“I get cold easily,” she answered dismissively.
“You’re from Finland, which is known for being cold—sometimes extremely cold— a good portion of the year. Plus, you’re sweating,” I pointed out. She was now blurting out lies a ten-year-old could see through, which only made my worry for her grow. More than the annoyance at being interrupted during training, more than the frustration about her lies, I felt an undeniable need to help her, to protect her. “Can you take the scarf off? I might have an extra shirt in my car you can change into.”
“I’m fine,” she replied.
“Please don’t lie to me, Kassidy,” I pleaded. “I’m just trying to help.”
“I don’t need help with my clothes. I need help with what’s on my phone.”
I stood up, ready to play hardball. I couldn’t play games with her anymore. “If you aren’t going to be honest about why you’re torturing yourself in that outfit, then I’m going to assume everything you’re about to tell me is a lie, and I’m going to head back to what I was doing before you called.” I started to walk away, but she stood up too, grabbing my arm. I looked back at her, an eyebrow raised, and she finally gave in.
“Fine. Just sit back down,” she demanded, her voice at a whisper. Once I did, she finally told me the truth. “I have bruises on my neck and my arm that I’m trying to hide.”
Rage coursed through me with her admission, and I wanted to destroy whoever was responsible. The fact that someone had done that to her, especially so soon after my mom’s hospitalization, made it even worse. “Show me,” I demanded.
“That wasn’t part of the deal,” Kassidy replied angrily.
“Show me or I’m leaving.”
“You’re impossible!” she said, loud enough for the people sitting nearby to glance over at us. I saw the evidence of her embarrassment on her cheeks, and I decided to change my approach.
“Kassidy, do you remember that call I got when I had to rush out of your office a couple weeks ago?” I started, and she nodded. “My dad had beaten my mom to the point that she almost died, and I was going to see her. I grew up with my dad abusing my mom, and my sister, and me. I know how awful it is. So the fact that you’re sitting in front of me with bruises on your skin is hitting close to home. I promise I won’t make you talk about it if you don’t want to, but I am asking you to at least let me see how bad it is. That might not make sense, but it’ll put my mind more at ease, so I can focus on what you want to show me.”
Her entire demeanor changed with my admission, shoulders relaxing, and she finally began unwinding her scarf from around her neck. Once her skin was bare, I saw the fingerprints and the shades of purple and yellow on her skin before she quickly re-wrapped her scarf, covering her neck again. Seeing how bad the bruises were, how close she’d come to being strangled to death, affected me even more than I expected, and I had to bottle up every emotion I was feeling and shove it as far down as possible. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to get through this conversation. Once her scarf was back around her neck, she pulled up her sleeve, showing me the bruise on her arm. That one wasn’t as bad, but I could see a couple of fingerprints, and I still wanted to hunt down whoever had put the bruises on her pale skin. I didn’t want her to shut down, though, so I did my best not to betray my emotions.
“Are you in pain?” I asked, my voice rough, and when she didn’t answer, I assumed that she was. “I don’t know if you’ve seen a doctor, but I’d really encourage you to visit one. Just to make sure nothing was injured internally. I could take you if you want, but I’m not going to force you to go.”
She changed the subject, which gutted me, but I kept my promise and let it go.
“I visited William today at his office, and a cabinet was unlocked that hadn’t been before. He had hundreds of Visas and Passports inside, and they’re all from other countries. I think they belong to the trafficked workers. I took as many photos of them as I had time for.”
I gestured for her phone, and she handed it to me.
“You can swipe left and right to see more,” she said.
“This is a good lead,” I told her as I flipped through the pictures. “I don’t think this will be enough on its own, but it’s a start. And I’ll need a statement from you as well.” I was trying to keep my voice even, to not show her how frustrated I was that she wouldn’t stop pursuing this, even though I’d asked her to stop. And I had a feeling that her bruises had something to do with Paradise Cruises.
“I’ll do whatever I can to help,” she assured me hopefully, and I bit back a retort.
“Well, I need to get back to my training, but if you email me those photos, I’ll add them to the file we’ve been building against Paradise Cruises.”
“Okay,” Kassidy said hesitantly. “Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine. I just need to get back.” I stood up, tilting my head and gesturing to the exit, and we walked towards it together. I pulled the door open and held it for her, signaling for her to walk ahead of me, but as soon as her feet crossed the threshold, my gut was suddenly screaming at me that something was wrong. I’d learned over the years to always trust those instincts, and when I glanced around, trying to pinpoint the issue, I quickly noticed someone hiding in the shadows across the street, pointing their gun in our direction.
My body moved before my brain could even engage, and I shoved Kassidy to the ground, stepping in front of her, where she’d just been standing. I began to yell for the man to put his weapon down, but before I’d even finished my sentence, a distinct popping sound filled the air, and an incredible pain seared through my chest. I crumpled to the ground, all my breath leaving my body, my vision going dark, and for a moment, I was in such a stupor that I had no idea what had happened. I had to remind myself to breathe, and it took me a second to get my bearings, the sounds of people around me screaming and running finally filtering back in. When I looked back across the street, the shooter was aiming again, and I rolled, covering Kassidy’s body with my own, trying to cover every inch of her.
There were no more gunshots, though, and suddenly, the shooter was turning, preparing to run. I stumbled to my feet as quickly as I could, then yelled at Kassidy to get inside and call 911 as I took off after him, as quickly as I could while my ribs screamed in agony.
It felt like my chest was ready to crack open as I followed the man, yelling out several times for him to stop and put down his gun. He didn’t listen, didn’t even seem to hear me as he darted around several street corners. Finally, he reached a dead end, surrounded by buildings on two sides, and a tall, barbed wire fence at his back. I was blocking his only exit, our guns pointed towards each other.
“I’m with the FBI,” I told the man. “Put the gun down, and put your hands on your head.”
The man continued to stare at me, as if he hadn’t heard a thing I said, and then I heard someone run up behind me, sounding slightly winded.
“Kassidy?” I asked, unable to take my eyes off of the shooter in front of me to look behind. I wasn’t exactly hopeful that it was her, since she’d ignored my directions to go inside the coffee shop, and was putting herself in danger once again. But if I had to choose between having Kassidy and someone else behind me, I’d choose Kassidy, since I wasn’t worried about her shooting me in the back.