"I don't remember.”

  "Bullshit."

  Ken swiped his hand through the air. "Look, Darren, let’s just cut to the chase. We know you’ve been linked to human trafficking before, and you managed to sneak your way out of charges. But you're not going to get away with it this time."

  "I already told you this, you piece of shit," Darren snapped. "I didn't remember the name of that other chick, okay? Maybe it was Stacey or Sarah or something. Doesn't matter. I didn't do anything to her, and I didn’t do anything to Meghan.”

  Nicky leaned in. Her eyes darted back and forth, taking in Darren's face. As dirty as this guy seemed, he did appear to be telling the truth. But if that were the case, then that would make this all even more confusing. If Darren talked to the police and was cleared of any wrongdoing, then why was it never filed?

  "Where did this Rawlings or whoever cop work?” Nicky asked. “Do you know?"

  "It was back in Frankstown. I'm tellin' you, talk to them and this'll all get sorted out."

  "We don't have any record of the police talking to you," Nicky said.

  "So maybe the cops back there don't file a report if I didn't actually do anything," Darren said.

  Nicky frowned. It was possible that was true, but then that would mean these cops were dirty.

  "Are you sure about that, Darren?” Nicky asked. “Are you really sure you didn't do anything to Meghan or this other girl? If you just hurt one woman, that means you got away with it once, which means you would probably do it again."

  Darren was seething, shaking in his chair. “How many times do I gotta repeat myself?” he said. His tone was no longer jocular and borderline maniacal. It was quiet, reserved, and angry. “Let me out of here. You’ve got nothing on me.”

  "You're not going anywhere, Darren," Nicky said.

  "I'm not talking to you anymore," Darren said. "You people don't have shit on me; you can't keep me here."

  "For pulling a knife on a federal agent, we can," Ken said.

  Nicky stood, skidding her chair against the floor. "Stay here and think about what you've done, Darren."

  With that, she breezed to the door, Ken behind her. They left Darren thrashing like a wild animal in the interrogation room and reconvened outside. They were in a small, cramped police station not far from the strip club, but if what Darren said was true, then they needed to get back to Frankstown and hunt down this Rawling or Ryley character. But first: Nicky needed to confirm whether any of it was true.

  They went into the lobby of the police station, where an older secretary sat behind the desk. She looked up at Nicky and Ken through her glasses. "You two find what you're lookin' for with that guy?"

  "Actually," Nicky said, "we were wondering if you could give us any information on a cop over in Frankstown. Should be in your database, right?"

  The secretary nodded, going on her computer. "Yeah, should have it. What's the name?"

  "Should be something like Ryley or Rawling, something with an R."

  The secretary typed in the name and waited. "Nothing's coming up," she said.

  Ken ran his hand across his hair. "Are you sure?"

  "Certain," the secretary said. "I . . . oh," she said, looking at the computer screen.

  "What is it?" Nicky said.

  The secretary swallowed and looked up. "I'm getting a picture of a police officer named Rawley in Frankstown--"

  "That's the one," Ken said.

  "--but it looks like he was let go from his position three months ago."

  "What for?" Nicky asked. This case was seriously starting to stink.

  "Soliciting prostitution," the secretary said. "Seems like he was a dirty cop."

  Nicky looked at Ken. He gave her a steely gaze that said he was thinking the same thing: this had corruption written all over it.

  "Anything else you can tell me about him?" Nicky asked. "Did he ever have anything to do with any missing persons reports?"

  The secretary scrolled down her screen, which was reflected in her glasses. "There's not much on him or his history here. You'd have to go down to Frankstown if you want to know more."

  Nicky looked at Ken and nodded. "I guess we should pay them a visit."

  ***

  The moment Nicky walked into the Frankstown police station, she could smell the corruption. It was a dirty little police station, with its cracked paint and stains all over the floor, the walls decorated with an incoherent collection of posters and some of the worst paintings she had ever seen. Nicky could see the smug look of superiority among the police officers. At one desk was a large man with a belly the size of a house. He was laughing with another officer, but even from here, Nicky could see the disdain in his eyes.

