“Um…Saturday, I think. I thought we were going to go out, maybe get something to eat. It’s what we normally do on Saturdays. But she said she was meeting Margaret, that she couldn’t.”

  “And you haven’t spoken with her since?” Zara asks.

  “I tried calling a few times yesterday. And I left her a few texts, but she never called back. I figured she was pissed at me for something.”

  “Why would she be pissed at you?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “Sometimes she just…is. She gets really upset sometimes; I don’t know why. And she doesn’t like to talk about it. So yeah, it’s not strange for a few days to go by without me hearing from her.” He looks at us both in turn. “Is she dead?” His voice trembles.

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Two FBI agents show up at my door, what else am I supposed to expect?” He’s agitated, and scared, that much is clear. I just can’t tell if it’s fear from potentially losing Hannah or the fact that we might be on to him.

  “Do you mind if we take a look around?” I ask, peering into the apartment. From what I can tell, it’s not nearly as clean as Hannah’s was.

  “Please,” he asks, and his eyes begin to shimmer. “Just tell me. I can take it.”

  I let out a long breath. “She’s missing. That’s all we know right now.”

  “Missing? Since when?”

  “Saturday night, we think,” Zara says.

  He furrows his brow, like he’s trying to figure out if that’s why she hasn’t called him back. “Mr. Lozano?” I ask again.

  He looks up, then seems to realize the request and steps back. We enter, though Zara stays close to Lozano in case he decides to try and make a run for it.

  The apartment is typical for what I’d expect from a couple of twenty-something guys. Beer cans litter the table in front of the worn couch, where the roommate sits, a headset on and a game controller in his hands. On the TV is a racing game. I step in front of the TV to examine the rest of the apartment, but he barely notices, just ducks and looks around me.

  The kitchen is an absolute mess. Stains everywhere, half-eaten containers of fast food on almost every surface, and a pile of dishes in the sink. Again, more beer cans. Actually, considering how they’re all arranged, there’s no way there’s been a struggle in this place. Cans sit precariously on surfaces that with even the slightest bump would send them crashing to the ground. Tyler wouldn’t have taken Hannah from here.

  I head into the back, checking the bedrooms. One is little more than a mattress and sheets on the floor, but the other has an actual bedframe and proper furniture. It’s not hard to guess which one belongs to Tyler. His laptop sits on the desk in the room, open, but off. I tap one of the keys, but it only brings me to a login screen. The rest of the room looks standard to me, I don’t see anything out of the ordinary.

  I return back to the “living room” where the roommate continues to play his game, oblivious to the rest of us.

  “Where were you on Saturday night?” I ask.

  “Here,” he replies.

  “On a Saturday night?” I ask. “Seems like a low key night for someone not too far out of college.”

  “Yeah,” he replies. “And saddled with a ton of debt. It’s a lot cheaper to drink at home, trust me.”

  “Anyone here with you?” I ask. Tyler points to the guy on the couch, who is completely engrossed. I reach over and grab the headphones off his head. A split second later he’s paused the game, staring up at me.

  “What the hell, man?”

  “Where were you Saturday night?” I ask.

  “Here,” he says, like he’s offended to be anywhere else.

  “Anyone here with you?” I ask.

  He points to Tyler. “Got your ass kicked on GT six, didn’cha Tyler?” he teases.

  “Jerm, Hannah’s missing.”

  “What?” he asks, then looks at Zara, and then me. “Oh, is that what they’re here for?” Tyler nods. “Damn, man. I’m sorry about that. I liked her.”

  “It doesn’t mean she’s dead, Jerm!” Then he looks at us, his eyes pleading. “Right? You haven’t found anything yet, so she could still be alive, right?” The sheer terror in his voice has me convinced he didn’t know anything about this until we walked up to his door this morning. Though he does seem fixated on her death. If he’d already known, he wouldn’t have acted so surprised. Not to mention there’s nothing here that would make me think Hannah even stepped foot in this place recently. I can imagine for a neat freak like her, a place like this would be intolerable.

