“I had to do a little research on Civil Affairs. You were with Special Operations.”

Jo shook her head. “I worked alongside Special Ops teams.”

His eyebrows went up slightly. “Doing what?”

She knew he hadn’t only looked up Civil Affairs—he’d also tried to find out specifics of her assignments. He could hunt all he wanted, but he would find little more on her. Most of the missions she’d been a part of had been highly classified, things that the average person would never know about and even someone with his authority couldn’t touch. If the police had obtained her service records, they would show her military service, some places where she was stationed, and not much else.

“I did a tour in Afghanistan,” she said vaguely.

His lips pressed together. He wanted more, but he could tell he wasn’t going to get it. He flipped the pages of her file dramatically, then closed it with a flourish and set it aside.

“What’re you doing in Dallas?”

“Visiting.”

“Who?”

“Sight-seeing. Nothing much.”

He eyed her carefully as he opened another file containing notes and pictures from the bank. “What were you doing at the bank?”

“I’d gone in to withdraw some cash,” she said.

“For?”

“Personal reasons.” He didn’t need to know that she always preferred to use cash if possible. She wanted to be as anonymous as she could. That was growing much harder in the digital age, but she tried.

“You don’t have a fixed residence,” he said.

She shook her head. “I’m traveling around for a while.”

“Where do you receive mail?”

“An APO box.”

“Army Post Office,” he said, familiar with the term.

“Yes.”

The APO was close to Dack’s house, and ever since she’d left Washington, DC, he’d checked it regularly and forwarded anything important to her. Again, she wasn’t going to tell Detective Holton anything about her friend. He didn’t even need to know Dack existed.

He pointed at her notes and held out a hand. “May I?”

She handed the notepad to him. He perused it quickly, then pulled a pen from his pocket and went over her notes again, asking her questions and periodically jotting his own notes alongside hers.

“The three men who took you hostage all wore the same clothes,” he said.

She nodded. “It all looked military grade.”

“Do you think they were ex-military?”

Jo considered their thorough plan, their precision once more. “They could have been,” she said.

“Any notable accents?”

“One had one. Maybe Slavic.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve been to the Eastern bloc.”

“Ah,” he said.

“And the broad-shouldered one has a slight Southern drawl.”

“A Texas drawl, or somewhere else?”

She had noticed he had a bit of a drawl himself but saw no reason to point that out. “Yep.”

“And the tall one?”

“He didn’t,” she said. “Maybe he was from California, or the Northwest.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I rarely detect an accent when I’ve been in those areas, not like New York or the Northeast, or anything from the South. It’s just a guess, though.”

He glanced down at her notes, then at a file. “When you entered the bank, where was everyone else?”

“There were two tellers behind the counter. One was helping Barbara, the elderly woman. Another woman, Darlene, was at the middle table, and she had just gone to the teller window when the men entered the bank.”

“And the other bank employees?”

“Sabrina, Douglas, and Rico were at their desks.”

“And Ward?”

She blinked at him. “I didn’t know about him until right before we were taken to the storage room.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “What did the three employees at their desks do when you entered the bank?”

She pictured the scene in her head. “Sabrina had been working with a younger couple who then left the bank.”

“Describe the couple.”

Jo did. She remembered they were younger, the man with longer blond hair, the woman with dark hair. In the bank, she’d noted their presence. Now, with everything that had happened, she didn’t have as much detail on them as she would’ve liked. The fickle mind. “I have no idea who they were.”

He nodded again. “What did Sabrina do next?”