After my visit to Natalia, I go to the county tax office. I ask one of the workers there to look up the property tax record of the E-Z Wash Express. She’s friendly and helpful at first when I tell her who I am and what I’m looking for: A residential address and telephone number for the owner of the laundry. When she comes back to the counter after going back to consult the records, there’s a strange look on her face.

“All I can give you is the name of the owner on record. That name is M.L. Stephanos,” she says, handing me a stickie note.

“I know that already, though. I need to be able to contact Mister Stephanos.”

“I’m sorry, that information isn’t listed.”

“Not listed? That doesn’t sound right. There must be a mailing address to send the bills.”

“The only address listed is the business itself.”

Frustrated, I go from there to the laundromat itself, determined to get the information out of the old lady who works there. But strangely, when I pull into the lot, I see it’s closed again, just like the first time I went there.

I’m sitting in my car, trying to decide what my next move should be, when my phone rings. I take it out and see that it’s a Cleveland area code.

“Brentano,” I answer.

“It’s Lafontaine, Brentano,” my boss says in his standard slightly impatient voice. “I’m calling for an update.”

I’m surprised. He certainly hasn’t seemed interested in this case up until now. I tell him about Natalia, happy to have something concrete to give him. Strangely, I find myself skipping over the detail about the motorcycle club cut, deciding I’ll hold that information back until I can verify whether someone fitting her description of the man is one of the Lords of Carnage.

“Natalia’s concerned about her safety,” I conclude. “And frankly, I think there’s some legitimacy to that concern. I’d like to put a security detail on her until we can get her out of the area, sir. I was actually planning to call you about that.”

“Is there some reason you can’t coordinate that with the local police department, Brentano?”

“Um…” I hesitate.

“The mayor down there gave me a call a little while ago, by the way,” he tells me. “Says he’s been more than willing to help you with your investigation, but you’ve turned down all offers from him.”

So Holloway did call my boss. He sure didn’t waste any time, that’s for sure. “Actually, sir, that’s not really the case. The mayor doesn’t seem to appreciate my presence here in Tanner Springs. Trust me, he hasn’t offered to help me.”

“Well, he has offered that help to me. And frankly, Agent Brentano, I don’t have unlimited resources to be sending down there, when there’s law enforcement in place that’s already willing to do the job. So you’ll need to coordinate with them.”

Like hell I will. “But sir…”

“That’s all the chatting I have time for, Brentano. Unless you have more to report than just a girl who doesn’t speak English and no way to substantiate her claims.”

I hang up the phone, outraged and demoralized. I’ve always known Lafontaine doesn’t like me much, but this feels like more than that. Like the investigation doesn’t even matter to him. The victims don’t even register to him. As long as I fuck up, he’ll be happy. There’s not a chance in hell he’ll ever give me more resources to work with. Hell, if I showed him any success at all, he’d probably pull me off the case and assign someone else to it.

In some ways, I’ve never been a very good fit for the FBI. Oh, on paper there’s nothing that would tell you this. Ever since I was eighteen, I had dreams of doing exactly what I’m doing right now. I worked my ass off to get in. And God, I was proud when I got my Letter of Appointment.

Why did I want it so badly? To prove something, I guess. Mostly to myself. Growing up, I never had people around me who expected me to amount to much. I was quiet in school. A decent student, but a little unkempt and unremarkable. My teachers mostly ignored me. Everyone just seemed to assume I wasn’t going end up doing anything important.

I wanted to prove people wrong. I wanted to accomplish something hard. Something special. I wanted to prove I was someone.

I also wanted to be in the FBI because I thought it would be about getting justice for people who were hurt. I wanted to take down criminals who hurt the innocent.

I guess in my mind, it would be a little like the adult me getting justice for my younger self. Almost like being able to reach into the past and do something to protect the girl I once was, years after the fact.

This case should be a dream come true for me in that respect.

Now that I’m actually starting to get somewhere, I should be happy as hell.

But instead, I’m seeing that my fate is in the hands of someone who doesn’t want to see me succeed.

And there’s not a goddamn thing I can do about it.

I almost go back to the hotel to wallow in self-pity. But I have a job to do, even if Craig Lafontaine doesn’t want me to do it.

