Her throat was parched. “I could use a drink of water.”

“I’ll get you some. Hold on.”

Holton hurried out of the bank lobby, returning a minute later with a bottle of water. Jo thanked him and drank half of it before he could say another word. The liquid was soothing as it traveled down her throat.

“Let’s get you to the station,” he said.

“Okay.”

He waved over a uniformed officer, who nodded politely at Jo and escorted her out of the bank without speaking to her. The building lobby was full of law enforcement personnel, their voices and footsteps echoing loudly in the cavernous space. Jo squinted at the sunlight as they walked outside. The street had been cordoned off, and several police and SWAT team vehicles were parked up and down the block. Behind crime-scene tape, a group of reporters craned for a view as cameramen videoed the area. Several more people loitered nearby, trying to get a look at the bank.

The officer put Jo in the back of a squad car and inched his way down the block, where another officer moved a wooden barricade out of the way so the vehicle could pass. Jo looked at the high-rises, thankful that she and all the other hostages had gotten out alive.

Then she remembered Rico again. What had happened to him? Was he all right? Jo felt a familiar pulling at her heart. She’d been on plenty of missions where something had gone wrong, where someone had gotten hurt or killed. On her final mission, Dack had been the victim, and she’d blamed herself for a long time. Every operation, she’d wished she had done something differently that would’ve made for a better outcome. She was thinking about the bank now, wondering if she should have stepped in and said more when Rico was getting agitated. That might’ve just made the situation worse—there was no way to know. You couldn’t go back and do it over to test; she knew that all too well. She downed the rest of the water and let out a heavy sigh, still second-guessing herself regardless of what logic told her. The officer spoke up.

“Everything okay, ma’am?”

They were stopped at a light, and he was peering at her in the rearview mirror.

“I’m tired,” Jo said.

“I’ll bet.”

He continued studying her until the light changed, and then he drove on.

A few minutes later, they arrived at a police station, a four-story brick building with reflective glass. There were more reporters waiting out front, but the officer drove to the side of the building and through a gate to a parking garage that was out of view. He pulled up near a bank of elevators and walked Jo into the building, which was also a flurry of activity. A hostage situation at a bank would do that to a precinct. He turned her over to another detective, who politely introduced himself as Buchanan.

Buchanan wore a white shirt, no tie, and he had a pad and paper in his hand. He again asked if she needed medical attention, and when she confirmed that she didn’t, a female officer went with her to a bathroom, where Jo took a few minutes, then washed her hands as the detective waited by the sinks. Neither said a word.

Back outside, Buchanan took her to an interrogation room and had her take a seat at a rectangular metal table. The door closed behind him, shutting out any noise in the hall. A sweet, flowery scent filled the room, but the air freshener didn’t quite mask that odor she knew so well—sweat, terror, like in the storage room. Who had been interrogated here last, and what had they been suspected of? Whatever it was, it had instilled fear that still lingered.

“I know this has already been a long and stressful day for you,” Buchanan began, “and I’m afraid I’m going to add to it.”

“I understand,” Jo said.

He had a warm and engaging manner, which she appreciated. Bedside manner wasn’t just for doctors.

“Detective Holton will be here in a while, and he wants to talk to you again. In the meantime”—he pushed the pad and paper across the table to her—“I want you to write down everything you saw and heard, everything you can think of from the moment you walked into the bank this morning.”

“Is Rico okay?” she asked.

“He is, but that’s all I can say. I’ll let Detective Holton fill you in.”

Jo breathed a sigh of relief. At least Rico was alive. She still didn’t know if he’d been harmed, or what else had happened since she’d last seen him.

“Can I get you anything?” Buchanan asked.

“More water,” she said.

He smiled. “You got it. If you need anything else, knock on the door.”

“Thank you.”

He left the room, and as Jo gathered her thoughts, she glanced around. It was like other interrogation rooms she’d been in, with the standard-order white walls, table and chairs, and a camera mounted high in the corner, where at any moment someone might be observing her and recording everything she did. She sat for a long while, then ran her hands down her face, picked up the pen and began writing everything she could think of from the moment she’d entered the bank until she’d spoken with Detective Holton. As Buchanan had requested, she was detailed. She had time. Holton would wrap up what he was doing at the bank before he would talk to her, and that might take him a while.

She was interrupted by a tap on the door, and Detective Buchanan entered the room once more.

“Here you go.” He handed her a bottle of water. “You still doing okay?”

She tapped the notepad with the pen. “Working on my notes.”

“Good, thank you.” He stared at her for a moment. “Detective Holton will be here soon.”

“Fine.”

He backed out of the room without another word. She took a sip of water and went back to writing. By her internal clock, at least a couple of hours had passed. She wrote slowly, her thoughts turning to Holton. He’d be comparing notes with the other detectives and interviewers, seeing what each hostage said about the robbery. He’d be looking into their backgrounds, and law enforcement would comb through surveillance video from the entire neighborhood, pinpointing when she and the others had entered or left the bank. He’d have learned as much as he could about her before he entered the interrogation room. Whether she or any of the other hostages liked it, there would be suspicion on them, too. And that got her thinking, wondering about the others in the storage room. Then her eyes narrowed.

She realized that there was something she’d missed.

CHAPTER SIX

Jo put her pen down and stared at the pad and paper in front of her. As she thought back, there was something she hadn’t noticed before. It was understandable. A lot had been going on at the bank, the situation incredibly stressful, even for someone with her background. Stress had been a part of every mission she’d ever been on. However, once she was removed from a particular situation, she was debriefed, and she had time to go over what had occurred. You had a chance to see what you’d missed.

For what had happened at the bank, that time was now. She had to be careful, though, because the mind could be fickle. Although it could validate things to be true, it could also make up things that didn’t happen. She crossed her arms and pictured her morning like a movie in her mind. She went through everything again, from start to finish. Yes, there was something she hadn’t thought of until just moments ago. She was about to make note of it when there was another tap on the door, and Detective Holton came into the room.

“You’re doing all right?” he asked brusquely.

She nodded. He glanced toward her almost-full water bottle.

“Do you need anything else? Coffee, or a soda?”

Jo shook her head. “The water’s fine. Is Rico okay?”

“Yes.” Holton didn’t offer more. “Where’re you staying?”

“A hotel nearby.” If he wasn’t going to be specific, she felt no need to be either.

He had files and a notepad with him, and he plunked them on the table, pulled out the chair opposite her, and sat down heavily. He looked harried, his tie askew. This was probably the first chance he’d had to take a seat since he’d entered the bank a few hours ago. He drew in a breath and let it out slowly as he looked at her.

“I’m sorry it took so long to get here,” he said.

She shrugged. “No problem. You have a job to do.”

He studied her for a moment, then flipped open a file folder. She saw a piece of paper on the top with her photo clipped to it. As she suspected, they’d done their research on her. Holton perused the page for a moment and then looked up.

“You’re ex-military.”

She nodded. “Army and Civil Affairs.” She didn’t hide anything, as she’d done nothing wrong.