Chapter 2
I didn't even want to go home.
If my mom found out I'd failed for the fifth time, she'd nag me to death.
I wandered aimlessly down the street, my stomach rumbling.
I stopped at a convenience store and grabbed a bun and some hot water.
I squatted on the steps outside, taking small bites of the bread, looking just like a homeless stray dog.
My phone rang again.
I thought it was that scammer calling me back.
But when I checked, it was just some random number I didn't recognize.
It was from around here.
I didn't want to answer.
But it just kept ringing, the sound cutting through the quiet night.
Annoyed, I finally swiped to answer.
"Seriously, what do you want now?" I snapped. "Didn't I tell you to come arrest me already? If you don't hurry up, I'm outta here!"
There was a brief silence on the other end.
Then, a completely different voice came through. "Cassandra?"
I froze for a second.
This voice was nothing like the one from earlier.
It wasn't a threat or a warning. It was a command.
"This is Wyatt Hickman from the City CID Squad," the voice said.
City CID Squad?
Was this scammer really stepping up his game?
He was actually pretty convincing.
"Oh, hey there, Mr. Hickman," I said.
"Where are you?" he asked.
"And why exactly should I tell you?" I shot back.
"Cassandra." He used my full name, and his tone was noticeably sharper.
"This isn't a request," he continued. "I don't care what calls you've gotten or what you've been through. Right now, I'm ordering you to tell me your location immediately. This isn't a request. It's an order."
My heart skipped a beat.
I got a little nervous.
His vibe, the way he spoke—it really didn't feel fake at all.
"I... I'm on the west side of town, outside a convenience store called DeMart," I stammered.
I told him where I was, after all.
What if he was actually legit?
"Stay right where you are," Wyatt said, his voice cold and emotionless.
There was no feeling in Wyatt's tone at all.
"Our people are on their way," he added.
He hung up without another word.
I gripped my phone, my palms starting to sweat again.
Was this really happening?
Was I really caught up in something now?
But I was at Safepath Institute all day. I didn't go anywhere.
My heart was racing. I was freaking out inside.
I wanted to bolt, but my legs wouldn't move.
What if he really was a cop? If I ran, would that make me look guilty?
The more I thought about it, the more freaked out I got.
I lost my appetite for the bread, just staring at it in my hands.
Time dragged on, every second feeling like an eternity.
*****
About ten minutes later, a black car glided up and stopped right in front of me—so quiet, it almost felt unreal.
The window rolled down.
A sharp, angular face showed up at the window, right in front of me.
His eyes were razor-sharp, like an eagle hunting its prey.
"Cassandra?" he asked.
It was the same guy from the phone call.
I nodded, like I was just going through the motions, a puppet on strings.
"Get in," Wyatt ordered, keeping it brief.
I opened the door and slid inside.
There was another guy behind the wheel, dressed in plain clothes, but his posture was all business, like he was still on duty.
Wyatt Hickman was riding shotgun.
He shot me a look in the rearview mirror.
"What were you up to this afternoon?" Wyatt asked.
"I... I was practicing driving at an institute," I stammered.
"Which institute?" he asked again.
"Safepath Institute," I replied.
"What hours were you there?" Wyatt pressed.
"From eight in the morning all the way until after five," I replied.
"Did you step out at all?" he asked.
"Nope. Definitely not," I said, sounding sure.
"Which car did you drive today?" Wyatt asked.
"A white Santana, the instructor's car," I replied.
"Do you remember the license plate number?" he asked.
I hesitated for a second.
I was terrible with numbers, but I spent half the day staring at that plate.
Rashad always joked that if I failed again, he'd tattoo the plate number right across my face.
I rattled off the numbers.
Wyatt stayed silent after hearing them.
The tension in the car was suffocating.
I was so tense that I barely dared to breathe.
The car kept rolling along.
I looked out the window and noticed we weren't headed for the local precinct.
Instead, we were headed straight downtown.
I saw us approaching that building I'd only ever seen on TV news.
That was the City Police HQ.
My heart sank.
I was done for.
I had really gotten myself into big trouble this time.
The car pulled up outside the CID Squad building.
Wyatt ushered me out and marched me straight inside.
He just kept swiping his card and doors kept opening for us, no questions asked.
Cops in uniform were coming and going in the hallway.
Everyone moved with purpose, their faces set and serious.
Wyatt led me into a room.
It was bare, almost empty.
There was only a table and two chairs, a textbook interrogation room.
I sat in the chair, my hands and feet freezing.
Wyatt sat across from me.
He didn't start questioning me right away.
Instead, he pulled out a folder and took a photo from it.
He slid it across the table to me.
"Look at this," Wyatt said.