On the table, Eva’s phone buzzed with a text, and her gaze flew to Castro’s phone, wondering whether it, too, would light up. But it remained dark.
“You’d better answer that,” he said.
It was from Dex.
Are we set for six? Where do you want to meet?
She showed it to Agent Castro. “Stick to public places where my people can blend in,” he advised. “From now on, I don’t want you to be alone with him, or anywhere we can’t get to you quickly. No more sports arenas, no more deserted parks. My team will stay on you until we can get the wire set up. One, two days, tops.”
Eva took her phone back and, with trembling fingers, typed: O’Brien’s? I’m starving.
She imagined driving back to Berkeley and sitting across the table from Dex, forcing herself to act normal while she waited for Castro to line up his fucking wire guy.
Castro must have sensed her rising panic because he said, “You’re going to be okay. Just stick to your routine and do everything you normally would. Make the drugs, meet with Dex. Don’t give him any reason to be alarmed.”
Through the window, Eva could see fog rolling in, the bright orange of the bridge fading before her eyes, and she worried that would happen to her. She’d grow so faint, she would disappear from the page and no one would know she’d been there at all.
The restaurant hummed with conversation, the sound of cutlery against dishes filling her ears, the whole world moving around her while she stood still. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”
Castro’s eyes softened with sympathy. “You really don’t.”
* * *
Eva was halfway across the Bay Bridge when she began to hyperventilate, cars on all sides, inching forward, funneling her toward an inevitable outcome. No fucking way could she do this.
She imagined herself driving north—passing the off-ramp to Berkeley, past Sacramento, Portland, and Seattle. She looked in her rearview mirror and studied the people in the cars behind her. Which ones were Castro’s? Whoever was keeping an eye on her would never let her get that far.
* * *
At home, she packed quickly, only taking the essentials, leaving the house as it was. If anyone came looking for her, she wanted it to appear as if she’d just stepped out. That she’d be back any minute. She thought of her lab downstairs, the tools and ingredients, the evidence she’d gathered for Castro, and decided to leave it. Eventually, he’d show up looking for her, and he was welcome to all of it. She was no longer going to play by anyone else’s rules.
Eva’s plan was to park near O’Brien’s. Appear to be on her way to meet Dex, and then slip down into the BART station and catch the first train that came. To make her way back into San Francisco, pay cash for a bus ticket to Sacramento, and then figure out how to keep going. North, and then further north still, until she reached the border.
But the sight of Liz’s glass bluebird ornament on her dresser caused her to pull up short. She picked it up, running her finger over the swirls of blue, the delicate beak, the edges of the wings. The only thing that was ever given to her out of love. From the only person who ever truly cared about her.
Eva thought about Wade, who had promised to take the blame. Dex, who pretended to be someone he wasn’t so he could better manipulate her. And Castro, who expected her to do the impossible, but giving her nothing she needed in return. Men who made promises they never intended to keep. People like Eva were always going to be collateral damage.
And then there was Liz, who saw the very best version of herself. She felt the outline of Liz’s letter still in her pocket. When you share your problems with someone else, your load gets lighter. Like a rat in a maze, Eva’s path was narrowing, leading her toward the only person she could trust.
Eva grabbed her emergency cash—five thousand dollars—and packed her computer, leaving her compromised cell phone on the counter. Then she slipped out of the house, still gripping the glass bluebird in her fist.
* * *
The first train that arrived was crowded. She waited until the doors were closing before jumping on, looking toward the platform for any sign someone was following her. She imagined Castro’s agents above her, moving out