Chapter Three
Mel had tried polite. She’d tried persuasive. She was two seconds from trying—and no doubt succeeding at—combative, when Nic charged through the door.
“Someone want to tell me what’s going on here?” the prosecutor demanded.
The single guard sitting across the table from her stood, finally speaking for the first time since he’d closed the door behind them. “Who are you?”
Nic tossed his ID wallet at him. “Assistant US Attorney Dominic Price.” In all his steely-eyed, well-dressed, legal bulldog glory. There was a reason Mel had always requested Nic on her cases. He was the best closer in San Francisco’s US Attorney’s office. Better than the US Attorney himself. And he was a trusted friend. “What are the charges against Ms. Cruz?”
“He’s the one whose card I gave you,” Mel added. “You didn’t call him, which means he’s extra angry now.” Arms folded, she leaned back in her chair, crossing one knee over the other, foot bouncing.
The guard handed back Nic’s ID. “DOJ doesn’t call the shots here.”
“Correct, but what DOJ does do, including my office, is defend cases by travelers against ICE and Homeland Security for unlawfully holding them.” Nic glanced over his shoulder. “Ms. Cruz, will you be bringing a case?”
“I’m definitely considering it.”
He turned back to the guard. “So, I ask you again, on what grounds are you holding Ms. Cruz?”
“There are irregularities with her passport and travel.” The guard shifted on his feet and clasped his hands behind his back. Hiding his fidgeting fingers, Mel suspected, and something else she sensed she’d need to get to the bottom of.
“What kind of irregularities?” Nic said.
“Frequent travel, including to suspect countries.”
“Ms. Cruz, what is it you do for a living?”
“She’s already told us that,” the guard said.
“Then you know why she travels extensively.”
“She travels with a gun.”
“Which she is permitted to carry, because as you also know, she’s a former FBI agent.”
“Next question,” Mel said, shifting forward and bracing her forearms on the table. “Who do you work for?”
The guard’s gaze whipped to her. “ICE, Department of Homeland Security.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Who do you really work for?”
“Answer the lady,” Nic said. “Maybe it’ll help me defend you because from where I’m standing, you’ve got no grounds for holding her.”
The guard shifted on his feet again, appearing on the edge of debate—let her go, dig in his heels, or call his boss, legitimate or otherwise, for direction. Another split glance between her and Nic, and the guard chose option three, as Mel expected him to. “I’ll just be a minute,” he said, and slipped out the door.
Before Mel said a word, Nic gave his head a barely there shake. Meaning that mirror on the opposite wall was likely a two-way and they were being observed. “Thank you for coming, Price,” she said, guarding her words.
He propped himself against the adjacent wall. “You’re welcome.”
The guard returned shortly with her documents, bags and gun case, setting all her belongings on the table. “You’re free to go, Ms. Cruz.”
As she should have been two hours ago, but arguing now was beside the point. She needed to get out of this room and get to The Ellen. She gathered her things and exited through the door Nic held open. As soon as they were in his truck and clear of the parking garage, she shifted in her seat, angling toward him. “Report.”
“Nothing amiss at the party, yet. Boston’s running point with your deputy.” He tossed his phone into her lap. “Text them. Tell them we’re on our way.”
She sent her message in the open group chat—It’s Mel. Out of SFO. On our way—then read the flurry of other messages above hers.
“Aidan’s been detained at LAX?”
Nic nodded. “He didn’t make it onto the flight.”
The phone vibrated in her hand, an incoming text from a burner phone.
In-flight LAX to OAK. Tell Mom and Dad I’m sorry for being late.
Aidan.
Gracias a Dios. “He’s in flight now,” she said. “Direct into Oakland.”
Nic drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel as they sped north on 101. “Good, that’s both of you clear then.”
Mel could see how her travel record might raise some flags, especially if anyone looked deeper or got wind of her off-book activities. But Aidan too... “This can’t be coincidence.”
“If it is, it’s an awfully big one.”
Not likely. Coincidences like this didn’t just happen. Not to them. At least in this case, she had a place to start. “I’m going to need another favor,” she said.
“The guard,” Nic correctly surmised.
“We find out who he works for, we find out what the hell is going on.”