  “We don’t have any evidence to suggest that, no,” I say, trying to remain level-headed. I don’t want to give Tyler false hope, but at the same time I don’t want him shutting down completely. “Do you happen to know anyone who might have wanted to do her harm? Anyone she was in trouble with?”

  He shakes his head. “No, but she doesn’t tell me everything. And lately, I’ve seen her typing on her phone a lot more than she used to. I try not to think that she’s talking to another guy, but it’s hard not to think that, you know?”

  I glance at Zara, who seems as perplexed by this information as I do. We didn’t see a significant spike in text messages in her call data. Which means she must be using an app for messaging, rather than just the phone’s texting feature. And that means we’ll be digging through data for days.

  “Has she exhibited any mood changes in the past few weeks? Anything that would make it seem like she’s more…on edge?”

  “Yeah,” Tyler says. “She has been more short with me lately. I just figured it was because I was doing something to upset her. Like the way I chew.”

  “The way you chew?” I ask.

  “She says it’s annoying and I need to cut it out.”

  “That’s cause she’s a grade-A stuck-up bi—.” The word dies on “Jerm’s” tongue when he looks at us. “Uh…princess. She’s always complaining about something he’s doing wrong. I told him he needs to find someone who appreciates him.”

  “And you’re the expert on women?” Zara asks, incredulous.

  “Sure,” he says, giving her a wink. “I’m sure you and I would go great together.”

  Zara stifles a laugh. “Em, if you’re good, I think I’ll wait outside.”

  “Sure,” I nod, turning back to Tyler. I hand him my card. “If you hear from her, or think of anything else, anyone shady she might be involved with, you call me immediately. Doesn’t matter what time.”

  He takes the card and nods, though I can see in his eyes he’s already lost hope. But honestly, if Jerm is right and this is the way Hannah treats him, maybe it’s the best thing for him. Some people might say her needling would be enough for a motive, but I’m not getting any vibes off Tyler that tells me he has anything to do with this.

  Still, I’ve been wrong about that in the past. Which is why I want a second opinion.

  I join Zara back outside at the car. “So?” I ask. “What do you think?”

  “That Tyler needs to stand up for himself,” she replies. “And he probably doesn’t have anything to do with this. He seemed genuinely surprised at the news. And scared he might never see her again, even if she isn’t very good for him.”

  “Thank God, I was afraid there for a second I was completely misreading him. Ever since Wright…” I trail off, shaking my head. “It’s messing with my confidence.”

  “You’ll get it back,” she says, giving me a wink. “You just need to get back in your groove. Who’s next? The friend?”

  “Yep,” I say. “And it looks like we’re going to have to deal with some beltway traffic. She’ll be at work or on her way by now.”

  “Then we better get a move on,” Zara says.

  “You sure? Don’t wanna go back in there and get Jerm’s number?” I give her a wide grin.

  “Not in a million years. And if you don’t leave right now I’ll go back in there and give him your number.”

  I smile to myself as we pull away from the complex. I have to admit, bringing Zara on was the best thing I could have done for myself.

  Chapter Five

  We’re standing at the front desk of BioLabs, Inc, which happens to be a subsidiary of one of the largest drug manufacturers in the country. If this was anywhere else I would have pushed my way past security by now and gone to find Margaret Webb myself. But unfortunately, she works in a clean room, which means no one can go in that hasn’t gone through a rigorous safety check and donned the appropriate equipment. Basically, a full static-free suit along with face covering and gloves. It also means that it takes someone in that environment a while to transition back out.

  “How much longer?” I ask the desk clerk, a stern-looking man with a blue ballcap that matches the rest of his uniform.

  “Shouldn’t be much longer, ma’am,” he replies. “Ms. Webb was in the middle of handling some very volatile materials. She can’t just drop everything, not unless you want this place to suffer a biohazard.”

