Five days in a row, Jeremy went to the White House in the morning with Cinza, Maddie, and Makoto. Five times, they had gone in a different entrance. Nothin's ever consistent with politics, not even their damn buildings. Sure, he could recognize it as a security tactic by the Secret Service, but it didn't annoy him any less to roll through different procedures every day.

On Monday, they'd been in full pomp and circumstance mode, with Cinza arriving in full regalia down the carpet, official greeting and everything. Tuesday, they took the normal staff entrance, with the press still doggedly in pursuit, but far less protestors. Apparently, though, the public had caught on, and Wednesday entailed entering through the basement, ushered out of black SUVs and rushed into the building before anyone could spot Cinza's trademark grey robes. Thursday, the same SUVs had taken them in, but with decoy groups to try and throw off the public while the main group slid around to yet another side of the building.

"Is this really workin'?" grumbled Jeremy as they boarded Marine One on Friday morning—apparently, a ground vehicle escort was no longer sufficient.

Cinza smiled. "Is it really security they're after?"

"Well, you've been gettin' more than enough death threats. What the fuck else would they be worried about?"

Cinza's smirk didn't diminish as she clambered aboard, Makoto only a couple steps behind. Her lieutenant looked nervous to be aboard a helicopter again, but Cinza held such a veneer of calm as to make Jeremy jealous. Jeremy briefly wondered if she'd been on helicopters in her past, but everything he'd done to research the girl suggested otherwise—and he'd done a lot of research ever since he'd been assigned as her official liaison.

Cinza had a history, and Jeremy was determined to dig it out. He hadn't made much progress yet, since he was still stuck in D.C. and unable to follow up on the leads he'd begun to uncover, but he did have leads. The girl was known, and her appearance on international news (and subsequently across major newspapers and social media the world over) began to draw the crazies out of the woodwork. Thanks to his newly inflated status, Jeremy had access to a great deal more FBI resources than he'd ever held, and most importantly, he no longer needed to wait for approval on most of them.

The tip line had come in with some interesting tidbits. Most of it was obviously bogus, but Jeremy had a few choice picks laid out to move on, and a wider set of lesser pieces which he'd set other agents on. I've even got a damn staff now! About fuckin' time.

Jeremy spent the helicopter flight going over them, while Maddie occasionally grabbed at his shoulder whenever the chopper tilted unexpectedly. His old friend Jonathan Hudson popped up a few times, to his amused relief. Kid's still kickin' and still bein' an idiot. Good for him.

Another interesting possibility arose with the supposed parents of the now-infamous Jessica Silverdale, but with no positive ID, the tip line had marked it low priority. Jeremy ratcheted it up a few notches and assigned it to himself, but he hadn't had time to go out personally—and he certainly didn't trust any other agents to handle it.

Not that I'm better than them, but I'm the only motherfucker who's actually been in this shit. They've gotta understand what they're dealin' with before I let 'em face up against two possibly awakened parents of a murdered girl who's now headline news.

Cinza, though… Cinza was harder to track down, as expected. Her name—obviously fake and too common to get easy answers—gave Jeremy nothing he didn't already know. The tip line was mostly useless, now that everybody and their mother wanted to say something about the young woman meeting on a regular basis with the President. Jeremy had sifted tip lines before, though, and he knew what he was looking for.

She's from the streets, said so herself and only in the President's meetin'. Nobody in there is prone to leakin' shit. Immigrant, too. Focus on the accent and where she'd have been in the last few years. Trace her back.

So Jeremy traced. The most intriguing tip came from a woman who stood out from the crowd by virtue of complaining. Most of what Jeremy saw from the street-level was praise. Oh, she's a saint, she helps the needy, she kept things quiet and clean, whatever. No fuckin' way was this girl that clean. Jeremy practically grinned as he read the transcript between the woman and the FBI operator who'd picked up the call.

"Would you be willing to state your name for us to get back in touch with you?"

"I don't got a phone."

"We'll find a way to get in touch."

"Maria. Maria Cabazanos."

"And you say you know Cinza?"

"Cinza? Fuck no. Her name's Misty. Misty-somethin', I could never understand what the hell she said after that."

"And how did you know her?"

"Worked a corner with her, nights mostly. She wanted to get off the street and stop trickin', and offered me cash money to teach her how to cam. I was doin' it since I got me a lap… wait, can I get in trouble for tellin' you shit?"

"If you're confessing a theft, the statute of limitations on a stolen laptop is less than two years, so you couldn't be arrested for it anyway."

"Oh, sweet. So yeah, I stole some bitch's laptop, started cammin' 'cause it made easier money than spreadin' my legs every damn night."

"And you're saying Cinza—excuse me, Misty—participated in this same activity?"

"Sure as shit she did! Made five times what I made, pickin' up perverts who like that kind of action. But somethin' happened, she got messed up one night, so she wanted off the street, and yeah, I taught her how to make money camming."

"And she owes you money for the lessons."

"And givin' her a place to live! Stayed at my place six months before she moved on. Bitch owes me last month's rent and a cut of her income, like we agreed. Got it in writin' and everything."

"And you can prove this Misty was the same person?"

"Don't you assholes record everything we do? Go look up her old camming profile. And tell the bitch she still owes me. I know she makes stacks now bein' famous and shit. Do your job and make her pay up."

The conversation only got more rude, but Jeremy had enough to start. Maria Cabazanos had a listed address in their database, and was more than willing to open up now that she was no longer doing anything illegal. Meanwhile, Jeremy could find old listings and profiles for a camgirl named 'Misty' on the sites Maria named and in the right time frame, but all the videos had been deleted. Until he could get ahold of archives—and the FBI was already putting out feelers to the data hoarders of the internet as a possible workaround—Jeremy didn't have much yet to go on.

Besides the street angle, he'd also started getting vague results back from the foster care system of Seattle. Rachel had never outright stated it, but the tall young woman trying to rule the world wasn't as careful as she thought she was. Enough clues slipped through the cracks for Jeremy to deduce where Cinza likely grew up. He had ordered records from every orphanage and foster system from Seattle to Olympia, and the court orders were starting to come through now.

If this girl is gonna be stirrin' up this much shit in the world, I'm gonna know exactly who she is and why she's doin' it.

"Jeremy?" asked Maddie.

"What?"

"We're here, bro." Sure enough, they'd already touched down on the White House lawn, far behind the police lines holding back the protestors. Cinza was already out on the walkway, heading for the waiting Secret Service line to take them back inside.

"Tired of this already, huh?" she asked as Jeremy grumbled and climbed out of the helicopter.

He shrugged. "Been tired of my job for ten damn years. Still gonna do it."

"That's the spirit." She clapped him on the back, and together they walked back up to the White House. Jeremy was glad they were getting along again, even if he couldn't quite trust her in the same way he used to. She'd never do that to me… right? Stab me in the damn back for political points? She didn't know Hailey, but… fuck, do I know anybody anymore? After Lani…

He shook his head and shoved away his fears. There wasn't time for that. They had more negotiations to get through.