Page 157 of The Grave Artist
The hollow feeling within her spread.
She glanced at Heron, who appeared as troubled as she was.
How had they missed it?
Well, if I-squared were taken away from Williamson, which now seemed likely, and brought under Reynolds’s direct control, she’d quit.
Simple as that.
And what about Professor and Intrusionist Jake Heron? Williamson was the only official in the federal government with the cojones to enlist the help of a civilian consultant with his background, however brilliant.
This would be the end of their working relationship.
And perhaps the end of any relationship at all.
Reynolds said, “We’ll congregate in the morning about what comes next. Ciao.”
He strode triumphantly out of the Garage.
Selina muttered, “Dude is a total prick.”
No one argued with her assessment.
Carmen finished the last paragraph of her report and hit Enter, sending the file to the powers that be. It described in detail Damon Garr’s unique profile as a killer. Also contained was the disposition of Tristan Kane—in a maximum-security holding facility, where he would have zero access to electronics. Lauren Brock’s statement, along withCarmen’s notes about her history and the extenuating circumstances of her relationship with Garr, were included too.
Footnotes described the crimes in Verona and Florence.
Not a single word of Russian conspiracy was included.
Heron said firmly, “I’ve had it, Sanchez. I need a drink.”
“Me too,” Selina chimed in.
“No,” Carmen said instantly.
“I’m almost twenty-one.”
“Which is like being almost pregnant. Either you are or you’re not.”
Selina pouted but Carmen could tell she wasn’t truly upset. She knew that her gymnastics always came first, and rhythmic routines and alcohol do not mix.
Carmen suggested, “Virgin strawberry margarita?”
“That’ll work. If there are chips and salsa involved.”
“Deal.”
The three of them said goodbye to Grange and Mouse and walked from the facility into the cool night air.
In the parking lot, they made their way toward the Suburban and Jake’s Nissan, parked side by side. She had yet to repair the bullet hole in the back window that she’d placed there the other day as a prelude to the set in Santa Monica that had yielded Tristan Kane’s account information.
“I’d leave it,” Heron said, noticing she was eyeing the damage. “Nobody’ll park near you at the mall.”
She chuckled.
It was then that Carmen was vaguely aware of a dark SUV pulling into the lot and moving slowly their way. It stopped not far away, though at an odd angle, outside the white lines of a parking space. The door opened.
The driver was Allison Brock, Anthony’s widow. Her stern visage slipped away, and she smiled, waving a greeting. Carmen supposed she had come with information about Lauren, her sister-in-law, perhaps notknowing they had already cracked the mystery of Ms. Person of Interest. Or was maybe curious about what else the investigation had revealed.
