Back in the evidence room, Falner pulled up a chair, sitting backwards on it to face Trina. "You know what happens to people who threaten our operation?" He pulled out his knife, using it to clean under his fingernails. "They tend to disappear. Lots of deep woods around here. Lots of hungry animals."
Trina's muscles tensed imperceptibly. She'd mapped four possible exits, noted the weak point in her handcuffs, counted the steps to the door. She just needed the right moment.
Officer Diaz walked past the evidence room for the third time, his conscience eating at him. Through the door's window, he saw Falner press his knife against Trina's throat. Diaz's hand instinctively moved to his phone, then dropped away. Who could he even call? The whole department was corrupt.
"Still nothing to say?" Falner pressed the flat of the blade harder, leaving a white line across her dark skin. "No FBI buddies coming to save you? No backup team about to burst in?"
Trina met his gaze steadily, her silence more powerful than any words. She could smell the fear beneath his bravado, the desperate smell of a man who knew his time was running out.
Falner stood abruptly, shoving the chair away. He paced the room like a caged animal, growing more agitated by her continued silence. "You think you're tough? You think you can wait us out?" He grabbed her jaw roughly. "Nobody knows you're here. Nobody's coming for you. And by tomorrow, nobody will even remember you existed."
Rusk appeared in the doorway, his face shiny with nervous sweat. "All the footage is gone. Clean as it gets."
"Good." Falner released Trina's face, wiping his hand on his uniform as if touching her had dirtied it. "Get the van ready. We move her tonight."
The room grew darker as the sun set outside, shadows creeping across the floor like spilled ink. Trina's lip had split open again, drops of blood falling steadily onto the concrete, the metallic smell mixed with the musty evidence room air.
Falner leaned down, his lips almost touching her ear. "You're not getting out of this town. You know too much."
His whisper was barely audible as he straightened up and walked to the door. The lock clicked behind him with grim finality, leaving Trina alone in the darkness as her blood continued to drip onto the cold floor.
The moonlight cast long shadows through the precinct windows as Officer Miguel Diaz stood outside the evidence room, his hand hovering over the door handle. Inside, he heard Trina cough, a wet, painful sound that made his stomach twist. The night shift was quiet. Only the hum of fluorescent lights and distant radio chatter broke the silence.
His fingers trembled as he inserted the USB drive into his laptop. The backup server required his login credentials—standard procedure that nobody ever bothered to check. Within minutes, he had the footage from the rest stop incident copying over. Each second that ticked by felt like an eternity.
"Come on, come on," he whispered, glancing nervously down the empty hallway. The progress bar crept forward with agonizing slowness.
Another cough from inside the room. Diaz grabbed the water bottle and first aid kit he'd hidden in his jacket. The lock clicked softly as he used his key, slipping inside before anyone could spot him.
Trina sat exactly where Falner had left her, still handcuffed to the chair. Her lip had swollen, dried blood caking her chin. In the dim light, her eyes tracked his movement with sharp awareness that belied her battered appearance.
"Here," Diaz whispered, unscrewing the water bottle. "Drink this, please."
She studied him for a long moment before accepting, letting him hold the bottle to her lips. She drank deeply, some water spilling down her chin.
"I know you're not just some truck driver," Diaz said quietly, setting down the first aid kit. "The way Falner's acting... something's wrong here. Really wrong."
Trina swallowed hard, her voice raspy. "If you don't get help soon, people are going to die." Her eyes bore into his. "Children in that black transport truck that left the rest stop. You understand what I'm saying?"
Diaz's hands shook as he opened the first aid kit. "I copied the arrest footage before Rusk could get to all of it. But I don't know who to trust. The whole department..."
"Call this number," Trina whispered, reciting digits. "Ask for Monroe. Tell him exactly where I am and that Falner's involved directly. He'll understand."
Outside in the parking lot, car doors slammed. Diaz peered through the window to see Falner striding toward the treeline behind the station, his uniform replaced by dark civilian clothes. Three men waited in the shadows, their faces obscured by ski masks despite the summer heat.
"Jesus!" Diaz breathed, ducking down.
He watched as Falner pulled an envelope from his jacket, handing it to the tallest masked figure. Their voices carried faintly through the night air. "...FBI agent... needs to disappear." Falner's words drifted in fragments. "...no traces..."
Cash changed hands. The masked men nodded and melted back into the darkness. Falner stood watching them go, then checked his phone and smiled.
Miles away in an unmarked surveillance van, Agent Monroe stared at his monitor in growing horror. The tracking signal from Trina's backup phone had just flatlined—not just blocked, but completely dead. He tried triangulating her primary comm unit again.
"Nothing. Something's wrong," he muttered, grabbing his keys. "Call the state police. I want backup at that station now."
His team scrambled to comply, but Monroe knew they were too far away. Whatever was happening at that precinct, Trina was on her own.
Back in the evidence room, Diaz helped clean Trina's split lip with antiseptic wipes. "I'll make that call as soon as my shift ends. Two hours. Just hang on."
"Earlier is better," Trina said. "But I've got my own plans." She nodded toward the water bottle he'd brought. "Leave that when you go."
Diaz frowned, but didn't ask questions. He packed up the first aid kit and moved to the door. "I'll keep watch. Try to buy you some time."
As soon as he left, Trina went to work. Her fingers, though numb from the tight cuffs, managed to grip the metal bottle cap. The vent cover above her was old, its screws loose from years of vibration. One by one, she began working them free.
Outside, Diaz paced the hallway, his police radio crackling with routine traffic stops and domestic disturbance calls. Every footstep made him jump. Every shadow could be Falner returning. The USB drive felt like it was burning a hole in his pocket. He checked his watch: 11:47 p.m. The night stretched endlessly ahead as the sound of metal scraping against metal whispered through the evidence room door.