The lobby smelled of old coffee and floor cleaner. A woman behind thick plexiglass looked up from her computer and saw the water and blood trailing across the linoleum.
I had to clear my throat first. “I need to report a crime.”
Two federal security officers came over. Before either could ask a question, I gave them a name.
“Julian Thorne.”
The officers looked at each other. The receptionist picked up her phone.
They took me to a windowless interview room and gave me a scratchy blanket. A few minutes later, a man in a gray suit entered, his tie loose and his sleeves creased. He noticed my shaking hands and the blood drying on my calf before he sat down.
“I’m Special Agent Rossi. My friends call me Gabriel. Can you tell me your name?”
“Evie Vance.”
He pulled up a chair. “Evie, can y
