Page 114 of The Rogue

Noah lifts his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose. Then points to me and I nod, taking the cue.

“Reeves, what’s going on?”

“I need information,” I answer.

He grunts. “Police business information?”

“It’s for a client, Sheriff,” Noah says then looks to me.

“Three years ago, you got a call about one of your employees. Tessa Banks. I need to know who it was.”

“Of course. Why don’t I just give you all our system passwords and social security numbers while I’m at it.”

I smile. “Because I didn’t ask for that.”

“Look, if it’s a client we have in custody, and you’re calling as an attorney, that’s a different story. But we can’t comment or provide information not privy to us, much less the public.”

Noah’s interest perks, and he sits up, grabbing a notepad with the list of random words I gave him. Then turns to the speaker. “I’m not asking for information on her case, Sheriff. I was just going to ask who contacted you from the FBI. I’ve got a few names here, Frank something, and…oh darn, where's that list…” Noah shrugs at me as he improvises.

Wyatt grunts. “Hold on a second.”

I shoot my brother a look to find out what the hell he’s up to, but he holds up a hand.

The sheriff comes back on the line. “Mercer. Agent’s name was Frank Mercer. That's all I can tell you.”

Ice creeps through my veins.

Damnit, Tessa. What's going on?

Noah lifts a red pen and circles the name.

I swallow the lump in my throat. “Thanks, Wyatt. Let’s get lunch soon. My treat,” I offer.

“Later.”

Noah presses the red button on his desk phone. “I can’t get into that system.”

“Tell me you know someone who can." I can't just give up knowing she's in some kind of trouble.

Noah types. “Most cases are not public. But there are other ways. They usually investigate crimes that originate from public incidents.” He looks up at me. “This could take a while. You got time?”

I pick up my iced coffee. “Not goin’ anywhere.”

It doesn’t take Noah too many misses until he finds something that lifts me off my seat.

“Twenty-seven-year-old male Eric Johnson was shot cold with two bullets in the chest in a second-level apartment in Summer Hill." Noah glances up at me. "Girlfriend,Teresa Bennett, witnessed. The twenty-five-year-old female was hiding in a wardrobe when shots were fired. An attempted getaway from a locked door resulted in a bullet in her back. Bennett was found bleeding nearly to death in the apartment minutes after the final shot was heard. Two suspects got away.”

He stops reading, eyes shifting to the list. He circles several other words. “Your list is starting to make sense.”

“Still doesn’t explain why she went back there," I rasp.

“Levi, they didn’t kill her. Shesurvived. If she got a call from this Frank, my guess is she’s in witness protection. Which means one thing.”

My blood runs cold. “They found her.”

It should make me feel better. That she’s safe.

“Or…”

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