There’s a term we use in the FBI for people like me: Roasted. Agents who have, for one reason or another, succumbed to the stress of the job. That might have been true three months ago when I was attempting to finish a delicate operation days after my husband had died. That had been a bad call, on everyone’s part, despite the fact we interrupted a national kidnapping ring and reunited forty-two kids with their families. It wasn’t enough to keep me from being suspended and placed on unpaid leave. When I came back I was assigned to desk duty for three weeks until the case in Stillwater came up.

  A case no one thought anything about.

  But with some help, we managed to bring a killer into custody to face justice. Had it not been for the woman I passed in the hospital, I’m dead sure Gerald Wright would still be alive today and preparing to face trial for the deaths of two women and the attempted murder of his own children.

  I think what upsets me the most is that no one will even consider the possibility. Wright was older, he had risk factors that are normally associated with heart attacks. So it was no surprise when it happened. Except for the fact they’d given him a clean bill of health hours before. I think the hospital and the local Stillwater P.D. is just covering its ass, considering they had an officer posted outside his door. Except when he wasn’t, which was when I saw that woman leaving the hospital.

  The way she smiled at me…like she knew me…it was, unnerving.

  Ever since coming back to D.C. I’ve spent the majority of my free time searching for her, trying to find any clue that might lead to her identity, but so far I still can’t even get a picture. None of the angles at the Stillwater hospital picked her up, and apparently no one else noticed her but me.

  But I know she did it. She knew who I was, even if I couldn’t return the favor. And if I ever find her again, I’m going to make sure I get the information I need.

  My cell rings and I grab it from the counter without even looking at the number. “Slate,” I say.

  “It’s Simmons.”

  I double-check the clock on the microwave. “It’s four-fifteen on a Sunday afternoon.”

  “Just got notice,” my boss says. “Daughter of a federal judge here in D.C. has gone missing.”

  I smirk. “Missing, or run off with her friends for a week in Cabo?”

  “Parents say she’s missing. They’ve filed an official report.” My boss, SAC Janice Simmons, is all business, no-nonsense. She talks like she’s reading the newspaper.

  “When was the last time they heard from her?”

  “Last night. Apparently she never made it home.”

  I take a deep breath. The alcohol is already in my bloodstream, but it’s not enough to affect my performance. Still, I hadn’t planned on going into the office today. I’ve been going over the details of Matt and Gerald Wright’s deaths ever since I got off on Friday. I had hoped this would be the weekend when I made a breakthrough, but honestly, my mind feels like mush. Maybe getting out and working a case would do me some good.

  “Who’s the lead?” I ask.

  “You are.”

  I’m taken aback for a moment. Sure, I did a passable job in Stillwater when we found Wright, but not being able to bring him to justice was a blow. At least I was able to get the corrupt police chief out of there before he did any more damage. Even though they welcomed me back into my division with open arms, I haven’t been given my own cases yet. I’ve just been assisting other agents, providing support where I can. I figure it’s the last part of my penance for going off the rails a few months ago.

  Still, to have my own cases again…it’s what I’ve wanted ever since.

  “Wow, thank you, Janice,” I say. “I won’t let you down.”

  “I know you won’t,” she replies. “It should go without saying how much I trust you to be doing this so early.”

  “It does,” I reply.

  “You are one of my best, as long as you can keep your head on straight,” she adds. Even though it’s probably deserved, it feels like a backhanded compliment. Proof that I haven’t completely redeemed myself yet. I look down at my leg, even though I can’t see the raw scar under my jeans. My little reminder that I need to be more careful in the future. I almost died.

  “Can I bring on another agent to assist?” I ask. Even though I know I can handle it, it never hurts to have a little backup.

  “Foley?” Janice asks, exasperation in her voice.

  “She’s been cleared for field work.”

  My boss pauses on the other end of the phone. “Might as well. You two work well together anyway. Who better for her to get her feet wet with?”