  They all went quiet as Nicky and Ken made their way in. They'd fixed their disguises from earlier so they were looking like normal agents again, and surely, these cops could smell that from a mile away.

  The oversized police officer got up, looking down at them and sneering. "Yeah?"

  "Hello, I'm Agent Nicky Lyons," Nicky said, showing her badge as she walked up to his desk. "This is my partner, Agent Ken Walker."

  "I'm Sheriff Corbin. Feds, huh?" he said, his voice hostile. "What brings you here?"

  "We're here to talk to you about a man named Rawley," Ken said.

  "I'm not sure what you're referring to." Corbin sat on his desk, crossing his arms over his barrel chest.

  "We need to talk about a certain missing person's case. A woman named Sarah Mills," Nicky said. On the way over here, Nicky had asked Ken to dig into the alleged missing woman Darren was talking about, and he had come up with Sarah Mills. However, there wasn’t much information on the case in the database, according to Ken.

  "What about it?"

  "We would like to know the details of the case. Based on our intel, it was in your jurisdiction. An officer named Rawley was on the case before he was discharged.”

  "I'm not sure what you're talking about," Corbin said.

  Nicky's jaw clenched. Why was he being so stubborn? "We know your precinct was working on a case involving Sarah Mills. Why did it go nowhere?”

  The sheriff leaned back and laughed, his belly jiggling. "Now, why would I do that, darlin'? The Feds are just a bunch of pencil pushers anyway."

  Nicky's blood boiled. She and Ken knew this was the kind of cop that never would have passed the FBI training. The kind of cop that would have been thrown out the first day. She took a deep breath.

  "Sheriff Corbin, I don't appreciate your attitude," she said.

  "You need to watch yourself, little girl," Corbin said. "I don't take to smart talkin' from women and I sure as hell don't take to Feds messin' around in my police station."

  Nicky's blood was burning. She was about to bite back when Ken stepped in.

  "If you aren't willing to cooperate with the FBI, we can bring the man upstairs down here to deal with you," Ken said, "and expose this station of yours for its corruption."

  The sheriff didn't even blink. "I don't see any cameras in here."

  Nicky glanced around. He was right. There were no cameras in sight.

  But then the sheriff let out a belly laugh. "Relax. You stiffs always take everything so seriously. I'm messing with ya."

  Nicky wasn't laughing, and neither was Ken.

  "Sheriff Corbin," Nicky said, "why don't we go down to the station's archives and look at Sarah Mills's case file."

  Corbin didn't move. "I don't think so."

  Nicky's fists clenched. "Why not?"

  "It's not in there," Corbin said. "You're barking up the wrong tree."

  "If you don't show us that case file," Ken said, "we'll go upstairs and your superiors will hear about all the corrupt things that go on in this station."

  Corbin laughed. "My superiors?" he said, his voice jovial yet mocking. "I don't think you know who you're dealing with, son. I'm the one who runs this station."

  Nicky’s nails dug into her palms. This guy was getting under her skin, and she was losing patience trying to be professional. "Just hand over the case file," Nicky said.

  Corbin glared at her for a long moment before he sighed and stood up. "All right, girly, calm yourself. Let's go to the filing room."

  He led them down a long hallway to a room lined with file cabinets on either side. There wasn't a single camera in sight, but Corbin was right: they were definitely in the right place.

  Corbin walked over to the filing cabinet, pulling it open and taking out a folder. "Sarah Mills's case file," he said, dropping it on the table in front of them.

  Nicky opened it up.

  And in it was a photo of a red-headed woman who looked strikingly similar to Meghan Salinger. Ken looked over Nicky's shoulder at the file but said nothing. He didn't need to.

  Nicky leafed through the papers. Sarah Mills was a twenty-two-year-old girl who married young, who wanted to grow up and become an actress. Her story somewhat mirrored Meghan's, although Meghan was older, twenty-four, and was an aspiring singer who had already found a bit of fame.

  "Got what you need?" the sheriff grunted.

