Again, she didn’t respond. He waited, then said, “So what do you want to do?”
“I need to think about it. Ultimately, we’re probably looking at taking him to one of his houses and verifying his story that way. But first, I want you to up the treatment.”
He’d sensed that might be coming. “I don’t really think that’s—”
“Don’t go wobbly on me, okay? We need to be sure. Do his fingers. No wait, make it his toes. In case the biometric story is true.”
Shit. He wondered if she’d specified the toes to prevent Sloat from later lying about having done it. Waterboarding left no physical evidence. Fingers and toes . . . not so much.
But orders were orders, and as his sergeant used to say back in the day, You don’t have to like it. You just have to do it.
“I’ll let you know what we get out of him,” he said. He clicked off and headed back in.
chapter
forty-one
MANUS
Manus was trying not to show it, but he was frightened and angry. Frightened for Evie and Dash. Angry at himself for downplaying the possibility that they could be in danger.
And he was confused, too. He’d lied to Evie about where he was. But now maybe the lie had put them in danger. Maybe he had put them in danger. If anything happened to them, it would be his fault.
You’ve been over this. They’re fine. There’s no reason anyone would want to hurt them.
He connected the phone’s Wi-Fi to the satellite hotspot. Immediately, a text from Evie popped up:
Hey. I’m worried about something and I’m afraid to go home. Can you text or FT me right away?
His heart started slamming. What happened? Why would she be afraid to go home?
He checked the text. It had been sent a half hour earlier. Enough time for anything to have happened. No, he thought. No, no, no . . .
He blew out a long breath. They’re all right, he told himself. The school is safe. And afraid to go home means she hasn’t. She’s being careful.
He glanced around and realized he had no good place to prop up the phone. He looked at Dox. “Can you hold it for me? I need my hands free.”
Dox nodded. “You bet.”
Manus FaceTimed Evie and handed the phone to Dox. She answered instantly. He waited while she adjusted the angle of her phone.
Hi, she signed. Did you get my text?
Just now. Are you and Dash okay?
Yes. We’re in my office at the school.
Dash stuck his head in the frame and waved. Hi, Marvin. When are you coming home?
Manus felt a wave of relief. Followed an instant later by an undertow of fear and regret. He should have been with them. He shouldn’t have left. He shouldn’t have lied.
Soon, he signed.
We have a meet on Saturday. Can you come?
I hope so. I like watching you run.
Me, too. I run faster when you’re there.
I know. Your parents named you Dash because you’re fast.
It was what Dash had told Manus when they’d first met, at an Orioles game, where Manus, who had been surveilling Evie at Director Anders’s request, caught the Manny Machado walk-off home run ball and then without thinking handed it to Dash.
Dash laughed. I don’t really say that anymore.
I still like it. Can I talk to your mom for a second?
Sure.