“They got her,” I said as I walked into the office, bare-chested, in the middle of the night. It was summer, and steamy, and I was sweating to beat the damned band. I’d just flown in from Maple Grove, Minnesota, to Eden Prairie, where our offices were. Even the brush of the wind hadn’t cooled me, in either mood or temperature.
“Got who?” Augustus Coleman asked. Night still hung heavy outside the office windows, the wee small hours of the morning yet to give way to dawn. “What are you talking about?” He was standing behind the receptionist desk, and by his bristling demeanor and his wide eyes, I knew he knew who I was talking about.
But like me … he didn’t really want to admit it.
“Sienna,” Scott Byerly said, his usually tanned face pale, emerging from the hallway that led to our bullpen, the tight cluster of desks where most of our employees worked.
“Bingo,” I said, pointing at Scott as I brushed a few long, stray hairs back over my shoulder and out of my face. “They got her.”
“Who got her? The cartel?” Augustus asked, stepping around the desk. “Do we need to saddle up? Call in the cavalry? Mount a rescue mission?”
“They got her,” Jamal, Augustus’s brother said, stepping out of the hall behind Scott, a phone gripped tightly in his hand. “The feds arrested Sienna.”