I point my car in the direction of the Lords of Carnage clubhouse. When I pull into the lot, there are fewer motorcycles parked out front than I remember there being last time. I’m a little intimidated being here without Travis, but I’m hoping I can get in and find Jewel before anyone notices me and tells me to leave — or worse. Parking my car off to one side, I take a deep breath, then get out and stride purposefully toward the door before I can second-guess myself.

I’m in luck: one of the first people I see when I push inside is Jewel, who’s wiping down some tables by the bar.

“Hey!” she greets me enthusiastically, but then her eyes flicker and she looks toward the door. “You here with Beast?”

“No,” I tell her, and cross the room quickly to get to her. “Look, I know this is probably not allowed, but I came here to see you.” Among other things. “Since I didn’t know where you lived, I figured this was my best shot.”

“Oh. Sure, that makes sense.” She tucks the towel she was using into one of her belt loops. “What’s up?”

“Um, could I get something to drink?” I ask, to buy some time. “I’m really thirsty. Just a club soda or a glass of water would be fine.”

“Yeah, no problem. Come on.” I follow her over to the bar and sit down at the same stool I used when I was here with Travis the last time. As Jewel grabs me a glass and fills it with soda water, I glance around the room at the smattering of men playing pool or observing a game. None of them come close to fitting the appearance of the man Natalia described.

Jewel sets the glass in front of me. “Here you go.”

“Thanks,” I say. I take a long drink, even though truthfully I’m not thirsty at all. “Oh, man, that tastes good,” I sigh. “I was parched.”

“So, what can I do for you?” she asks, leaning against the counter.

“Well, I have kind of a favor to ask you. And I feel bad asking it, since I barely know you, but I don’t know what else to do.”

“What is it?”

“Natalia is getting out of the hospital tomorrow,” I begin. “She needs a place to stay for a few days, until we locate her father and he manages to come get her. She’s afraid that the men she escaped from will be looking for her, and frankly, I don’t think that’s an unreasonable fear. I need to find somewhere where she’ll be out of sight.” I take a deep breath. “And I was wondering if you might be willing to take her in for a little bit.”

“Of course,” Jewel says without hesitation. “Olga and I can do it together. We live on the same floor of our apartment building. Natalia won’t even have to go outside if she doesn’t want to.”

“Oh, my gosh, that would be great. I really appreciate this, Jewel.” Relief spreads through me. Well, at least one of my problems is solved, albeit temporarily.

Jewel is assuring me it’s no problem when the front door opens and a crowd of men starts flooding in. There are at least a dozen of them, and from the expressions on their faces, something bad either has happened or is about to.

I’m relieved to see that none of them fit Natalia’s description.

The men over by the pool tables look over at the group streaming in. One of them, a tall, square-jawed and rugged man with anger flashing in his eyes, barks, “Church. Now.”

“Shit,” Jewel murmurs as we both watch them stream past. She pulls the ponytail holder out of her hair and stares at the group as they head straight for a room toward the back. “Something’s not right.”

The square-jawed man looks around the room, his eyes landing on us. “Jewel,” he half-yells, his eyes flashing. “Get your friend outta here. This ain’t no place for a civilian to be right now.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” shouts a familiar voice behind me. I turn to see Travis, looking absolutely furious.

“I just came…” I begin, reddening at the thought that I’m going to have to lie to him. But he’s having none of it.

“Get the hell out, Brooke,” he says, grabbing me by the arm. “I mean it. This ain’t the place or the time.”

He pulls me out of the clubhouse by the elbow. Once we’re out in the parking lot, he starts dragging me toward my car. “Go. Now.”

“What’s wrong?” as I stumble along.

“None of your business.”

“But I need to talk to you, Travis!”

“Later,” he barks.

“When?”

“When I’m fucking able to!” he shouts. “Go back to the hotel!” He turns on his heel and strides toward the clubhouse. “And don’t come here again. You understand me?”

The door slams behind him. After a second, Jewel comes out, a cell phone in her hand.

“Hey,” she murmurs. “Let’s exchange cell numbers. You can call me as soon as you know when Natalia’s being released. I’ll talk to Olga when I go home tonight and figure out a plan.”

I give her my number, and she texts me so I’ll have hers. “Thanks.”

“No worries.” She glances back at the building. “And don’t mind Beast. Something bad must have happened for the men to be acting like this. I’m sure it has nothing to do with you.”

I hope she’s right. But if Travis suspects I came here to look for Natalia’s rapist, he’ll have every reason to be furious at me. I just hope Jewel doesn’t get in trouble for letting me stay.