  "Yeah. We'll be taking this," Nicky said. She straightened up and looked the sheriff dead in his eyes to intimidate him, show him that the FBI was not to be messed with. "And Sheriff, I suggest you make sure these reports get sent in next time. I'd hate to see you lose your job over negligence."

  "You have a nice day now," Corbin said, but his voice was apathetic.

  With that, Nicky and Ken left the Frankstown police station. It was warm outside, but late, with the stars now shining down on them. Nicky and Ken stood under a streetlamp.

  "Damn, it's late," Ken said. "Any idea where we're staying?"

  Nicky gripped the file in her hand, her head still back in that police station. "Guess we need to find a motel."

  Nicky sighed, stared up at the night sky for a moment. She hated sleeping anywhere but her own bed, but she had a feeling she wouldn't be doing much sleeping anyway--not with this case on her mind.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Nicky couldn't believe what she was hearing.

  "We've only got one room." The curmudgeonly old lady behind the counter at the motel reeked of perfume and cigarettes. Not to mention the motel lobby itself was beyond shabby. The motel was a skip and a jump from being condemned. Dusty, peeling wallpaper, mold in the corners, a chipped linoleum floor. The old lady behind the counter had a smile that showed only one row of yellow teeth. She sat at her post with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth, strands of hair coming out of her gray bun, her makeup slathered on to hide the wrinkles.

  "Well, we need two," Ken told her firmly.

  Clearly, he didn't want to share a room with Nicky either. Nicky was in agreement with him there. They'd been coworkers for a short period of time, but they'd never gotten along or worked one-on-one. Sharing a room sounded beyond awkward.

  "Well, too bad," the lady said. "That's all we've got."

  Ken's brow arched. "And what if we refuse to pay for one room and decide to find a different motel?"

  The lady laughed. "You can stay out there all night for all I care." She pulled out the pack of cigarettes from her breast pocket and lit another one, sucking in a deep breath.

  Nicky glanced over at Ken and sighed. She didn’t want to share a room either, but this was her job and she needed to be professional. It wasn’t like they’d have to sleep in the same bed—Nicky could crash on the floor if she had to.

  "We'll take it," Nicky said. "We'll just share."

  Ken's brow arched. "Really?"

  "We'll just be sleeping," Nicky said, "I promise I won't kill you in your sleep. There has to be a couch or something."

  "I think it's got a futon," the lady grumbled.

  Nicky and Ken exchanged a look, then they stepped aside and waited for the lady to pull out their room key.

  "Room 214," she said, sliding the key across the counter. "I hope you two enjoy yourselves." She winked. "And don't forget to bring me back a souvenir."

  The key was just a plain old piece of plastic with a number on it. Nicky and Ken then grabbed their bags and headed for the stairs, which led to the second floor. Nicky felt a chill as she walked up the stairs, staring at the threadbare carpeting that stuck to her feet.

  "A futon?" Ken asked as they walked into the room. It was just as shabby as the lobby, if not worse, with lace curtains that hung from the window, a chipping laminate countertop, and a stained carpet.

  "Well," Nicky said, "it'll save us a bit of money."

  Ken placed his bag on the bed, which was just a mattress laid on the floor, and leaned against the wall. "It's safer this way," he said. "If anything happens, we'll know. You take the bed."

  Nicky looked at Ken slyly. "You're a gentleman, Agent Walker, but really, I can take the couch. You're an old man, after all."

  He grunted. "I'm thirty-five. And my mother would kill me if she found out I let a woman sleep on the couch."

  Nicky smiled. "Who knew you had a gentlemanly side, Agent Walker?”

  He just grunted again, saying nothing. Nicky laughed, then began unpacking her belongings in the bathroom. It was a moment of levity that she needed.

  This case was too much for her. She knew that even considering it would be a bad idea. And yet she'd gone ahead and gotten pulled into it anyway. This was her chance to redeem herself and show her colleagues that she was still a strong FBI agent and that she wasn't just washed-up and incapable of saving anyone.

  She was desperate. She wanted to save those girls. But she was also uneasy. She couldn't deny that she was afraid--afraid that this case would be unlike anything she'd ever experienced before. Afraid that she'd fail, like she'd failed Masie.

