“Director Cook is here,” he says. “Okay, I’ll be right out.” I glance at the clock, get up, go to the bathroom, and splash water on my face. I pull on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, not bothering with socks or shoes. Ardis and Wendell Cook are seated at the table. On reflex, I look for Andie even though I know she won’t be there. Wendell stands up and comes forward to shake hands. He’s in a muted gray suit, white shirt, and dark tie. “Evan, how are you doing?” He doesn’t wait for or expect an answer, just motions me into another chair. “I guess you know we’ve got a problem.” “You’re the master of understatement, Wendell. Less than twenty-four hours in so-called protective custody and we’re compromised.” I put extra emphasis on protective and Wendell catches it. He puts up a hand. “You’re compromised—and that’s not even the right word— but your location is not.