  “My thoughts as well.” Zara Foley is the closest thing I’ve ever had to a sister. She was a big help on the Stillwater case and had expressed the desire to get out of analysis and into field work with the Special Agents. She’s as smart as they come.

  “I’m emailing you all the case files now. Get on this one now, Emily. The judge isn’t a patient man, and this is his only child. If we don’t find her quick I’m gonna have the AG breathing down my neck to get this case done.”

  “We’re on a clock, got it,” I say, shuffling around my apartment, grabbing what I’ll need for a late night out. I take a glance at Timber, who still has barely stirred. I’ll need to leave him dinner before I go.

  “Let me know what you need and keep me in the loop,” she adds. “We’re going to have a lot of eyes on this one.”

  “Got it. Talk to you soon.” I hang up and search through my phone for the email, which pops up a second later. There’s not much in the way of case files yet, just the missing person’s report and the parents’ address.

  I grab one of Timber’s cans and begin opening it as I dial Zara’s number. Within seconds he’s right beside me, looking up at me with those big, brown eyes.

  “I gotta work late tonight, buddy. I’ll take you for a walk when I get home.”

  He licks his lips as I begin spooning food into his bowl, balancing the phone between my ear and shoulder.

  “Helloooo,” Zara says, playfully drawing out the word.

  “Good news,” I say. “You’ve got a case.”

  “What?” she replies.

  “Well, more accurately, we’ve got a case. Judge’s missing daughter. You ready?”

  “Now?” she asks. “I just sat down to play Call of Duty.”

  “This is how field work goes,” I reply, smiling. She’s a beast at that game. She convinced me to play a few times, but she trounces me every time.

  I set Timber’s food bowl down and he goes to town. “Okay, yeah I’ll be ready in five,” she replies. “Meet you there?”

  “I’ll pick you up on the way,” I reply. For the first time since I came back from Stillwater, I’m feeling excited again. As long as it’s something other than frustration and regret, I’ll take it. “See you in six.”

  Chapter Two

  I turn off the car and step out. For mid-April in D.C., it’s still unseasonably cold. I was hoping this chill would break by now, but with the wind I’d say it’s still in the low forties, especially now that the sun has gone down.

  I look over to my new protégé, stepping out of the passenger side. A month ago she would have been unmistakable with her electric blue hair, but since Zara has been granted field duty, she had to dye it to something that doesn’t stand out as much. She’s gone with a platinum blonde which seems to skirt the limits of department policy, but Janice lets her get away with it. The problem with blue, red, purple, or green hair is that it makes you stand out in a crowd, which is exactly what we don’t want to do. It also makes us easier targets.

  I have to say, Zara took the change in stride.

  “I hope you gave my boyfriend extra love before you left,” she says, making her way around the car.

  “He got plenty of dinner,” I reply. “Plus sometimes I hide treats around the house so he can have a little scavenger hunt.”

  “Oh, no wonder he was always looking around the floor,” she replies. Zara took care of Timber while I was in Stillwater. Maybe I shouldn’t have kept him after what happened with Matt. I pull long hours, and because I don’t have family commitments anymore, it’s easy for me to take on additional shifts. Keeping Timber around was supposed to help normalize some of that, and to give me someone to look after, someone who counted on me. I rescued him after he was rehabilitated from a local dog fighting ring just outside of D.C. Matt fell in love with him immediately. But sometimes I feel like I leave him alone too much. It’s too bad pit bulls aren’t eligible for K9 duty.

  We’ve pulled in behind the black and white that’s already here. The judge has an impressive house, I’ll give him that. The driveway is a semi-circle, connecting to the street in two places, and the front of the house is a mirror image of that semi-circle, with a portico held up by four two-story columns. The entire house is white with black shutters, windows, and the main double doors of the front entrance, which are glass-paned.

  Through the glass I spot a plain-clothes detective speaking with a man dressed in what looks to be workout gear, though his hair is almost all gray. I assume this is our judge.

