken a step like this.
Maybe her dad was closing in on him.
Or maybe Basque was branching out.
34
I got a call from the office at Tessa’s school telling me she was fine.
Good.
As I was pocketing my phone, the receptionist motioned toward Director Wellington’s office. “She’s ready.”
“Thanks.”
I tossed my coffee cup in the trash can in the corner. I’d finished it outside but had to carry it in here, since there were no garbage cans on the block encircling the Hoover Building. It would just be too easy to drop an explosive device in one and walk away. So, after 9/11 they were all removed. A little piece of trivia not too many people know.
I gave the office door a small knock and received a prompt reply from Margaret: “Come in.”
Entering, I found everything just as I remembered it. The books on the bookshelf were arranged according to the Dewey decimal system. Her desk contained two photos: one of her dog, a purebred golden retriever named Lewis, another of a family with two children standing next to a merry-go-round. The clothing suggested it was taken maybe thirty or thirty-five years ago.
Beside the pictures lay her laptop computer, an in-box with one sheet of paper in it, a matching pencil holder that held four pens, one highlighter, one black Sharpie, and five pencils, tip up so that she could evaluate how sharp each one was before using it.
Her Italian leather briefcase leaned against the side of the desk.
She was standing beside the window when I entered. Mid-forties, tightly clipped dun-colored hair, a professional pantsuit, narrow but intelligent and attentive eyes.
“Agent Bowers.”
“Director Wellington.”
I prepared myself for her to berate me, write me up, or suspend me for entering the treatment plant before SWAT was able to go in, but she didn’t bring any of that up yet. She didn’t ask about the Basque case either, but inquired about Lien-hua’s condition. I told her she was recovering. “She really appreciated the flowers you sent.”
“The prognosis?”
“It looks like they’re taking her out of ICU today and they’re hoping to cast her leg tomorrow. She’s already planning on going home Wednesday morning.”
A dubious look. “Even after a stab wound to the chest?”
“She’s a rather resilient woman. As she put it, she’s ‘a good recoverer.’”
A small nod, then she gestured toward the chair facing her desk. I took a seat. She positioned herself in the office chair behind her desk and after having me give her a quick update on the team’s search for Basque, she got right to the point. “This concerns my brother.”
In all the time I’d known Margaret, she’d never mentioned that she had a brother. In fact, now that I thought about it, I couldn’t think of a time when she’d ever mentioned anyone from her family.
“What is it?”
“Corey took his own life.” Before I could respond, she went on, trying to keep her voice even. “Decomposition tells us it happened sometime late last week. He didn’t show up for work on Thursday. His body was only found this morning.”
The words stunned me. “Margaret, I’m so sorry.”
She gave me a small, perfunctory nod of acknowledgment. “Thank you.” I could tell she was doing her best to remain detached, objective, professional, but it wasn’t working. Honestly, that made it even harder to hear her news. “He stabbed himself, so it seems, in the abdomen. Bled out on the floor of his living room.”