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Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Avery strap into the seatbelt. I think she’ll enjoy my island. Lush vegetation. The bluest lagoon water. White beaches. She can cure cancer in a bikini while sipping Mai Tais. I’ve already prepared her personal lab. State of the art technology the ACPD would never spring for right at her fingertips. She can pursue any endeavor she dreams, as long as she produces.
By this time next year, Trifecta will be global. Different strands with different strength variations for every buyer’s need.
Of course, with my focus on marketing and the development of the drug, I won’t have to invest anymore time or resources in the trafficking operation. It’s a very risky trade. However, I could never abandon it completely. A small side-business just for my elite clientele. After all, I enjoy time with my girls. It’s what keeps me young at heart.
The silence in the car builds, becoming tangible. Avery fidgets with her phone, checking messages that don’t exist. As I pull onto the street leading out of downtown, I check mine, as well.
A little red dot indicates Quinn’s location on the map. He’s still at The Lair. I then toggle the screen and push a button to jam the signal.
After a moment, Avery looks up. Glances out the window. I’ve just passed the road that leads to the club. “I feel like taking the scenic route,” I say, pushing back into the seat. “We’ve never really had a chance to just…talk.”
I can feel her unease growing, the atmosphere between us thickens with her apprehension. “With respect, agent, I think the crime scene is a bit more pressing.”
I shrug. “It only feels that way. Let’s look at it objectively. There are no more manhunts. Every person of interest in this case is either dead or jailed. What will the evidence prove?”
She takes a few seconds to ponder this. “The evidence is critical. We only assume McGregor ordered a hit—that he had two of his men killed.” She pauses. “Three, including Ryland Maddox.”
“You have another theory?”
“I don’t work off of theories.” Her voice holds a note of impatience. “That’s why it’s important to examine all the evidence. So that I can give the detectives what they need to conduct their investigation and develop theories.”
“And you do such a good job of giving Detective Quinn what he needs.”
“Excuse me?” she snaps.
I wave a hand dismissively, then grip the steering wheel tighter. “Ten minutes won’t hinder the investigation,” I say. “What’s left of it, anyway.”
I hear her expel a long breath. “Is my personal relationship with Detective Quinn making you question my work ethic? My ability to do my job?”
A laugh slips free. She’s so feisty. “I would never question your ability, Doctor Johnson. Just the opposite.” I turn onto the highway. Her diverted attention prevents her from noticing that we’re heading in the direction of the airport.
“Then, I don’t understand—”
“Name the one thing you want,” I tell her.
“I’m sorry?”
“The one thing. Right off the top of your head. It’s a simple request, yet holds profound insight. Someone as dedicated as you to the job has a goal. Has a path toward her future mapped out. So, tell me—what’s at the top of your list, what you strive for every day to achieve?”
Her body is turned in my direction. I can feel her gaze narrowed on me, the confusion and fright rolling off her at high volume.
“I’ll start,” I say. “I read your file. I know your parents died in a car wreck, and that you struggled for a while in college.” I glance over. “That must have been difficult. But you overcame the hardship. You fought your way back on top. You graduated head of your class, and were immediately appointed a job as a forensic pathologist in New York City.”
She looks away. “What does that have to do with the current situation?”
“Everything.” We share a look. “It’s not easy for a woman to outperform her male colleagues.” I laugh. “Believe me, I know. It takes a special brand of discipline.” I toss her a wink. “Unfortunately, the old adage is still true: we have to work twice as hard to be perceived as half as good.” I tsk. “You turned down an offer to become the chief medical examiner at NYC. Was that due to your own fear, or do you have a bigger goal in mind?”
“Frankly, agent. That’s none of your business.” She flicks her phone screen and opens the text app.
I grip the wheel until my knuckles ache. “You won’t get a signal.”
Her hands halt. Some form of realization is sinking in, but she can’t place it. Not yet. “Stop the car.”
“We share a similar history,” I say, ignoring her demand. “Well, not in the sense of tragedy. My mother’s death was hardly a tragedy.”
“Why can’t I get a signal?”