Line Of Sight. Рейчел Кейн

around the country, and it always seemed to be the same damn car, over and over. Different colored wipe-down vinyl upholstery, and the heavy grillwork separating her from the front seat. There were no handles on the inside of the doors, of course. The whole thing smelled of the body odor and vomit of the last transport, overlaid with the astringent wipe-down they’d given it to make it presentable for her.

      “Nice,” she said. “So I’m getting the royal treatment.”

      “You know us locals, anything for our cousins from the FBI. Watch your head.”

      Their names, according to the name tags, were officers Samson and Gilhoulie—one black, one white, one thin, one plump, one female, one male. The differences didn’t matter much, as far as Katie could tell; they seemed used to each other, in the way of partners or old married couples. Aware of each other at all times, but comfortable.

      Samson was the driver of the two, apparently. He got behind the wheel and steered the cruiser into traffic, lights still flashing. Katie looked out the freshly cleaned window—it still smelled of the cleaning product they’d used to give it a streak-free shine—to get her bearings in the city again. In a sense, they really had rolled out the red carpet. Most cop shops would have assumed she could take care of her own transportation.

      Phoenix never looked lush, but the weak winter sunlight gave it a wan quality that mirrored Katie’s mood. She remembered the city very well, but it wasn’t a homecoming, not given the circumstances.

      “So,” Officer Gilhoulie said and twisted around to look at her. She was a height-challenged redhead with fair Irish skin and blue eyes that seemed pleasant, but had that inner distance all cops everywhere shared. “How long have you known Detective Ryan, ma’am?”

      The ma’am was reflexive. All beat cops were courteous to a fault, until they weren’t. Part of their charm.

      “Detective Ryan and I went to school together,” Katie said. That usually derailed the conversation because there was nothing more boring than old school-days reminiscences; nobody wanted to hear high school stories except people from your high school. Sure enough, Gilhoulie turned back to face forward.

      But, to Katie’s surprise, she continued asking questions.

      “You originally from Phoenix, then?”

      “Pennsylvania. Philly, actually. I’m just assigned out of the Kansas City field office right now.”

      “They move you around in the FBI, huh?”

      “Every two years,” Katie said. “Until you get to a certain service level. I’ve probably got one rotation to go before they let me choose a permanent duty station. Doesn’t matter, though. I work all over the country.”

      Chitchat, nothing Katie had to focus her attention on beyond the bare minimum. Gilhoulie’s partner, Samson, drove without saying much; he was constantly scanning the streets and sidewalks. Gilhoulie seemed to think it was her duty to entertain the guest, for some reason. “So,” the officer asked, “do you have some kind of specialty, or…?”

      “Missing persons,” Katie said. “I specialize in missing persons cases.”

      “No wonder Ryan called you,” Gilhoulie said. “So, what kind of school was it? Some kind of prep school, right? I heard it’s exclusive.”

      Time to change the subject. “You get a lot of these kinds of abductions in Phoenix these days?”

      “No, ma’am,” Samson said immediately. “Mostly the usual, you know, custody disputes. Sometimes we get a kid or woman snatched by predators, though. It happens here same as anywhere else.”

      “Did you work the scene of today’s abduction?”

      “Just perimeter stuff,” he said, shrugging. “Sorry. Can’t tell you much, except that Detective Ryan’s been a rock. If it was my kid nearly got snatched, I can tell you, I don’t think I’d hold up so well.”

      Gilhoulie nodded soberly in agreement. “I always knew she was, you know, pretty good, but she’s been all over this thing today. Her kid’s been terrific, too.”

      “Real trooper,” Samson added. He hit the blinker and turned the car onto a side street. “Right up ahead, Agent Rush. You’ll find Detective Ryan in the middle of it.”

      He kept driving, passed through a police barricade and parked inside the perimeter, safely away from the crowd of bystanders and press. “Forensics is still processing,” Samson added, although he didn’t really need to; Katie knew from experience how long that could take, for a really complicated crime scene. “Probably got a couple more hours to go before they wrap it up.”

      “Got it. Thanks to you both,” she said as Gilhoulie opened up the back door for her.

      “Not a problem. Do us a favor. Find the girls, huh?”

      “I’ll do my best.” Once upon a time, she’d have said, I will, but she knew that wasn’t always the case. “I appreciate the ride, guys.”

      The air was cool outside, especially after the closed-in fug of the police cruiser; Katie took a deep breath, shouldered her bag and headed for the nearest on-duty cop she could spot. Her FBI badge got her instant directions to Kayla Ryan, who was half a block away in a huddle with other police.

      There was something indefinable about seeing a fellow Athena Force member—a kind of recognition and simple comfort that went beyond just spotting an old friend. Katie saw Kayla step out of the impromptu meeting going on and head her way.

      “Katie,” Kayla said and smiled. They shook hands in a brisk, businesslike fashion rather than hugged—purely for any cameras that happened to be pointed in their direction. “I can’t thank you enough for this. Let’s go someplace more private to talk.”

      She led the way with quick strides. They’d always been the same height, but Katie recognized even more similarities. She and Kayla both moved with authority and confidence, thanks to their training both at the Academy and through their careers. Kayla’s skin was shades darker, and she’d let her long dark hair grow. Her brown eyes still looked disarmingly warm. That probably served her very well in interrogations—Katie knew that intimidation, for all its dramatic presentation, was generally less useful than empathy in soliciting information.

      In short, Kayla looked great, if strained at the moment. As they walked toward a row of high hedges, backs to the cameras, she caught Kayla exchanging a look with a tall, good-looking detective standing nearby. A look. You didn’t have to be an investigator to read his regard for her, and to see it was something more than just professional courtesy.

      “So I guess the press is all over this one,” Katie said and winced as she adjusted her bag on her shoulder. Her ribs were making their protests felt. Again. “Why the cloak and dagger?”

      “Parabolic microphones. Some of the more enterprising news reporters have them around here. They can’t air the footage, unless they want to lose any cooperation in the future from the department, but they can still use the information they get in other ways.” Kayla shook her head. “Lots of ‘unnamed sources’ come from surveillance. I’m not willing to take the chance. Besides, guess who’s here as our special media guest?”

      “60 Minutes?”

      “I just wish. No, Shannon Connor.”

      “Shannon!” Katie blurted, shocked. Not that she couldn’t have foreseen it happening, of course. Shannon Connor had been a promising student at the Athena Academy—in Kayla’s group, the Graces, in fact—but she’d shown a dark side, and had made history as the first girl ever expelled from the Academy. Not that she wasn’t bright, but she was ambitious and bitter. Since getting thrown out of the school, she’d gone on to a relatively successful career in broadcast journalism…but she was always looking for dirt on the Academy and its graduates. “She’d better be looking to help, not just digging for trouble.”

      “You know Shannon. She’s looking for any angle