Page 79 of Lovely Violent Things

I draw the worn blanket higher as I watch a line of special agents emerge from the hidden corridor behind the bookcase. Apparently, there is more than one access point to the mine shaft.

“I’m all right,” I assure Hernandez. “Devyn Childs is the perpetrator.”

I say her name quickly, like tearing off a Band-Aid, or ripping out my stitches all at once.

He nods with certainty. “The task force is aware of that.”

My heart knocks heavily against my breastplate as confusion draws my features together. The bookcase pushes open farther, and more agents file into the library, weapons drawn. They’re dressed in tactical gear, and one of them speaks into an earpiece. “Five more recovered, sir.”

“What’s happening?” I demand.

Agent Hernandez ushers me to a private corner of the library, where he removes his FBI jacket and drapes it over my shoulders.

I draw the jacket around me over the blanket. “Thank you.”

“I’ll have clothes brought in for you.” He retrieves his phone and sends a text message.

“Would it be out of the realm of possibility to get a coffee?”

His mouth twitches like he might smile. “I can probably make that happen.”

“Thanks. How did you find me?” I ask.

He touches the earpiece in his ear and looks away. “Dr. St. James is recovered.” After a beat, he replies, “Yes, ma’am. I’ll bring her in.”

He drives a hand through his disheveled hair. Then, taking in my body wrapped in a blanket, he says, “When I couldn’t reach you, I had your cell phone traced. The last pinged location was right near the diner. I located it behind the HRPD building.”

A web of anxiety spools around me, and I breathe through the tightness in my chest.

He continues, “As you were missing, I had to search your device—”

“It’s fine,” I say, knowing what he’s about to reveal.

His face hardens. “The last accessed app held a partial recording of a conversation with Childs. I forwarded a small clip of that to the task force,” Hernandez says, confirming my assumption. “She was placed as a person of interest, and an APB was issued on her, as well as you. But as of an hour ago, an arrest warrant has been issued on her.”

I avert my gaze from the agent. There were things said in that conversation—personal things—that I didn’t want others to hear. Once I realized I’d been drugged, however, I did have the foresight and capacity to start recording Devyn, in the event I didn’t make it back.

Hernandez touches my shoulder, drawing my attention to the concern etched on his face. “Halen, what happened to you out there?”

“She didn’t hurt me,” I say, trying to school my facial expressions.

“You have stitches,” he says, tone pitched low. “You’re obviously hurt. I see the injuries—”

“She released me. She let me go.” The lie falls easily from my lips.

You lie so pretty.

By the deep groove notched between his brows, I can see he’s not entirely convinced, but the urgency of the situation around us allows the conversation to end here. Agents are bagging everything in sight, turning over the library in search of hidden access points and Devyn.

“All right. Okay,” Hernandez concedes. “But they are going to want answers, Halen.”

They. Alister, he means. My stomach roils at the thought of being interrogated by him. “Right. I know. I can handle it.”

An EMT arrives with clothes in-hand, and I accept the clean jogging pants and sweatshirt gratefully. She insists on looking my injuries over, refusing to allow me to get dressed in the bathroom alone until I’ve done so. I’m treated with a disinfectant cream for the stitches.

“Did you do this yourself?” the EMT asks me, eyebrows winged up as she applies the cream to the black thread.

I glance at the wound. “Doesn’t it look like it?”

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