Page 92 of Kings Against the World

“This cell was on her desk,” the guy says. “It was her burner from a previous assignment. Is this Oswald Gallagher? You’resaved as a contact in her phone. The name came up when you called.”

Fuck. That’s right.

This must be the number she used undercover as Jade Fowley. I don’t have Zoe’srealnumber.

I rub the back of my neck, debating whether to hang up. “Is she available? Can you give her a message?”

“Agent Strauss is on a leave of absence,” Rodriguez says. “I believe she’s visiting family. But I can let her know you called if she does return.”

Family.

…as in her mother and father in Pomona?

My heart lurches at the thought. “Nah, that’s alright. Don’t bother. I’ll get in touch another way.”

We hang up on that note with me dropping my phone onto the bed.

A moment goes by where I sit still, shoulders slumped, feeling the weight of disappointment crush me. I had hoped I’d get to hear her voice again. We could’ve caught up and talked, even for a few minutes.

It could’ve been the closure I need.

Rodriguez had said she was on a leave of absence visiting her family. That had to mean her parents. She’d told me they live in Pomona. Did that mean she was in Cali too?

The possibility makes way for a fresh wave of hope. It’s some sliver of light in what feels like a dark tunnel trying to pull me in.

I grab my phone again, fingers flying over the screen as I search her name and look up all the addresses ever associated with her. In this day and age, nothing’s private. Nothing’s kept off the internet, for better or worse. That includes phone numbers, addresses, and other personal info.

It doesn’t take long to track down an address in Pomona. That has to be her parents’ place. I remember her talking aboutthem—the mess they always got themselves into while she was stuck being the backbone of the family. I picture her alone and exhausted as she fixes their lives for the thousandth time, handling the burden they put on her.

I could help. Offer myself and anything she needs, whether that’s sorting their shit out, or being a listening ear.

The whole thing sounds fucking crazy when I pause long enough to think too much about it, but taking chances is all I have left. If I want to see her again, this is what I’ve gotta do.

I snatch my helmet and keys off the table where I’ve placed them and head for the door.

Whatever happens next—good or bad or fucking ugly—I need to see her again.

25

ZOE

Beads of sweatslip down the back of my neck as I smash my finger on the button and crank up the speed on the treadmill. The belt beneath my sneakers hums louder, rotating faster, forcing me to keep up with its increased pace. I push myself past my usual limit.

Nine. Then nine-point-five. Ten.

I’m sprinting now, gritting my teeth. My legs ache, muscles tight and trembling, but I won’t give in. Not yet.

The TV mounted on the wall blares at me, filling the room with bright, insipid voices.

“Today, FBI Director Stephen Duchovny is being honored at the White House by President Gordon for meritorious service?—”

I bite the inside of my cheek, hard enough to taste copper. On the screen, Duchovny stands tall and polished in a suit, shaking the President’s hand with that smug smile plastered across his face. As if he built his career on hard work alone; as if he didn’t squash the rest of us down under his heel to get there.

My breath tears through my throat as I punch the speed up to eleven and pump my legs so fast it almost feels like I’m barely touching the ground.

More tiny droplets of sweat trickle down the sides of my face, a few rivulets stinging my eyes and blurring the TV screen.

The news anchor drones on. “Director Duchovny, who has served at the bureau for over twenty-five years, told reporters he's proud to have dedicated his career to enforcing federal law and bringing criminals to justice.”

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