When they approached a ninety-degree bend at the end of the hall, Laurel slowed her pace.

Mr. Smedley turned to her with a look of surprise on his face. “How did you know?” he asked, stopping her in the hallway.

She didn’t know how to respond. Her hands had been clutching onto her bag, readying for it to be used as a weapon at any minute.

“How did you know this was the door?” he said, pointing to a set of double swing doors with scuffed metal panels on the front. “We go through here.”

She was guided through the doors and into an even darker parking garage, where she finally stood her ground, halting her progress altogether. “What’s going on?” she asked.

“Oh, sorry.” He walked back to her. “I forgot to mention it. But we want to take you off-site, if that’s okay with you.”

“It’s not.”

He smiled with the warmth of an understanding, sympathetic father. It was so fucking creepy. “Why is it not okay, Laurel?”

“Because we can talk here just fine.”

“In the parking garage?”

“No, upstairs.” She took a few backward steps into the swinging doors. “Can’t we? Why can’t we do it here in one of the hundreds of rooms ya’ll have here? What the heck, Smedley?”

“I know,” he said. “It’s ridiculous. But we’re not equipped with polygraph machines here.”

“What?”

“Now, take it easy, Laurel.”

“A lie-detector test?”

A large white moving van revved up around the corner and sped toward them.

“That’s part of our procedure,” Smedley said. “Part of your testimony. And we do it for your benefit, so now come on.” He chuckled and pointed to the van. “Come on, Laurel, this way. This van here will take us right up to the Office of Special Investigations. It’s just across the way, there.”

The van came to a stop and she could see the driver. He turned his head and grinned at her. He was young, handsome. Dark sunglasses and good strong chin. Smedley made his way to the van’s side door and slid it open.

“Come on now,” he said. “Come on, Laurel. Hop in.” Smedley turned to his driver and said, “Jimmy got everything set up over there already?”

The driver said something while Smedley looked back at Laurel, his eyebrows arched. Eyes widened. “Eh? You ready? Come on.”

When Laurel walked forward she felt the blood rushing out of her body. She was cold and empty, her movements twitchy and awkward. Her own legs, foreign. She brought the whole mess of herself, this uncertain, scared wreck of a human being, and schlepped it into the van without a thought. She couldn’t think. She wouldn’t let herself.

“That a girl,” said Smedley. “Just a quick drive across town.”

“Wait,” she said, her brain firing up again with anxieties and questions. “I thought you said it was across the road near the courthouse?”

He hopped into the van after her, holding his tie to his chest as he hunched in and sat in a bucket seat. “Oh? I said that?”

“All set?” the driver asked about two seconds before the van lurched forward and began speeding up the exit ramp, a long spiral that wrapped around several times before spitting them out into the harsh morning glare of Atlanta.

Laurel turned to Mr. Smedley, her lips feeling stuck together, her mouth dry. “Shouldn’t I have a lawyer for this?”

“For what?” Smedley chuckled. “For coming to us voluntarily and delivering information about a crime that someone else committed?”

“I don’t know.”

She hadn’t thought it through.

She hadn’t expected the location change, the lie detector, the creepiness of her supposed protector.

“Laurel,” he said softly. “We’ll take care of you.”

Laurel settled into her seat, unsettled, one hand gripping her seatbelt and the other clawing into the side of her thigh. She glanced at the lock latch of the door, half expecting the knob to be missing and inoperable. And then she looked at Smedley, who had been smiling at her the whole time, his facial muscles flexed weakly and unnaturally.

“Nice day, huh? After all that rain.”

“Yeah,” she said softly. She looked away from him and out the window. They’d just taken a right hand turn away from the administration buildings. “Wait . . . I thought we were just skipping across to another building.”

“We are,” he said.

They pulled onto a quick and busy road, a feeder for one of Atlanta’s freeways. The hair rose on the back of her neck.

The smile was gone from Mr. Smedley. “Of course if you feel uncomfortable for any reason . . .”

“What?”

“If you feel uncomfortable about this, we can just pull over. I mean, turn around and drop you off.”

“Oh, uh . . .”

“I just get the sense that you’re feeling . . . apprehensive . . .”

It was an understatement. She was scared as hell and she wanted out. But as much as she wanted it, Laurel couldn’t say anything. She just couldn’t do anything but sit there.

She was just being paranoid.

The van shuddered over a row of potholes and then gained speed up the freeway’s on-ramp, the scenery beginning to whip by, the engine roaring.

Shit.

They were going so fast now.

Everything had been going so fast, the situation speeding up and spiraling out of her control.

She finally forced herself to say the words. “What’s going on?”

Music suddenly filled the van, the driver reaching over and turning the knob. He turned the volume even higher as the van sped faster down the freeway.