  Like she'd failed Rosie.

  Nicky brushed that thought away. She didn't want to get emotional, not in front of Ken. She didn't want to be perceived as weak.

  She changed into pajamas and went back into the main room. Ken was already on the futon, his back facing her. Saying nothing, Nicky crawled into the bed. It was stiff and smelled moldy. Nasty. But it would have to do.

  Accepting her fate, she lay on the pillow, shut her eyes, and let herself drift away.

  ***

  When Nicky awoke, she was sixteen again.

  The van grumbled beneath her. She looked around, startled, before her surroundings set in. The smell of mildew. The coffee stain on the seat beside her. The hula girl on the dashboard...

  And Rosie beside her in the back.

  The man, driving in the front, the sunset filtering through the windshield.

  Nicky didn't know it then. But she knew it now, as an outsider looking back in.

  He was taking them to the lake house.

  He drove them deep into the woods, through a narrow trail. The stones popped and tinged beneath the wheels of the car. Fear pounded in Nicky's chest. She wanted to open the door, to jump out with Rosie, but the man still held that gun as he drove. If they made any sudden moves, he could end their lives in an instant.

  Nicky looked at Rosie. She would never forget the fear in her sister's brown eyes. Rosie was a year younger than Nicky, and she had always been more naive. While Nicky liked to date boys in town, drink alcohol sometimes and party, Rosie was bookish and smart. But they were best friends. Nicky would have died for her.

  The man stopped the car outside of a lake. It was dark now, navy blue taking over the world. When he shut off the headlights, the only light that shone down was from the full moon above.

  As Nicky's eyes adjusted, she saw that they were also parked beside an old, derelict cabin, right in front of the lake.

  Nicky and Rosie were both shaking, terrified. Nicky remembered feeling like it was all a sick, twisted dream. A nightmare. This summer was supposed to be about having fun with her friends and her sister. Just last night, Nicky and Rosie had been out at the old playground with a group of people; Nicky got a little tipsy off the alcohol some of the older boys had brought, while Rosie had obviously stayed sober. Rosie was the younger one, but she was also the responsible one, and she’d always keep an eye on Nicky if she ever got too drunk.

  But it was all going to end. They were both going to die.

  The man kept the gun on them and directed them to the edge of the lake. He watched them, smiling, before he tied their hands with rope. Nicky didn't struggle against the restraints. She was too petrified.

  "Do you know what I'm going to do?" he asked.

  Nicky felt her chest tightening. She didn't want to look. She didn't want to see.

  "I'm going to throw you in the water," he said.

  And he did.

  Nicky plunged into dark, cold water. Bubbles fizzled up toward the surface, where she could see the moonlight filtering in. She kicked and struggled, but without her hands, she just couldn't swim.

  She was going to die here.

  She was sure, in that moment, that it was all over.

  ***

  Nicky awoke with a gasp, drenched in sweat. It took her mind a moment to realize she wasn't back at the lake. She was in a motel room.

  There was a voice: "Lyons, are you okay?"

  Nicky jolted out of her trance and looked over. Ken was sitting on the edge of her bed, his thick, dark eyebrows furrowed. His hands were hovering over her. Then it hit her--she must have been vocal in her sleep. Vocal about the nightmare--no, the memory--that still hung so heavy on her mind.

  The lake.

  Rosie...

  It was all too real.

  "Lyons," Ken said. He placed a gentle hand on her arm.

  In her right mind, Nicky would be horrified to be so close to Ken Walker, of all people, but not only that--her colleague was seeing her in a truly vulnerable moment. She would be mortified by it later. But right now, the panic was too strong. Her heart pounded in her ears. She couldn't escape the images. She felt like she was still at the bottom of that lake. Like she'd never really left.

  Nicky hugged herself and pinched her eyes shut, trying desperately to hold back her sobs.

  Her psychiatrist had been over this with her a million times. Her PTSD from the incident sometimes sent her right back in time, to the point where she had no control over how she might act or feel in the present moment.