Before her mom married Patrick, Tessa hadn’t had any idea that the FBI had their own police force. Now, she walked to the officer who was manning the metal detector in the lobby. “Is there, like, a cafeteria or something here where I can get something to eat?”

“There’s another level of security you’ll have to pass through, but you’ll need to be escorted by a credentialed employee.” He pointed. “That visitor’s pass of yours will only get you so far.”

“How far?”

“Here.”

“Vending machines? Anything?”

“Sorry.”

Wonderful.

She pointed at the building’s front doors. “And if I go outside, I’m guessing you’ll check me again on the way back in?”

“Why? What are you planning to bring in?” Any warmth that might have been present at first had drained out of his voice. “Exactly?”

“Nothing, I mean, I just want a sandwich. I just—forget it. Never mind.”

Tessa debated whether or not to leave. Who knew how long Patrick was gonna be—and what was she supposed to do in the meantime? Just sit around here doing nothing?

She could at least grab some lunch and then, if she had any trouble getting back into the building, she could just text him to come down to help her get past security again.

Even though she knew that her mom wasn’t using her phone this weekend, Tessa checked her messages, just in case, to see if she’d sent any updates.

Nope.

Nothing.

She headed outside to find some food so she wouldn’t starve to death by the time Patrick finally decided to return.

++++

Mannie set down the pen and slid the notepad to me.

“That’ll get you started,” he said.

I looked it over.

“And the key to decoding it?”

“Remember death.”

“Death? How does that—?”

“Now, I recommend that you get out of the way.”

“Why?”

“Trust me, Agent Bowers. Move back.”

In an attempt to keep everything out of his hands, I quickly retrieved the pen. “Don’t try anything, Mannie.”

He rose to his feet, clutched the chains, and leaned backward.

At first I thought he was trying to pull free from the chains, but then I realized he wasn’t trying to pull the chains free from the table—he was trying to pull the table free from the floor.

He heaved mightily until, all at once, a screeching groan cut through the room as the bolts gave way and the table tore loose.

Grasping the chains, he swung it toward the two-way mirror.

The glass, as thick as it was, managed to withstand the force of impact, but a web of cracks appeared.

“Put it down!” I shouted. “There’s no way you’re getting out of here.”