“Only some of them don’t come out,” Bruce said, his voice thick.
“Yeah,” Brad said softly.
“So, Pete was going to meet someone involved that night,” Cassidy said, picturing Pete at Quinn’s breakfast bar sipping whiskey, mentally gearing up to meet a source who could potentially bring down the people responsible for this. Her gut dove into her heels as she pictured Pete in the outfit the hospital had given her in a clear plastic bag—the yellow and red plaid dress shirt, Levi’s, worn leather belt, and retired running shoes.
“We had talked that night. He wouldn’t tell me who he was meeting, but he sounded excited. He said he would share when he could.”
That sounded like Pete. Always willing to protect his sources, until the very end.
She inhaled a steadying breath. “Could it have been someone inside the clinic? Someone willing to talk?”
Brad shook his head, regret playing across his features. “No idea.”
“Do you have anything? Notes, or names?”
“Sorry,” Brad said, his eyes diverting from theirs.
“So, you’re not working on it now?”
“After I heard about the accident, I took off, man. No way am I dying for this crap.”
“So, what are you doing up here?” Cassidy asked.
He shrugged. “I freelance, so I can work from anywhere.”
“Nobody’s contacted you about what Pete was working on?”
Brad shook his head. “I write under a different name now.”
The three of them sat for a long moment, the sound of the children on the playground and the soft crush of summer waves filling the silence.
Bruce checked his watch, and Cassidy remembered their flight.
“I just want you to know how sorry I am,” Brad said. “I had no idea that something like this could happen.”
“Did you tell the police about your theory?” Bruce asked.
“Yeah, right.” Brad looked away. “A cop took that girl to that clinic. Don’t you think he knew exactly what would happen to her?”
“So, you’re saying we’ve got dirty cops acting like recruitment officers?”
Brad’s eyes narrowed, as if rising to some kind of challenge. “Maybe, look, I don’t know!” His voice rose. “It’s freaking scary, okay? Everywhere I go I’m looking over my shoulder.”
“But you don’t know anything,” Cassidy said, confused. “If you don’t know who’s behind this, why would they harm you?”
“Because he knows enough,” Bruce interrupted. “We can protect you,” he added cautiously.
“Ha, no thanks,” Brad said, stepping back from the picnic bench. “I’m doing fine on my own. I got a nice little cabin on the beach, a great exchange rate, and the fishing is unreal.”
Bruce plucked a card from his wallet and slid it across the table. “If you change your mind.”
Brad put up his hands up in protest. “I won’t.” He took a step back.
Cassidy watched him stride purposefully toward the boat launch.
“I think we’re gonna miss our flight,” Bruce said, tapping the card on the table.
As they walked back to the car, a boat engine kicked to life, and Cassidy turned to see Brad’s athletic frame behind the console of a white powerboat with maroon stripes. While she watched, it motored away from the dock.
A shiver seized her spine as she reviewed what they’d learned. She recalled the relief on Brad’s face to unload the secrets he’d been keeping. Was he just paranoid? Or was someone still waiting for their chance to eliminate him the same way they had Pete?
Five
The next morning, Cassidy paced the length of Quinn’s living room, her coffee cup warming her hands. She had arrived at Quinn’s the night before after barely making their flight.
A flutter of nerves scratched at her insides. She reminded herself that Bruce would be with her during the interview. That their friendship had survived her impulsive rush to meet Brad Sawyer filled her with gratitude, but also made her feel anxious. At what point would he realize that she wasn’t worth the trouble?
“Maybe he wrote the name in his notes. Have you looked?” Quinn asked from inside the kitchen. The night before, she hadn’t bothered waiting up for him—a wise choice because he hadn’t come home until three a.m. Cassidy suspected a woman was involved but didn’t pry. She remembered Emily’s comment: your brother will be a player until the end of time.
Over breakfast, Cassidy had shared her conversation with Brad Sawyer and her upcoming interview with the FBI.
“Yeah, but Pete wasn’t exactly the most organized person. Do you know how many of his notebooks I’ve gone through?” She sipped her coffee, remembering the box of notebooks in her office and her attempts to decipher Pete’s scrawl.
“How about in any of his files? Want me to search for you?”
Cassidy remembered the thumb drive they’d saved containing Pete’s folders—hundreds of them—before donating his laptop. But the thumb drive also stored his pictures, and Cassidy had so far not been brave enough to go through them. “Yeah, maybe that’s a good idea. But we don’t even know what we’re looking for.”
“I could search for keywords, like ‘clinic’ or ‘runaway.’ I might get lucky.”
“Okay,” Cassidy said. “I’ll have to find it first. I think it’s in the box with the rest of his work things at home.”
“Too bad you didn’t bring it,” he said, looking disappointed.
“There wasn’t time. We barely made our flight as it is.”
“Will the FBI investigate?”
Cassidy paused to gaze out of the sliding glass window to the gray morning haze and the narrow side street below. “It sort of depends. If there’s proof that Lars and Pete were killed by the same person, then yes, because it crosses state lines. And if it’s true that whoever killed them is connected to the human trafficking case, then it’ll likely get bundled together with those efforts.”
“That doesn’t sound very promising.”
“I know,” Cassidy said as a heavy feeling settled into her stomach.
“After this interview…” he paused, and Cassidy turned to look at him, reading the worry in his gaze. “You’ll be free to go home, right?”
Cassidy checked the time and realized she needed to get ready. “I hope so,” she replied, carrying her empty cup to the sink.
Quinn scrubbed his unshaven jaw. “Okay,” he said. “Just…text me when you’re done. I have this fear of you going in there and never coming out.”
An hour later she was sliding into Bruce’s black SUV. “Are you going to blindfold me?” she teased.
Bruce rolled his eyes. “It’s not like that.”
They drove away from the beach, passing a bookstore, a natural foods grocery, and a coffee shop with a line of decaffeinated customers snaking around the block. Bruce skirted Golden Gate Park, then headed north.
“This is an active investigation, Cassidy, so we will ask you to take an oath.”
“I thought you said this wasn’t going to be formal,” she replied as the web of nerves in her chest tightened.