“Smedley,” she said, almost pleading.

“It’s okay. We’re almost there.”

“Almost where?”

Over the music she heard the faint droning sound of a motorcycle. She instantly thought of Matthias, hoping it was him racing up alongside their van.

Please be him. Please be Matt.

Laurel looked across to the next lane, wanting so badly to see the Matthias’ signature black matte helmet floating by, maybe him turning his head and nodding to her. She waited for it, staring, hoping, until finally giving up and looking to the opposite lane, past the face of Mr. Smedley, to the floating fucking red helmet of someone she’d never fucking seen before.

And then Smedley turned to her, grinning as if he knew, as if he’d just felt her little crushing defeat.

“Where are we going?” she said over the music, over the stranger’s motorcycle. “What’s going on?!”

The van began slowing down.

“Sorry about this,” Smedley said, shrugging as if kidnapping was no big deal. “Tommy just wanted to avoid some construction. Figured we’d hop on the freeway for a second.”

She stared at him, studying his weak, watery eyes. His power seemed to have diminished since leaving his fortress downtown. Could he have been telling the truth? The story seemed to change with every turn, every lane change.

“I know it seems kinda strange,” he said. “Just getting on and off so quick and all.”

“Yeah . . .”

“You seem so rushed, Laurel. Did you have plans right after this? Will someone be missing you?”

Images ran through her mind. Phone calls to a bloodstained phone, a full voice mail box of concerned friends and family. Matthias.

“Laurel? Is the rest of your day clear for this? I guess I should have warned you.”

“How long will it take?”

“Not long. Depending on what you have to say.”

“What if I say nothing?”

Smedley sighed. “You came here to say nothing?”

“What if I say pull over?” She glanced at the driver who continued driving as usual. And then Smedley, the greenish tinge to his face turning a little red. “Pull over and let me out,” she said.

No response from either of them.

“Do it.”

Still no response. Smedley finally raised his hand to his chin, rubbing there, him looking deep in thought. What the fuck was he thinking about?

Laurel shoved him. “Do it! Pull over!”

Smedley looked surprised, his eyes glaring at her. “Now you play nice,” he said. “You calm down and play nice and we’ll—”

“I said do it!” And then she shouted to the driver, telling him, for God’s sake, to pull the fuck over or she’d come up there and do it herself.

“Okay,” Smedley said, waving his hands at her. “Okay little miss. Now you just calm down before someone gets hurt.”

“You’ll get hurt.” She felt a growing nastiness inside her, the need to lash out and hurt someone. Smedley first.

“I don’t want anyone getting hurt,” he said. “If you just calm down and listen to us, then everything will be fine.”

She looked him hard in the eye. “Where are we going?”

“We were going to our field office. But since you’re acting so crazy—”

“I want out now. Don’t drive me anywhere. Just stop and let me out.” Then she turned to the driver again, shouting for him even louder. “Stop, and let me out!”

“Don’t stop,” Smedley told him. “Not here.”

“Um,” said the driver. “Sir, we’ve got a problem.’

“I know we do.”

“Um . . .”

“What?”

“I think I have to stop.”

“Why?”

The van lurched to a sudden hard stop.

A motorcycle stopped in front of the van, its rider flicking out the kickstand and walking toward the hood, and then around. The rider was wearing a black matte helmet. Before Laurel could even think about what that meant, the front passenger door opened. She craned her neck to look around the headrest, but still couldn’t see who had opened the door. But she knew right away from his voice.

“Hi there.” It was Matthias, his voice sounding so wonderful and chipper and bright. “You wouldn’t happen to be transporting my client, would you?”

“Sir? Should I drive on?”

“No,” Smedley said. “No, you shouldn’t.”

“What you should do is pull over,” Matthias said.

“Sir?”

“Who the hell are you?” Smedley asked.

“I’m Laurel’s legal counsel.”

“We’re her legal counsel. She came to us.”

“She came to me first. Isn’t that right, Laurel?” Matthias stuck his head inside, his concerned yet confident expression having an immediate calming effect on her. Matt was here. She’d survive this.

“Yes,” she said. “Thank you.” A wave of relief crashed over her, along with thankfulness. She no longer had to make the choice between paranoia and blind trust. She could just follow Matthias. She still wasn’t sure what his role in all this was, but he wasn’t going to kill her. At that moment, she’d follow him anywhere. Especially on the back of his bike, holding onto him.

Was this really happening?

Before anyone could say another word, she unstrapped her seat belt and swung out the side sliding door.

Back in the van she heard the driver again ask, “Sir?”

And then Smedley. “Let her go.”

