“There’s a line,” the secretary informed her, looking beleaguered. “Please wait your turn, ma’am.”
Georgia didn’t move an inch. Her hands gripped the edge of the desk so hard, her knuckles were white. “I’m Georgia O’Banion. I called earlier. My son— My Rory— He’s missing. I was out searching, but they told me to come in.”
The receptionist went pale and reached immediately for her phone. “Of course. Just a moment, Mrs. O’Banion.”
“I don’thavea moment.” Gigi’s voice cracked. “My boy is out there. I need to speak to someonenow?—”
“You can talk to me.”
The man’s voice cut cleanly through the chaotic air. We all turned toward him at once — me, Gigi, Declan, the receptionist, even some of the seated strangers — moving like marionettes on a single string.
Cade.
It had been less than an hour since I saw him last, but my stomach performed a series of enthusiastic back handsprings as soon as he came into view. His tall frame filled the mouth of the hallway that led deeper into the station. His eyes hit me and flashed in dangerous way that told me his own stomach was not in the throes of a gymnastics routine.
Oh, boy.
He was pissed.
His jaw tightened, a muscle jumping in his cheek, but he locked it down almost instantly. By the time his focus shifted to Gigi, he was the picture of calm, cool, composure.
“Georgia,” he said, tone grave.
“Detective Hightower,” Georgia whispered. “I— I?—”
“Come on into the back with me, will you?” His voice was a carefully controlled contrast to Gigi’s fragmented disquiet. He glanced at Declan as he approached. “You’ll come too, Declan. We’ll talk things through.”
“I should be out there.” Gigi swallowed visibly. There were tears shimmering in her eyes. “I need to?—”
“You’re right where you’re meant to be, Georgia,” Cade assured her. “It’s good you came in. The more information you can give me, the better our chances at bringing Rory home safe and sound, as soon as possible.”
She gave an uncertain nod. Without further protest, she allowed him to steer her toward the back hallway. Cade hadn’t technically invited me to tag along, but Declan grabbed my hand for support and I wasn’t about to tear it away. Together, we walked out of the waiting room.
Up ahead, Cade was speaking to Gigi in low, soothing tones. She was nodding at whatever he said, but didn’t appear to be responding. We passed several doors, including two glass-walled holding cells where several people — again, in costume — were being detained under lock and key.
In the women’s cell, a girl dressed as Dorothy fromThe Wizard of Ozwas snoring lightly on one of the stainless-steel benches, drool dribbling from the corner of her mouth, while a pissed-off Raggedy Ann glared daggers at her from her position against the cinderblock wall. Teenagers, most likely, waiting to be bailed out by their parents for underage drinking or general debauchery.
They had an older barfly for company, with limp blonde hair, a cheetah-print bra that showed through her shirt, smudged lipstick, and raccoon eyes from her runny mascara. Unlike the teens, she was not in costume. (Not unless she was going as Charlize Theron inMonster.)
I was too busy shielding Declan’s eyes from things best unseen (i.e.animal print undergarments) to pay any real attention to the cast of characters contained on the men’s side.
Beyond the holding cells, there was a dingy kitchenette followed by a space filled with lockers and workout equipment that smelled vaguely like old socks. A handful of doors led into cluttered, closet-sized offices — most of which looked dark and empty. We passed them by without pause. At the very end of the hall, there was an interrogation-style room complete with a two-way mirror wall and chairs bolted straight into the concrete floor. I’d been in rooms just like that and had no desire to recreate the experience, thank you very much.
Cade turned down another corridor, through a locked door he used his badge to access, then to a stairwell. We climbed in silence to the second floor. This level was all one open space, with six L-shaped desks scattered across the carpeted floor, stacked high with manila folders and large computer monitors. Filing cabinets lined the walls, along with several giant windows that overlooked the parking lot below.
A classic bullpen.
That’s what they called it onLaw & Order: SVU, anyway. I half expected to see Benson and Stabler sitting at the desks, simultaneously solving crime and exchanging sexually charged looks. Alas, the only people we saw were two middle-aged cops, one a white male with a slight paunch, the other a Latina female with her dark hair pulled back in a severe bun. They were both on their phones, but disconnected when they saw Cade lead us through the doors.
“This is Chief Ted Coulter and Detective Lucia Aguilar.” Cade pointed from the man to the woman as they approached, then turned back to Gigi. “And this is Georgia O’Banion, her son, Declan, and—” His unhappy blue eyes cut to me “—a friend of the family.”
Both offered Georgia their hands in greeting, then nodded at me. Declan still had my hand in a death-grip. Any tighter and my bones were going to be pulverized to dust inside my glove.
“Hey there, Declan,” Chief Coulter said, stooping down to snag the boy’s gaze. (He didn’t have to stoop far; he was extremely short-statured.) His eyes were kind, but Declan’s hand still spasmed nervously around mine. “You want something to drink? A soda? A glass of water?”
Declan shook his head.
“How about you, Georgia?” Coulter asked. “Water? Coffee? Soda?”