  “How do you want to approach this?” Zara asks.

  “Let’s just hear what they have to say first. If this really turns out to be nothing more than an impromptu trip with some friends then we don’t have anything to worry about.”

  “You really think that’s the case?” she asks as we approach the front door.

  I shake my head. “I’m trying not to make any assumptions.” Old Emily would have done that. She would have made a judgement call before even getting all the facts of the case. New Emily is trying to be better, to show them that I really am worthy to hold my own caseload again.

  I ring the doorbell which catches the attention of both the detective and the man standing in the foyer. The detective approaches the door and opens it for us, and I’m hit with the scent of lilacs and peonies. The foyer is large, with a checkerboard marble inlay floor and in the center of the foyer is a large table with an ornate bouquet of fresh flowers, which I assume is where the smell is coming from.

  “Detective Dunn,” he says. “This is Judge William Stewart.”

  “Bill,” the man says, stepping forward and taking our hands.

  “I’m Agent Slate, this is Agent Foley,” I say.

  “Thank God you’re here,” he says, turning to Dunn. “No offense, but we just feel better now that the FBI is on the case.”

  Dunn does a good job of hiding his displeasure, but I still catch a couple of micro expressions. “Of course.”

  “Please,” Judge Stewart says, leading us into a sitting room right off the main foyer. Inside sits a woman, also in activewear. Even though she’s sitting, I can tell she’s tall due to the length of her legs, which are tucked halfway under her on the couch. Another detective is standing next to her, looking flummoxed.

  “Honey,” Judge Stewart says, “the FBI are here.”

  The woman practically jumps up and approaches us. “Have you found anything yet?” she asks.

  Now that she’s closer, I see that her looks belie her actual age. She could probably pass for someone ten or even twenty years younger than she actually is. It’s clear the Stewarts take care of themselves. But given the size of this house, I assume they have the money to do so.

  “Not yet, Mrs. Stewart,” I say. “We were only just made aware of the report this afternoon.”

  “This afternoon?” she says. “But I made the call last night!”

  “It took a little while to get through the system, Mrs. Stewart,” Dunn says. “Being the weekend and all.”

  She throws up her hands dramatically. “I can’t believe in this day and age it takes almost twenty-four hours before the proper authorities are notified when there’s an emergency. My daughter is missing. Do you have any idea how important the first forty-eight hours are to solving a case?”

  I slip a glance at Zara and she has to turn away, hiding a grin. This happens more often than not. People who think they’re experts on the criminal justice system after watching a few hours of true crime TV or documentaries. The officer who tried to explain has also turned away from her, but I feel like his reasons are more anger-based.

  “Honey,” the Judge says, taking her arm. “Come, let’s let them do their jobs.” He turns to me. “What do you need from us?”

  “I know you’ve already given your initial report, but we’d like to hear it firsthand. Can you tell us how do you know she’s missing?” I ask.

  “Oh my God, this is pure incompetence. Ask them,” Mrs. Stewart says, pointing to Dunn and his partner. “Why can’t you people get your information straight? You are wasting valuable time!”

  “Amanda!” Judge Stewart yells. His wife stares back at his face before returning to the couch where she picks up a bottled water and chugs it.

  “I’m sorry,” he says to us. “We know because she always texts us when she gets home each night. No text last night, and she’s not answering her phone today. I went over to her apartment after we called it in just to make sure, but she wasn’t there.”

  “Anything out of the ordinary?” I ask.

  He looks perplexed by the question. “Not as far as I could tell. I don’t go over there very much…why?”

  “We’ll need to go over and take a look for ourselves,” Zara says. “Assuming that was where she was last seen.”

  “Of course,” he replies. “We’re just so worried. She’s never done this before.”

  How many times have I heard that from unsuspecting parents? Usually, a statement like that means they’ve never been caught before. I’m not willing to send out the dogs yet. “When was the last time you heard from her?”