  “What kind of stuff are you guys processing back there?” Zara asks.

  “Sorry, I can’t talk about it,” he replies. “I’m sure someone in the FBI can understand our need for secrecy.”

  This guy has a very punchable face, like it’s begging my fist to slam into it. But I obviously can’t do that, as good as it would feel. Still, the urge is strong.

  Zara nods at something behind me and I turn. A young woman in a lab coat is walking toward us, her face pinched with worry. Her hair is short and curly, light in color and her features are soft. She doesn’t wear much makeup, if any at all, but I can tell her cheeks are already flushed.

  “Ms. Webb?” I ask.

  “Yes?” she says, taking my outstretched hand.

  “I’m Agent Slate. This is Agent Foley. May we go somewhere to speak privately?” The lobby of BioLabs, Inc isn’t exactly bustling, but there are people coming and going, not to mention the guard at the front desk.

  “Of course,” she says, “Please come with me.” We pass the guard, and she leads us into a small conference room off the main hallway. “I have to tell you now, if this is about some of our proprietary products there’s only so much I can say. Even to the FBI. You’ll have to get a full warrant with some very specific language if you’re looking—”

  I hold up my hand. “That’s not what this is about.”

  “Oh,” she says, and visibly relaxes. It makes me wonder just what they’re doing here and if it’s something we should be investigating. “Then what can I help you with?”

  “When was the last time you spoke with Hannah Stewart?” Zara asks.

  “Hannah? Well, I saw her on Saturday night,” she says. “But I haven’t spoken to her since. Why, what’s going on?”

  “You haven’t received any calls, or texts?” I ask. She shakes her head, slowly. “Unfortunately it looks like Hannah is missing.”

  “Missing? As in…she ran away?”

  I try to keep my face neutral. “Actually, it’s looking more like she was taken.”

  “Abducted?” she asks, her voice a pitch higher. “Why? What would anyone want with her?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” I reply. “It seems you might have been one of the last people to see her. Can you tell us what happened on Saturday?”

  Margaret shifts in her seat, cutting her eyes away. “We met up for a few drinks. Ever since she moved out we haven’t been getting together as much. It was supposed to be like a commiseration. You know, try to get things back to the way they used to be.”

  “Were you two not on good terms?” Zara asks.

  “It wasn’t really that,” she says. “It’s just…the past few weeks Hannah has been acting kind of…odd. Not like herself. She used to be so outgoing and carefree and lately she’s been very closed off, not returning phone calls, missing dates we’d set. It used to be that you couldn’t pay Hannah enough to miss a chance to let loose at the bar for a couple of hours. But I practically had to threaten her to get her to show up on Saturday.”

  “Threaten?” I ask.

  “Not literally,” she says. “But you know how it is when you know someone is ducking you. I told her if she didn’t have time for me in her life anymore, to just tell me to my face. Stop with all this passive aggressive bullshit.”

  “How did she take that?” Zara asks.

  “She was overly apologetic. Saying she was sorry for leaving me hanging so many times. She promised she’d be there on Saturday, and she was.”

  “How did everything go? Okay?”

  “Yeah, I mean, as well as could be expected,” she replies. Though I notice her shift in her seat some more. She also starts cracking her knuckles one at a time.

  “Is there something wrong, Margaret?” I ask.

  “No, why?”

  “You just seem…nervous.”

  “I’m sitting across from two FBI agents, just now learning my best friend is missing, possibly kidnapped,” she says. “How am I supposed to seem?” There’s a fire in her eyes for a brief moment before it’s gone again, and she takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually so wired. I’ve been working with some very…volatile products lately and it’s frayed my nerves.”

  “That’s all right,” I say. “Did you happen to see anyone on Saturday that might have been stalking Hannah? Anyone watching her?”

