“People have gotten fired for using the FBI lab for personal grievances.”

“I’m the only one getting fired here,” said Odessa. “I’ll take full blame.”

“You’re sure this isn’t about you and Linus? Some domestic incident? Maybe he had a girl over to the house or something? Is there lipstick on the rim?”

Odessa shook her head. “No lipstick. This is not about Linus.”

“Okay…then what is it about, exactly?”

“It’s about my case. But not exactly.”

“Explain.”

“I wish I could.”

“Oh shit.” Laurena turned in a full circle, a pirouette of protest. “Dessa.”

“Would I ask if it weren’t really that important?”

“This is crazy, girl. This is getting out of hand. All of it. I’m worried about you.”

“Yeah,” said Odessa. “Tell me about it.”

Laurena waited for more. “That’s all you’re gonna say?”

“One more thing. The cup needs to be processed here. Not Quantico. I need the results to stay in-house.”

Laurena let out an exasperated sigh. “Anything else?”

“And the results need to come to me exclusively. Any database hits, I want to know. But just for me. Understand?”

“Dessa. Girl. Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t seem okay.”

Odessa touched her temples. “I will be,” she said, willing it to happen. “I will be.”

Chapter

Odessa returned to NewYork-Presbyterian Queens Hospital in Flushing, riding the elevator up to the patient care unit. She found Earl Solomon’s room, and Earl Solomon in it. He sat against a stack of four pillows in his hospital bed, covered by a blanket over the sheet, though she found the room warm.

The sight of his bedsheet took her back to questioning Mauro Esquivel in the basement of the Lexington Regal Hotel with Hugo Blackwood. That focused her mind.

There was another man in the room, though again, not a family member. He was heavy, with thick, friendly jowls, wearing a generously tailored suit, his scalp bald to a fold of flesh at the back of his neck.

“Hello,” Odessa said, “am I interrupting?”

“Come in, Agent Hardwicke,” said Solomon, his voice a bit raspier than the last time she’d spoken with him. He welcomed her in with a pale-palmed hand. “It’s almost happy hour.”

She smiled, relieved to see him in good humor, if physically more weakened. A thin tube across his face fed oxygen through his nose.

“Hello,” she said, shaking the other man’s hand.

“This is Mr. Lusk,” said Solomon. “He’s a lawyer.”

“Pleased to meet you, Agent Hardwicke.”

Odessa released his hand and turned to Solomon. His eyes were still yellowed, the skin of his neck looking looser, like he was losing weight quickly. “How were those tests…?”

“Oh, that. I guess they’ll get around to telling me one of these days.”

She couldn’t tell if he was putting up a good front or if this was his natural disposition.