  “Friday night,” Mrs. Stewart says. “She texted, like she always does. Every single night since she moved out on her own. She’s never missed a night.”

  “Is it possible her phone just died, and she hasn’t had a chance to charge it, wherever she is?” I ask.

  “And where would she be, other than at home? She has to work tomorrow.”

  “Where does she work?” Zara asks.

  “CurePharm,” Judge Stewart says. “She’s been with them ever since she graduated. Just got a promotion not too long ago, which is when she started living by herself.”

  “I told her,” Mrs. Stewart says. “I said she should stick with a roommate until she had a serious boyfriend. This is a dangerous city, and people are just looking for opportunities to hurt young, attractive women.”

  “Have you received any kind of demands, anything that makes you think this is a kidnapping and not…” I trail off.

  “What?” Mrs. Stewart says. “Go ahead. Say it.”

  “A night out on the town,” I say, trying to remain diplomatic. Mrs. Stewart is a complete powder keg. If I’m not careful, she’ll shut down.

  “You mean was she out whoring herself out to random guys?”

  “Amanda!” Judge Stewart says again. “Why don’t you take a minute? Go cool off.”

  Mrs. Stewart huffs and leaves the room through the other doorway, which I assume connects to some other opulent part of this house.

  “I’m very sorry, Agents. This isn’t like her. She’s been on edge ever since last night. Hannah is our only daughter and we’re both…well, we’re protective of her.”

  “That’s okay,” I reply. “I’m an only child myself, so I know how parents can be. Your wife’s anger is misplaced frustration and fear.”

  “For both of us,” he says. “But no. We haven’t received any kind of ransom demands. No communication whatsoever.”

  I turn to Zara. “Can you get someone down in surveillance to put a trace on Hannah’s phone? I want to know if it’s still on or not.”

  “Sure,” Zara says, pulling out her phone. “Do you have her number?”

  “I’ve got it,” Dunn says and huddles up with Zara as I turn back to Judge Stewart. “Has Hannah ever disappeared before? Ever gone off with friends or a boyfriend without telling you?”

  He shakes his head. “Not to my knowledge. If she has, she’s hidden it from us.”

  “Is there anyone you know of who might be a threat to your daughter? An old boyfriend, anyone?”

  His eyes glance over to the doorway his wife left through. “Not directly. But as you know I’m an appeals judge. And sometimes defendants aren’t very happy when their appeals are denied or their decisions aren’t overturned.”

  “You’re thinking this could be blowback from one of your cases?”

  “I didn’t say that,” he says, though he’s quick to recover. “I’m just saying that’s the only kind of danger Hannah has ever had in her life. Not that we’ve ever had to deal with anything like that before, thank God.”

  I feel like he’s hiding something, especially the way he keeps looking back at where his wife went. I’m not sure what’s going on here, but I can only press him so much. If I’m going to get the answers I need, I’ll have to redirect. “No history of any mental illness or trauma, I assume?”

  He shakes his head. “Nothing.”

  “Do you know who would have seen her last?” I ask.

  He shifts on his feet. “Probably either her boyfriend or Margaret.”

  “Margaret?” I ask.

  “Friend from college. They were roomies and have been together ever since. They actually shared an apartment until recently, where, like I said, she moved out.”

  “Was there trouble between them?” I ask.

  “Not as far as I know. But Hannah wanted her own place. And with her promotion she could finally afford it. Though we’re still working on getting her place furnished.”

  I look around this opulent house and have a hard time believing Hannah wants for anything. But maybe I’m wrong. She might be one of those kids who wants to make it on their own, just to prove to their already-successful parents that they can. That they don’t necessarily need their help. “What does Hannah do at ChemPharm, do you know?”

  “It has something to do with medial research,” he replies. “But it’s all very hush-hush. Non-disclosure agreements and such. She can’t really talk about what she’s working on.”