Page 102 of His Wall

I was the agent.

The agent did not drive into a hot perimeter alone.

I dialed Harlow.

She picked up on the first ring.

"Calder."

"He's not picking up."

"How many tries."

"Four."

"Where are you?"

"Twenty-Second and Sixth. Driving south."

"Stop driving."

I stopped.

"Where is the field team?"

"Thirty-eight minutes out. We're staging at the intersection of Twelfth and Fifth and moving on the apartment when we have full strike posture."

"That's too long, Harlow."

"That is the timeline, Calder. We do not send agents alone without backup."

"I'm not asking to go in alone. I am asking you to move faster."

"We are moving as fast as protocol allows."

Protocol.

The word sat in my mouth like something rotten.

I hung up. I sat in the parked car on a dark street with my forehead against the rim of the wheel and the engine idling under me.

I picked up the phone.

I dialed.

It rang.

Voicemail.

The screen of my phone was bright in the dark interior of the car. His name was on the display. The contact photo I had taken of him at the gala — half-laughing at something Declan had said, his hazel eyes crinkled at the corners, his face open and real in a way I had not yet learned how to look at.

I dialed Torres.

He picked up on the first ring.

"Leah."

"Conrad is still in the city. The passport was a decoy. Bureau surveillance picked up activity at a shell address six blocks from Julian's apartment. He's not answering his phone. The field team is thirty-six minutes out."