“You haven’t heard anything from Ronan?” I ask again. “I’ve texted him and he won’t respond.”
“No, Sash,” she answers. “I’m sorry. But if anyone knows how to evade these guys, it’s Ronan. I don’t think you have to worry about him. We’ll figure out what’s going on.”
Her words do nothing to comfort me, so I focus on the task at hand. I rouse Scarlett from her sleep and explain that we have to leave. To my amazement, she jumps up without delay. And it occurs to me this girl’s natural fight or flight instincts are kicking in, a sure sign this isn’t the first time she’s had to run for her life. We reach the front door and I scoop Daisy up, tucking her under my arm when something occurs to me. Her leash is still in the kitchen, and we’re going to need it.
“Can you take her to the car?” I ask Scarlett. “I’ll be right behind you.”
She nods and Mack grumbles in my ear, obviously on edge.
“What’s taking so long?”
“I’ve got to get Daisy’s leash. Ronan doesn’t let her outside without it.”
“We can get a new leash,” Mack protests. “Just get your ass in the car.”
“Alright, I’m going, I’m going,” I tell her. “Let me call you right back.”
She’s still protesting in my ear when I hang up and glance around frantically for the leash. I know how particular Ronan is about Daisy going outside with it because he doesn’t want her to run off. But I can’t find the stupid thing anywhere.
Just as I’m about to give up, I find it hanging over one of the chairs. I yank it off and race towards the front door and down the steps.
But I don’t even make it ten feet before a car pulls up and a flurry of activity ensues. My phone falls onto the sidewalk in the chaos, and my gaze drifts to the car parked down the block. Where Rory and Scarlett are.
Their faces are panicked, and I know it’s too late for me already when the uniformed agents converge on me. There’s nothing they can do for me at this point without alerting the feds that they’re here too. So I tear my eyes away and focus on what’s in front of me.
A woman decked out in FBI field gear approaches me first, gripping me by the arm.
“Sasha Varela.” She holds up a piece of paper. “We need you to come with us.”
I don’t even get to see what’s on the paper before she yanks it away. I hesitate when she tries to usher me to the car, and the other agents move towards their guns.
“I don’t want you to get hurt,” she says. “But I will cuff you if you don’t come willingly. Let’s not go that route, Sasha.”
I glare back at her and she shoves me into the back of a sedan. The female agent piles in beside me and we peel off down the street.
“Where are you taking me?” I demand. “What am I under arrest for? I need to know…”
“I’ll explain everything very soon,” she says. “But I can promise you, Sasha, this is probably the opportunity you’ve been waiting for.”
***
The agents take me to a white house in the middle of suburbia. And the entire time, the guy that’s driving keeps staring at me in the rearview mirror. He’s giving me the creeps, and nothing about this situation feels right.
When we park the car, my rational thought process starts to come back to me. They can’t just do this kind of stuff. I have rights, and I’m pretty sure they’ve already broken half of them.
“What are we doing here?” I rant. “You can’t just arrest me without telling me what it’s for. I want a lawyer. I have somewhere to be… I need to post bail, and I know my rights…”
“Sasha.” The female agent grins smugly. “Just calm down. I’m going to explain everything right now.”
They take me inside of the house and seat me at the kitchen table. The female sits across from me, looking way too self-important as she folds her hands across the glass.
“Sasha, my name is Agent Reed, and believe it or not, I’m here to help you.”
“Help me how?” I demand. “By holding me hostage? Am I under arrest or what?”
“You’re not under arrest,” she says. “Yet. But that could change, depending on how the rest of this interview proceeds.”
“What the hell does that mean?” I snap.
“We’ve had a good Samaritan tip us off on some criminal activity within the club you work for. Leads in some missing person cases as well as a written witness statement by one Donovan O’ Connor.”
“Oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” I shake my head and a maniacal laugh bubbles up my throat.
Am I never going to escape this frigging asshole? He’s dead, and he’s still fucking with my life.