Emma uncrosses her arms. Cooper seems more human to her suddenly, but she also knows this is part of the theater of leadership—to rally, to marshal the troops and press on. For a moment, Emma wonders what it is about Simon Gutmunsson, specifically, that’s so important. What it is about him that breaks Cooper’s diamond-hard control. But then the moment is over, and she has to answer his question.

“Okay, I’ll do it. I won’t speak for Bell, though. I’ll talk with him about it, if you want, but it’s his call.”

Cooper visibly relaxes. “Thank you.”

She starts toward the exit. “I’d better go find him.”

“Miss Lewis?” When she looks back, Cooper has pushed to his feet. “I know you think asking Bell to interview Gutmunsson is a bad idea. But at this stage, I’ll take every single scrap of evidence and information and understanding that I can. Everything. And if Huxton was alive, you’d best believe I’d be asking you to saddle up, no question.”

Emma holds his eyes for as long as she can. Then she breaks for the door.

She searches for Bell in all the places she can think of, before remembering the place she should’ve searched first.

The Quantico training gym is a vast, high-ceilinged space with FIDELITY BRAVERY INTEGRITY stamped large on one wall. Blue mats are rolled up and the sprung wooden floors are buffed to a basketball-court gloss. On the far side, Bell is pummeling one of the heavy bags, the chain suspending it creaking with the strain.

Emma watches at a distance for a moment. Bell’s in sweatpants, running shoes, and a white tank that contrasts sharply with his skin. It’s a shock, seeing him wearing something other than formal attire. Sweat shakes off his dark hair as he punches. He has excellent muscle development, and Emma waits for that awareness to pass through her before she approaches.

She keeps her voice measured. “That was a shitty thing for Cooper to do, and you have every right to be angry. But I have to complete this interview. And I don’t want to do it without you.”

Bell lands one last punch that rocks the bag before turning to face her. His eyes are blazing. “He’s a snake. You don’t know anything about this guy, do you?”

She’s not sure, for a moment, whether he’s referring to Cooper or Gutmunsson. She shakes her head.

Bell tugs his boxing gloves off with his teeth, breathing hard. He has a small USMS tattoo on his right bicep. “Three different states. Eleven murders, including my dad. Except for my dad, all of them were posed crime scenes—the Artist, they used to call him.”

The contempt in his sneer is like acid. Emma finds male anger hard to handle, but this from Bell is of a slightly different flavor: inward-looking, and full of grief.

She tries to refocus. “I don’t know any of this stuff, Bell. That’s why I need your perspective.”