Page 150 of Fire Fight
Fuck. Mrs. Saunders? That was…insane. The FBI had to be wrong.
Trey, who was pacing the small stretch of office at the side of Lane’s desk, stilled, and Lane shut up, all three of our heads whipping to the door when a knock sounded against it.
“Yeah?” he hollered, and the desk sergeant pushed inside.
“Sorry to interrupt, boss, but there’s someone here to see you.”
“Did you get a name?” Lane asked, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation.
“She said her name is Wyatt, and that you’d know why she was here.”
Trey dropped back into his chair heavily, like his legs had completely given out on him, and I felt the blood drain from my face as surely as it had his.
“You can watch from the viewing room,” Lane told us as he moved from behind the desk, straightening his tie as he went tobring Wyatt back to interrogation, leaving us momentarily alone in his office.
“You don’t have to go,” I told Trey. “We’ll relay everything.”
“That’s my best friend,” he choked out. “Of course I’m going to be there. I just?—”
He cut himself off and exhaled sharply, hand raking down his face.
“Yeah,” I said in understanding, because I got what he hadn’t spoken.
This was a lot.
“But hey,” I continued. “It’s possible she’s here on something totally unrelated.”
Trey shot me a death glare, and I held my hands up in surrender as we finally left the office and made our way to the viewing room of the first interrogation room.
And not a moment too soon.
“What can I do for you today, Wy?” Lane asked. He sat with his back to the one-way glass, giving us a direct line of sight to Wyatt, and my heart sank.
Her face was splotchy, eyes red-rimmed and puffy, like she’d been crying a long time. She’d placed her hands on the cool metal table in front of her, wringing her fingers together nervously. The rigid set of her spine and how she refused to look Lane in the eye made it obvious she wanted to be anywhere but here.
“I lied to you that day you came to talk to Dad,” she rasped. “Well, no. I didn’t lie so much as I didn’t tell you everything.”
Lane remained quiet, giving Wyatt the space to continue.
“Mom—” Wyatt choked on the word, and fresh tears splashed down her cheeks. Trey’s hand found my shoulder, fingers digging in. Either he was trying to stop himself from going to her, or he was merely holding himself up.
Likely both.
“What about your mom?” Lane asked softly.
“She’s been…scarce as of late. She’s usually around so much in the summer to make up for working so hard during the school year, but since classes let out, and even before then actually, I feel like I’ve hardly seen her. She’s been…cagey anytime we ask what she’s been up to. But she seems weirdly happy?” Wyatt dropped her face into her hands. “I’m not making any sense, am I?”
“Your mom has access to your dad’s work trucks, doesn’t she?”
Wyatt nodded.
“I’m going to have you review some footage from the security cameras at the depot. It’s not the best, but no one knows your parents as well as you, and I’m hoping you’ll be able to clear some things up for us.”
Wyatt lifted her head and nodded.
Lane left the room briefly, shooting us a look to stay put as he walked past, then returned a minute later with an iPad. Re-entering interrogation, he slid his chair around next to Wyatt, set it up in front of them, and pressed play on the footage.
There was no sound, but I could see the images reflected on the mirror—a legitimate mirror this time—behind them, watching as he sped through the frames until a truck with Ward’s company logo pulled up to the pump, the driver facing away from the camera mounted to the depot lobby. I couldn’t read the timestamp, but the artificial lighting overhead indicated late in the evening or very early in the morning.
