Page 69 of Deadly Force
This girl is barely making sense. “Workedwhere?Sonora Investments?”
“Desert Rose.”
My throat tightens. The confined space suddenly feels smaller.Desert Rose. The name sounds like a yoga retreat or a skincare boutique.
In reality, it’s an abortion clinic wrapped in pastel brochures and empowerment slogans. The kind of place that puts a butterfly logo on the door to distract from what really happens inside.
“When did she work there?"
"I don't know. But I think she was… you know… with the guy who runs it."
That’s got to be Travis Bell.Dr., if memory serves. Poster child for progressive medicine. Champion of women’s rights. Probably gives TED Talks on compassion in between payouts.
"Can we meet?" I ask, gently. "Just talk. In person. You don't even have to give me your name."
A beat of silence. Through the door, I can hear the muffled sounds of the newsroom.
Click.
The line goes dead.
SEVENTEEN
Caleb
I push through the glass doors of the Tucson Times lobby and spot her immediately, standing near the elevator bank, bag slung over one shoulder, phone in hand. She's not pacing, not outwardly panicked, but the tension's there. In her posture. In the way her fingers keep tightening on the strap of her bag.
The knot in my chest loosens for the first time in an hour.
Reese is stationed near the entrance, his Air Marshal training helping him to blend in.
"She didn't move," he says quietly. "Didn't even go for coffee. But the security guard was watching me pretty close."
I glance over to the security desk. Sure enough, we’re getting the stink eye in the busy lobby.
"Appreciate it," I reply, then cross to Brooke.
She looks up when I approach, relief flickering across her face, but only for a second. She's still wound tight. Her eyes shift past me to Reese, then back.
“I’m assuming Reese’s arrival is why you kept me waiting?”
"Precautionary," I say, keeping my voice level. "Had a feeling you might need backup. You know, in case Lawrence decided to throw staplers."
Her eyes narrow slightly. She's not buying the casual explanation, but she doesn't push. Not yet.
"I got a call," she says, stepping in closer so her voice doesn't carry. "Eliza worked at an abortion clinic. Desert Rose."
I let out a slow breath. "You trust this caller?"
"Trust? I don't know. I have no reason not to believe her."
My jaw tightens. I glance past her, toward the elevators. "Come on. We'll talk in the car."
She hesitates, just for a second. Her gaze flicks to Reese again, questions still brewing. Then she nods and falls in step beside me.
I don't tell her about the tail.
No point rattling her with what didn't happen. Plus, explaining how I almost turned some poor guy in a golf shirt into roadkill probably isn't the confidence booster she needs right now.
