Don't Go by L.J. Breedlove (series like harry potter txt) 📕

said. She did look up then to scowl at him. “I go there for Christmas every year.”

“No, I stay away from there,” Cage agreed. But he didn’t add more about his father’s preaching. He really didn’t know what his father would say about Sarah being gay or Carroll’s androgyny. And he wasn’t bringing it up either.

Emily stopped editing. “I’m more concerned about J.J. and Carroll,” she said.

Cage shrugged. “Their business?” he said, knowing it was futile. Nothing in this office was considered private. Even Lam looked up at that and laughed, and seeing he was married with teenagers, he was as close to a mind-your-own-business kind of guy the newsroom had.

And then Ryan strolled in. He looked shell-shocked, if you knew him well. Cage saw the signs around his eyes that said a migraine was on its way, a set to his shoulders declaring him ready to fight. He so did not want to engage with Ryan when he was both wanting a fight and fighting a migraine.

“I’m gone,” he announced, but Ryan shook his head.

“Need to meet,” he said, gesturing with his head toward his office. “Will around?”

“Give him 10,” Emily said, finishing the story and sending it to Sarah’s queue for a second look. How could someone make 10 comma errors in 10 sentences? It was a mystery. “He’s got class on the other side of campus until 4 p.m.”

Ryan nodded. “Sarah, Lam? Can you hold down the fort? And send in Will when he gets here?”

Lam nodded; Sarah didn’t bother. Ryan wasn’t worried, he figured she could hold any fort she was in as long as she needed to.

Once in his office, Ryan sat in his chair and leaned back and closed his eyes. Emily took her usual spot in his sling chair with its chrome frame and leather seat. Cage, also as usual, perched on a short black filing cabinet full of personnel paperwork — the only paper files Ryan had, and most of those he’d inherited from pervious editors. When the cabinet got full, he’d pull out the oldest ones — and if the person wasn’t still working here — he’d shred them. There were a few files that had survived the culling more than once — a couple of writers who he didn’t think planned to ever graduate and leave.

“Gotta say, Ryan, fatherhood is aging you,” Cage said with a shake of his head.

Ryan flipped him off without opening his eyes.

“How is Rafael?” Emily said. She frowned at Cage, but he just laughed.

“Rafael is great,” Ryan said. He smiled. Emily didn’t think she’d ever seen such a soft, sweet smile on her friend’s face. “But we’ve got other issues.”

He told them about the car the night before.

“That’s not good,” Cage said. “Do you think it’s unresolved crap from last week or something new?”

“I’m concerned it’s ICE,” Ryan admitted.

Will tapped on the door and slipped in. “Guys,” he said as a greeting. He looked like a reporter, Ryan thought. Baggy khaki’s, a blue shirt, a tie askew, a tan corduroy jacket, matching brown mask. He was about 5’10, brown hair that flopped in his eyes over his glasses. He hadn’t gotten the hang of wearing a mask and steamed up his glasses with every breath. Ryan smiled.

Will Bristol did most of the administration stories. Anything that involved legal issues, numbers, public records got tossed his way. He must have been working on an administration story, Ryan thought, not even Will wore a tie if he didn’t have to.

“Em, I’ll have the board of trustee story ready as soon as we break from here,” Will said, proving him right. “They pressed the administration about the timeline for eliminating weapons from the campus police department.”

“They?” she asked.

“Well, the student member of the board did. The police chief waffled.”

Ryan nodded. The campus cops had shot and killed a Black man the year before when the man — a veteran — had intervened in an assault on the Park Blocks. It still made his heart ache. They’d promised to stop carrying weapons. It had been a year and they hadn’t.

“Did Miguel give you the photo of the plates?” he asked, keeping his eyes closed. This was another problem with a glass office in a trendy loft space. No dark rooms for a migraine sufferer. Of course, most migraine sufferers went home.

“Yeah, and I was able to make out the plate number clearly,” he said. “It came back blocked. You expected that, right?”

Ryan nodded. “Yeah, I figured. Any ideas on which agency?”

“Feds,” Will said. “I think, anyway. My friend who runs the plates works in the campus cop shop. It’s above-board for him to run licenses, they’re public record. But we are probably skipping some paperwork in exchange for coffee. Something spooked him. He said maybe we should do the paperwork in the future.”

“What would spook him?” Emily asked.

Will shrugged. “That’s why I think feds. If it were locals, no one would think anything of it. But more specific than feds? Maybe FBI. Maybe DHS. My gut says it’s ICE.” He considered his source’s reaction a moment, then shrugged. “Or the IRS, I guess. But we haven’t pissed off the IRS as far as I know.”

He looked at the other three. “Have we pissed off ICE?”

There was silence.

“Shit,” Will said.

Cage stretched. “I think maybe I’ll leave downtown to Miguel and the team tonight, and head over to the ICE protests. Talk to a few of the activists and protesters,” he said.

“Be discreet,” Ryan said, then shook his head. “What am I saying? To you? Just...,” he hesitated. “Be careful. For you. For Teresa.”

Cage nodded. “And you need to take the time to go through everything she gave you. We need a lead, a string to pull if we’re going to find and bring her home.”

“Is that what we’re going to do?” Will asked.

Ryan looked out into the newsroom. This was the busy time of the day. Maybe 30 people out there right now, others would be in later. Some just