I’m panting by the time I make it up to my apartment, and it has nothing to do with the flights of stairs I just ran up. I’m nervous and scared. God, it’s been a long time since I felt honest fear, the last time having been the second after hearing my nana call to tell me my grandfather was gone.
I channel all of my anxiety and despair into my fingertips as I force them over my keyboard. I’d have more information a lot quicker if I hadn’t deleted the programs I was using to keep track of Whitney, but having the icons on my computer was a temptation I couldn’t handle at the time.
The security feed directed at her apartment door is the first thing I pull up, watching at high speed until she appears on the screen. Entering her apartment, she looks concerned, but it has nothing on the look of pure terror in her eyes when she leaves her apartment mere minutes later. All of that is concerning, but the tears streaking down her cheeks as she disappears into the stairwell nearly guts me.
Picking up my phone, I shoot off a text to Flynn.
I wait for his response as I set the parameters for my computer to search for Whitney as she leaves the apartment building. I have to get to the office to do better work since I don’t have all the same systems here. My access to certain things is protected under the realm of what I do for BBS and those things have to be kept in the office, no matter how much I want them at my fingertips right now.
I don’t remember the drive to the office, and that doesn’t bode well for me or any other driver on the road tonight, but somehow, I make it there safely, hating the eerie feel of the emptiness of the office. This may be the very first time in recollected history that at least two people weren’t found lounging in the breakroom.
I shouldn’t expect anything less. Even though my world is imploding right now and I’m terrified of what’s going to happen, all of my colleagues are still at Deacon’s wedding. Except for Brooks. I’m sure he was out the door moments after I left with that woman he couldn’t keep his mouth and hands off of.
“You should be at the wedding.”
I scream like a frightened woman and karate chop the air, but it’s Ignacio’s weighted chuckle that brings me back to earth.
“You left the party early,” I hiss.
“So did you.” He raises his eyebrows in challenge, and it reminds my pounding heart why I’m here.
“Something’s wrong,” I say as I clear the span of the room and shove open the door to my office.
“What’s up, fuckers?” Puff Daddy squawks the second we step inside, but I don’t even acknowledge him.
“Tough crowd,” he complains when I slide into my desk chair and move my fingers over the keys.
“What’s going on?” Ignacio asks, leaning his ass against the filing cabinet to my left.
He groans when I pull open the video of Whitney’s apartment door.
“This shit again? I thought you had that chick in the bag.”
Ignacio ignores the growl that escapes my throat, rather choosing to focus on the sight of her leaving her apartment. We both watch as a man steps off the elevator less than five seconds after she disappears into the stairwell. Without a care in the world, he kicks her apartment door open. He didn’t even bother to knock.
“Holy shit.”
“Yeah,” I whisper, my hands trembling as I pull up more video on another screen.
“Did you see that? Rewind it.” Ignacio is pointing to the screen, but while working on finding her leaving the building, I missed whatever it was he saw. “That.”
He points to the screen, and I pause the video.
“The gun?” It doesn’t surprise me that a man brazen enough to kick a woman’s door in would be armed, but it does rachet up my blood pressure another hundred points.
“The badge. Go back. There.”
Sure as shit, the goon has a badge clipped to his belt.
“Local?” Ignacio asks as I try to zoom in.
“I can’t tell.” The video feed is shit, and even though I could see the tears on Whitney’s face earlier, the contrast of how fast he’s moving and his clothes prevent me from getting a clear picture of the badge.
“That’s a federal badge.” We both jolt at the sound of Flynn’s voice behind us. “I know because I used to have one.”
“FBI?” Ignacio says with dismay in his voice. “Do they normally go around kicking in doors?”
It takes only moments to get Flynn up to speed on what I know.
“What’s she into?” Flynn asks, doing a better job of keeping calm than I am.
“Computer stuff.”
“As in like hacker shit that can land her in a federal prison?” He raises an eyebrow at me as Ignacio takes a step back, crossing his arms over his chest as the atmosphere in the room shifts.