It was probably a violation of some federal law, but I grabbed Agent Wheatley’s dash-mounted VHF radio anyway, frantically searching for a button to mute Agent Labrecque’s shrill voice as she demanded, over and over again, for Agent Wheatley to come in and reminding him that he was violating Federal Statute 21.306F and some other bullshit legislation she was probably making up.
Even better would be a button that would let me scream that Wheatley was on the phone and that he’d pick up when he was done saving people that his partner was willing to let die, clearing the names of peopleshewas happy to condemn, and putting out the flaming garbage fireshe’dturned this case into.
Apparently, no button did that. Probably best.
I wondered if Labrecque had told my father where I was, and if so, whether it had registered. Or whether he was still sitting catatonically in his armchair, trying to calculate exactly when and where he’d started transforming into a monster. I hoped for the latter. Either way, he wouldn’t be following usbecause according to Wheatley, nowhewas being electronically monitored. The agent had also explained that the remaining three slaves, while also technically frozen, would be allowed to stay in the house with the agents also monitoringthem. Thank God because I’d been terrified they’d be hauled off to some ghastly detention facility—probably the same one Maeve and Sloane had been unceremoniously tossed in.
Instead, as Wheatley drove and alternately badgered, swore at, and thanked the various colleagues whose help he was trying to enlist, I tried to watch the scenery. It seemed mildly less panic-inducing than waiting for that dot on the GPS—the one that had become my entire world—to either move or disappear.
The fact was, this particular state highway, where strip malls and housing developments gradually gave way to tranquil saguaros and mesquite, had never brought me anything but nostalgia. But as the line of Lake Pleasant beckoned closer, its waters crystalline amid the aridity, my charming memories of singalongs and Twenty Questions had turned to dust, too. What an utterly naïve fool I’d been then. Andhemay have told me there was nothing to forgive, but it would take more than that to forgive myself.
Saving his life—if it came to that—might be a good start.
Still, nothing quelled the pounding in my chest or the fluttering in my stomach. How long had he been there, anyway? Was he alone? Why the hell wasn’t the dot moving? Was any of this even part of his plan, or was I crazy?
How goddamn long did this quaint scenic drive take, anyway?
“Good news. They found her owners.”
I snapped my head toward Wheatley, who was finally off the phone. Panic and adrenaline pulsed through my veins, blocking out Labrecque’s irate voice still crackling over the frequency. “Wait, what?”
He mashed a couple of buttons on the radio as he pressed further on the gas. The scenery outside was flying by at high speed now, the sun glinting off the sluggish surface of the 300-mile-long aqueduct that followed this stretch of highway, diverting murky water from the Colorado River into the lake and points farther south. We were close enough to see the hydroelectric dam and power facility that had always been a welcome sign that arrival was nigh. But the road stretched on still.
“Formerowners,” he explained. “Erica’s people were working on tracking them down using her network.”
Erica’s ability tostillwork for the cause with her wife in critical condition and goons stalking her—not to mention being technicallydead—made me dizzy.
“Turns out they bought her freedom over a year ago,” he went on. “Paid the fees and everything, but it was never recorded due to some filing snafu. So I told them to release her as soon as it’s safe.”
“Which one?” I asked tentatively. “Maeve?”
“No, the other one. Sloane. Say.” He adjusted the mirror, peering at something I couldn’t see. “Do you know anyone who drives a blue Datsun?”
“No,” I responded, annoyed at his derailment. “And what about Maeve?”
Wheatley paused. “Not so good news. She’s about to be sold.”
“Sold?! How is that even possible?” Was there no end to this nightmare this poor girl was trapped in? She must be beside herself by now, and the language barrier would make it worse. She’d have no idea what was even happening to her. “Towho?”
“I don’t know. And neither do they.”
“How could you notknow?”
“Because it’s someone with an offshore shell company and good lawyers who clearly has no interest inbeingknown.”
“That shouldn’t even be legal!”
“It isn’t. And they’re supposed to know that. But given the glorified dog catchers they have working down there, it doesn’t surprise me,” he finished darkly.
“Well, we have to stop this!” I was upright in my seat now.
The sun glinted off the metal guardrails of the canal overpass as the car hurtled toward it. The park entrance was just beyond it, a sign displaying its name in bold letters. Wheatley’s quick glance behind us showed a clear road, allowing him to pick up even more speed.
“If we findhim, what am I going to tell him?” I admired the endurance of the agent’s eardrums, given all the shrieking into them I was doing. “That we lost his sister,again?”
“Oh, fuck no.” Though it answered my question, I suspected it was actually Wheatley’s response to the sudden sound of sirens.
“Game over, Manny,” said Labrecque over the radio. “Turn around and head back to the field office PDQ and I’ll consider telling the director to put you on mental health leave for a week or so. If not…”