  She shakes her head. “Not that I recall. But she did seem a little jumpy. And a little out of it, like her mind was somewhere else. She kept scanning the room, like she was looking for someone. I thought she was just being cagy about her and Tyler.”

  “What about them?” I ask.

  She hesitates, like she’s betraying a secret, but decides to speak anyway. “They’re not really a great fit, and she knows it. I think she’s had it on her mind a while that she’s going to break up with him, she just hasn’t come out and said it.”

  Zara leans forward. “Have they been together long?”

  “Only about a year,” she replies. “When it got to the point where he was hinting about moving in, especially after she got her own place, I think she realized she didn’t feel the same way about him that she did when they started dating. It happens. Sometimes people grow apart.”

  Somewhere deep inside me, I can’t help but think about Matt. About how we never grew apart, only closer together. We thought we had decades left.

  “So do you think her odd behavior was because she was nervous about breaking up with Tyler?” Zara asks, taking the lead, for which I’m grateful. I had promised Janice I wouldn’t let Matt’s death affect me on the job anymore, and here I am, falling back into an old pattern again. I have to focus.

  “No, this was something else. She was worried about something…serious. Tyler, forgive me, isn’t serious. Not to her.”

  “Do you know where she would have gone after?” I ask, refocusing. “Could she have headed out to another bar? Or gone to meet someone else?”

  Margaret shakes her head. “She went home. She said she had a lot going on the next day. I offered to come stay over with her, but she declined.”

  “Do you have any idea what she meant by that?”

  “No clue.”

  I sit back, crossing my arms. “Where did you guys meet up?”

  “Arnie’s, down off Arlington,” she says.

  “That’s only a few blocks from her apartment,” I say, pulling out my phone so I can double-check the route she may have taken. “So we’re looking at roughly a six-block area where she could have been abducted.”

  “No, she called an Uber,” Margaret says.

  I glance at Zara. “You’re sure?”

  “Yes,” she says. “She showed me the driver was on his way before she left.”

  “You didn’t leave together?” Zara asks.

  Margaret’s face flushes. “The night didn’t end well. She said she wanted to be alone, so…I didn’t follow her. Now I wish I had. But I was hurt too. It’s been…tough.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I say. “But this is helpful. We can just contact Uber and they can at least let us know if they picked her up. If we can figure out where she was taken, it will really help us find her.” I nod to Zara, who stands back up and makes the call.

  I lean closer to Margaret. Compared to Tyler, this woman is a damn Hannah encyclopedia, which shouldn’t surprise me. People are often more open with their best friends than the people they have sex with. “Do you know if Hannah was having any issues with drugs?”

  “Drugs?” Margaret asks. “Like pot?”

  “Like ecstasy, or something similar,” I say.

  She shakes her head. “No way. Hannah isn’t into that stuff. She’s never gone for it before.”

  “Maybe not using, but would she ever sell it for someone? For some extra cash?”

  Margaret twists her face into something resembling revulsion. “Why would she do that? Her parents are crazy rich. And she makes good money at ChemPharm.”

  “We found a stash of pills at her apartment,” I say. “We’re analyzing them now. But they’re not normal prescription pills. They look to me like recreational drugs.”

  “I don’t understand,” Margaret says. “Hannah wouldn’t even know where to get something like that—much less sell it to someone else. Not unless she’s been lying to me for a lot longer than I suspected.”

  I lean back again. “Maybe she was too embarrassed to mention it.”

  “Trust me, Hannah would never deal drugs. It’s just not in her nature.” I have to physically restrain myself from reacting. People have no idea what they’re capable of until they’re under the gun. If Hannah found herself in some trouble, a quick drug flip might have seemed like an easy way out. Except something went wrong.

  Margaret glances toward the door; she’s ready to be done. Which means we won’t get much more from her, at least not voluntarily. I hand over my card. “If you think of anything else, please call.”

  Margaret takes the card, then reaches out and places her hand on my arm. “If you find her, please tell her I’m sorry.”