So far, so good, Violet thought, relaxing only slightly when her senses remained unafflicted. The security guards had obviously never had to gun anyone down in the line of duty. At least no one who’d died.
Violet secretly mocked herself for being such a baby. With any luck, she’d be in and out of here in no time. She could do this.
The downtown building was basically what Violet had imagined. She’d seen enough action movies to have a picture in her mind, and this place pretty much fit the bill. Maybe a little more sterile than she’d expected, and a little more subdued and peaceful, but otherwise very governmental.
Unfortunately none of these observations made Violet feel any more at ease.
Once she’d shown her ID and made it through security, one of the guards called Sara Priest to let her know that Violet had arrived.
Sara’s heels clicked on the floor when she came out to meet Violet in the lobby, and again, Violet was struck by how immaculate Sara was—the epitome of what an FBI agent should look like. The only thing missing were the dark shades.
Her greeting was a brief “I’m glad you could make it,” and they skipped the small talk as Sara silently led Violet down a corridor past offices and cubicles. The offices would have been like the ones in any other building, quiet and even boring, except that it was making Violet’s head pound to be there.
When they entered the small conference room, Sara closed the door behind them and pulled out a chair at the table, offering it to Violet.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Sara asked, her voice suggesting that she was making an effort, at least, to be polite.
But Violet was still mad about being bullied into coming and had decided to take a different approach. Something less than civil. She shook her head, stubbornly crossing her arms in front of her.
Sara took the seat across from Violet’s. When she sat down, her jacket draped open and Violet caught a glimpse of her gun’s handle, holstered in a leather shoulder strap she wore. Seeing the weapon fractured Violet’s resolve.
This wasn’t a game, the gun reminded her, and pouting wasn’t going to make this any easier. Violet uncrossed her arms.
“Ms. Ambrose, may I be blunt?” Without giving Violet a chance to respond, FBI Sara bulldozed on. “This meeting really has less to do with the murder of a little boy than it has to do with you.”
And, just like that, she had Violet’s interest.
“In fact, your statement is just a formality that will probably be filed away and forgotten.” She leaned forward then, narrowing her eyes as she watched Violet closely. “I, however, am fascinated.” She left the words dangling between them.
“Really?” Violet cleared her throat, doing her best to sound indifferent.
Sara nodded and leaned back, crossing her arms casually. “So, tell me. How does it work?”
Violet’s heart slammed against her rib cage. What exactly did she think she knew? How could she know anything at all?
She had to be bluffing.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Why was this phrase beginning to sound so familiar? She felt like every time she was with this woman, she was repeating those exact words.
“Come on, Violet.” And suddenly they were back on a first-name basis. “You know what I mean. Somehow, when no one else in the country could, you found that little boy. And since you couldn’t see him, and you damn sure didn’t hear him, there must’ve been something else. Something . . . special . . . about you.”
Violet wound her fists tightly beneath the table as she leaned forward. She tried to look confused. She wished there were awards for real-life acting performances, because she thought she was doing a pretty good job. “Like what?” she breathed, trying to mimic the blank expressions she’d seen on Claire’s face so many times before. Only, Claire’s were for real.
Sara paused, and there was an uncomfortable moment during which Violet thought that the woman might be second-guessing herself. Then Violet watched as the uncertainty changed to something else. A new tactic.
“All right. I can see you’re not entirely comfortable talking about this.” Sara’s voice was suddenly smooth, too smooth, and it made Violet even warier. “Clearly we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot—”
Violet interrupted with a sound that was half laugh, half snort. “Yeah, you think?”
Sara stopped and stared at Violet. And then the corner of her lip ticked up into a smile. A real smile. Sara sighed as she tugged off her jacket, slinging it over the back of her chair. She shook her head, meeting Violet’s gaze. “How about we start over? Why don’t I tell you a little bit about me?” Her tone was closer to genuine, bordering on sincere. “Are you sure you don’t want some water or something?”
“I’m fine,” Violet answered again. Even though she felt herself relaxing, she still just wanted to get this over with.
Sara nodded. “I’m a former FBI agent who now acts as a consultant for them. Occasionally with other agencies as well. I’m what they call a profiler, a forensic psychologist. Which basically means that I try to get inside the bad guy’s head. In this particular case, I was called in almost immediately to help track down the abductor, the man who had taken the little boy you . . . discovered.” She crossed the word quickly and kept talking. “It’s my job to figure out what kind of person would do something like this—and why. And, hopefully, to prevent it from happening again.”