“Oh my God. I feel like I’ve been dropped into some damn spy movie or something.”
“Only this is real life. So you’ll be home this evening?”
“Yes. I really don’t go nowhere anymore.”
“By the way, we found Desiree. She’s in prison.”
“What! What for?”
“Keeping another little girl prisoner.”
“Christ Almighty. Hope she never gets out.”
“I’ve got some things to finish up and then we’ll head out. We can probably be there around seven this evening.”
“Are these really bad people? They seemed very nice.”
“I’ll see you around seven.”
CHAPTER
66
PINE WAS DRIVING THE PORSCHE SUV the police had recovered, and her sister was riding shotgun.
In the backseat was Special Agent Neil Bertrand. He was there because Drew McAllister had insisted Pine allow him to accompany them. She had introduced Bertrand to her sister. The tall, lanky agent seemed intrigued by Mercy Pine. He had no doubt learned some of her history, but he asked no questions and rendered no judgments, for which Pine was appreciative.
The day was turning stormy with the clouds moving in and hovering dome-like over them as they passed through Chattanooga, Tennessee, on the wide asphalt strip of I-75. The wind started to buffet the SUV, and Pine gripped the wheel with both hands. The traffic was heavy; tractor-trailer rigs blew past her on both sides carrying the commerce of the country to where it needed to go.
“You really think Wanda Atkins will be able to help you find Blum?” asked Bertrand.
“I’m convinced the people who were there are the same ones who have Carol. And it’s not like we have an abundance of leads.” She glanced at him in the mirror. “Do you have a better idea?”
“No,” he admitted.
“How long have you been assigned to the WFO?”
“Two years. Before that I was at an RA in Fort Smith, Arkansas.”
“Very different from an agent’s life in DC,” noted Pine.
“Yes it is.”
“Which do you prefer?” asked Pine.
“I liked Arkansas. Got to know the people. The work wasn’t as challenging as I would have hoped, though they do have drug rings and bank robberies and white supremacist groups in that area.”
“Just like pretty much everywhere else,” said Pine.
“The WFO has a lot more bureaucracy. But it’s an important stepping-stone in an agent’s career. I know you were assigned there at some point.”
“I was. Then I got out. I like to work on my own. Shattered Rock, Arizona, is my stomping ground and I couldn’t be happier. And I can’t wait to get back.”
The import of her words struck Pine and she glanced at Mercy, who was staring out the window and didn’t appear to be listening.
“McAllister said you could have moved up at the Bureau if you wanted to. Gotten a supervisory job at one of the field offices.”
“Yeah, move right up to a desk overseeing other agents’ work instead of doing that work. No thanks. Not why I signed up.”
“I get that. It is a trade-off.”
“And every agent has to make up their mind about what they want.” She looked at him again. “And I can see you’re not there yet.”
He smiled. “Nope, not yet.”