Storm's Cage by Mary Stone (uplifting novels .TXT) 📕

ever really together. It was just, you know…” He left the remark unfinished as he turned up the air-conditioning.

“Just fun?” Amelia was careful to keep her tone neutral and non-accusatory. She and Zane were both adults, and the occasional fling was normal for single people in their age group.

His eyes finally met hers. “Yeah. I met her on one of those dating apps. One of my friends back home kept telling me that online dating was a good way to get out and see some of the city. He wasn’t wrong.”

A howling sort of chortle slipped from Amelia’s lips before she could stop herself, but when she spotted the alarmed look in Zane’s eyes, she slapped a hand over her mouth until she could regain control. “I’m not laughing about you being on a dating app. That’s what all the cool kids are doing these days, anyway. I met an ex of mine on one of those things when I was stationed in Virginia. No, no, you’re fine. I’m just imagining what your profile must look like.”

With an exaggerated eye-roll, he gave her shoulder a playful shove. “Whatever, Storm. Yours was probably full of bad puns and dad jokes anyway.”

Slapping her hand back over her mouth, Amelia lapsed into a fit of laughter. “It was, actually. My intro line was, ‘Big, huge, enormous…I don’t like small talk.’”

Zane snorted. “Oh, I would have totally swiped that one.”

“I made it for the same reason your friend told you to make yours. I’d been living in North Carolina for years before the Army moved me to Virginia, and I didn’t know anyone or anything about the city. Modern problems and modern solutions, you know?”

Zane readjusted his seat, not stopping until he was leaning back a couple inches. “Speaking of modern solutions. It might be a year and a half before we get back to the office in this shit.” He gestured to the endless line of cars on the road ahead of them. “We’ve got plenty of time to figure out what we need to take care of while we wait for the prosecutor to get the paperwork over to the warden.”

The simple statement jerked Amelia out of the cloud of joviality and none-too-gently deposited her back in the real world, where she and Zane were trying to track down a corrupt Chicago PD detective who had appeared in more of Alton Dalessio’s child exploitation videos than Amelia could count.

“Right. Well, for starters.” She pulled a notepad and pen from the bag she normally carried. “We need to make sure that this guy doesn’t try to retaliate against any of the other potential witnesses from the Kankakee farm.”

His expression had turned grim. “You mean the Flores kids and Hazel Pomales.”

“Yeah, and all the others. They’re being monitored by the Marshals, but we’d better let the Witness Security detail know that there’s a Chicago cop out there who might be after them.” Amelia jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “The Marshals are a few blocks east of the prison. And we’ve made it.” She paused to check the nearest street sign. “Two blocks. You know what.”

Repositioning his seat until he was fully upright again, Zane glanced at her. “What?”

As she set the black and teal tote on her lap, Amelia grabbed her phone from the cup holder. “The Marshals are only a few blocks away. You’ve got the paperwork thing under control, right? Or do you need me for anything?”

He pinned her with a knowing stare. “Are you about to get out of the car and walk over to Dearborn Street?” He pointed to the upcoming intersection. “I can turn around here and drive you over there, you know. Or you can call them when we get back to the office.”

“First of all.” Amelia lifted an index finger. “I can probably walk over there as fast as you could drive there. And secondly, I might have to fill out paperwork for the Marshals, and it’ll be faster if I’m there to do it in person. When I’m done, I can just take the L and then grab a rideshare or a cab.”

“I get it. Divide and conquer. Good plan. We’re just sitting here at a dead stop anyway, and we’re only one lane away from the sidewalk.” With a grin, he pressed a button, and the locks disengaged with a click. “Go get ‘em, Tiger.”

Shoving open the passenger side door, Amelia raised her middle finger. Zane’s laughter followed her out into the warming afternoon.

With a quick wave to the driver next to Zane’s Acura, Amelia hurried around the front fender and sprinted to the sidewalk. Each step she took away from her friend and fellow agent came with a renewed dose of reality.

Somewhere in the city, a man sick enough to sexually abuse children on camera was going about his duties as a Chicago police detective. To call him a wolf in sheep’s clothing was a grave understatement.

She could dig and dig, could shovel through layers of corruption until her hands were blistered and bloody, but she wondered if she’d ever reach the other side.

Maybe not, but she’d be damned if she didn’t try.

Clenching her jaw, Amelia set off toward the Marshals office at a brisk walk.

3

Without Amelia to keep him company on the drive back to the FBI field office, Zane had plenty of time to reach out to Cassandra Halcott to discuss Carlo Enrico. Or he would have, but the Federal prosecutor never answered her phone. He’d left her a voicemail and sent a follow-up email, sent a message to SAC Keaton, and replied to two of Amelia’s texts, all while stuck in downtown Chicago traffic.

Finally, after an agonizing forty-five-minute commute, he’d arrived back at the FBI field office. Chicago was home to some of the worst traffic in the country, and this morning had served as a steadfast reminder of why he avoided driving at nine in the morning.

Rubbing his eyes with one hand, he shoved the gearshift into park