Page 92 of You Can Run

“Where?” Dante said.

“Mezzanine level. Security room.” Cole held his gaze. “She was shot during an altercation with one of Sokolov's security personnel.” A pause. “She didn't make it.”

Dante didn’t give any reaction; he just looked at the counter.

Cole was quiet for a moment. Then: “She was the bravest CI I've ever worked with. And I've worked with a lot of them.”

Dante nodded. He didn't trust himself to say anything else about it. Not here, not in the back of a van that smelled like dry cleaning, and not to a man he'd met ten minutes ago. He'd deal with it later.

“Is there anything else?” Dante asked.

Cole studied him. “Not tonight. We'll need you again, both of you, for the formal depositions. But that can wait.”

Dante stood up. Then he stopped.

The USB drive.

It was still in his jeans pocket.

If I'm not able to deliver the drive myself, she's at the Inquirer building on North Broad Street. She knows the name Sofia. She'll be waiting.

Sofia wasn't able to deliver it herself.

“One more thing,” Dante said. “I need to make a stop before the night's over.”

Cole frowned. “It's past midnight. Whatever it is…”

“It can't wait,” Dante said. “There's a journalist. Claire Okafor, at the Inquirer. Sofia set it up—the financial records, the network, the people connected to Sokolov who aren't in this building. The raid gets him. What I'm carrying gets the rest of them.”

Cole looked at him for a long moment. Dante could see the calculation happening, the agent weighing procedure against what he was asking.

“The drive is evidence,” Cole said carefully. “Technically, it should be?—”

“Technically, three of the people on that drive are American law enforcement,” Dante said. “Sofia told me that. She also told me the reason she went to a journalist instead of the Bureau is because she didn't know how far up it went.” He held Cole's gaze. “You want to run it through official channels, you take that risk. Or you let me walk ten blocks and hand it to the woman Sofia trusted to do it right.”

Cole stared at him. Then he rubbed his face with both hands. “I'm going to step outside for some air,” he said. “I'm going to be outside for about twenty minutes. When I come back, I expect you to be here for the rest of your statement.”

“I'll be here,” Dante said.

Cole opened the van door and stepped out into the night without looking back.

Dante found Jessica where he'd left her, on the curb, the shock blanket back around her shoulders, a cup of something hot in her hands. The female agent was gone. Jessica was alone, watching the building, watching the lights.

“I need to do something,” he said. “It won't take long.”

She looked up at him. “What is it?”

He pulled the USB drive from his pocket and held it up. “Sofia gave me this. It's everything—financial records, the recordings, the people Sokolov is connected to. There's a journalist waiting for it.” He paused. “Sofia wanted her to have it.”

Jessica looked at the drive, then at him. “I'll come with you.”

“You don't have to.”

“I know I don't have to.” She stood up, letting the blanket fall again. “But I'm done sitting on curbs.”

They walked north on Broad Street. The city was quiet at this hour, just a few cabs, a few stragglers, the distant sound of a siren. The Inquirer building was ten blocks up, a glass tower that caught the glints of the streetlights.

They didn't talk much. Jessica's hand found his after the first block, and they walked the rest of the way like that.