She was in Matthias’ arms. He’d given her a quick squeeze, the warmth of his sun-baked leathers washing away the last of the fear. His strong body wrapped around her, the tight-packed bulk of muscle along his back that flexed and then loosened as he pulled her close, before depositing her next to his bike. He moved quickly to the van, saying something to Smedley before sliding the door shut and then turning to Laurel with a little boyish grin.

“Sorry,” he said. “I know you didn’t want to talk to me.”

It was hard to comprehend. His words, how he’d inexplicably showed up and snatched her away from what seemed like an increasingly fucked-up situation.

“I couldn’t help it,” he said, pulling his bike away from the van and then waving them by. “I missed you.”

She was still speechless, walking alongside him and his bike as they made their way to a bank parking lot. His bike had on it an extra helmet. Hers? When did he pick that up?

Matthias parked his bike in a shady spot at the end of the lot, and then with a quick chuckle invited her to sit with him on the curb.

“I just had a bad feeling about those guys,” he said.

“So did I,” she said, sitting, feeling almost dizzy now. It had become much hotter since the morning, before she’d submerged into the depths of the Smedley’s building. Though it happened only a short time ago, to Laurel it felt like days.

“Are you okay?” Matthias asked her. “You need some water?”

“How did you find me?”

“Not me. I have a friend back in Washington who’s taking care of stuff like that.”

“Stuff like what?”

“Vehicle tracking,” he said. “Something you know a little about.”

“Did he hack us? Sentry? Is that who . . .”

“No, no. This is all after the fact.”

She covered her face into her hands, rubbing and twisting them into her eye sockets. “Jesus Christ.”

“I know.”

She was so confused. She had friends around her mysteriously dropping dead. She had friends who might actually be the opposite of friends. And now this man, this stranger, about whom she still had that sliver of doubt. Despite how earnest he’d looked, sitting there, looking at her softly. Trying to care for her, perhaps rescuing her. At this point, how could she trust anyone?

Maybe he was just trying to stop her confession. Was that his move, to hijack the process and keep her from talking to the authorities?

“Are you okay?” he asked again. “You look kind of sick.”

He’d begun looking sicker too, right before her eyes, his smile having faded as if he could read her worries, her reluctance to believe him.

“I know,” he said quietly. “I get it. It’s fucked up.”

“I just don’t know what’s going on anymore.”

“You’re not the only one.” He sighed. “There was an accident last night, with my friend. He was an FBI agent doing surveillance on state collusion with a criminal biker club. Someone used the secrets that were stolen from Sentry, and they tracked him down and killed him.”

“Oh . . . shit.” The numbness was back again.

They were dropping like flies.

“He was my friend.” He looked down, his lips quivering a little.

Laurel gave him a sympathetic look and said she was sorry. So sorry. But what the fuck could she do? Even though she knew it wasn’t her fault, there was an undeniable feeling in her, guilt over the leaks, and over what had resulted from them. The body count was getting larger and she was only slipping further away from the truth. She felt more lost than ever. Looking at Matthias, as handsome and honest as he seemed, even he scared her a little bit.

It was a horrible contradiction. She wanted to slide over the curb next to him, snuggle into him, to let go of everything and just melt into Matthias. And she also wanted to get up and run away. Just get the fuck out of there. Go where no one would find her.

“So I just need to . . .” he coughed, clearing the tears from his voice. “I’m just trying find who did this.”

“Do you think it was the Attorney General?”

“I don’t know.”

“You know that’s who I was in the van with, right?”

He rolled his eyes.

Yeah. Dumb question. If he knew enough to track her down and force an intervention, he most certainly knew who the hell Mr. Smedley was. And he probably knew a lot more than that.

“Thanks again,” she said.

What else did he know? If nothing else, it wouldn’t hurt to spend a little time with him. Get to know him better, not just through sex or a suspicion-fueled interrogation, but to really know him.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he said. “I had a bad feeling about you meeting Smedley.”

“Me, too. It started out fine, but then he kept insisting that I go with him to a secondary location. Some place where we could do a lie-detector test, as part of their whistleblower protocol. I was so scared that there would be a little more to it than that.”

“Like what?”

“You know.”

He took a deep breath, and then smiled. “Still think I work for him?”

She mustered up a tiny little smile and said, “No.”

“You still think I’m spying on you?”

“Kinda, yeah.” Her smile remained.

Matthias laughed, getting up off the curb, groaning a little bit as he stretched his arms, his back.

“You get stiff riding that thing?”

“A little.”

Still sitting at the curb, she had a great and shameless view of his crotch. “I can tell,” she said.

He walked up to Laurel and offered her a hand, helping her up and then wrapping his arm around her back again, patting her shoulder. “You ready to go?”

“Probably not. But okay.” She grabbed the helmet out of his hand. “Where are we going?”

“Can we leave Atlanta?”

She laughed. “Can we please?”