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“You sure?” he asked.

“It’ll be fine.” It was a good essay, even with the rough ending. She knew the material, had used a few intentionally vague real-life examples, and could write well enough. Even if it wasn’t her best work, she wouldn’t fail the course.

Deb was back at her desk, the receiver next to the phone.

Annie pointed to it. “Me?”

“You,” Deb said. “Unpleasant-sounding fellow. Would give me absolutely no details.”

“Yeah, he’s like that.” Annie picked it up and holding the receiver to her ear. “Look, I have, like, one rule in this weird arrangement, and it’s don’t call during my classes. And you certainly can’t call here.”

“Identification?” he said.

“Come on. Seriously?”

Silence.

“Juno. Akron. I can’t believe you.”

“Don’t shoot the messenger,” he said. “There’s been a child abduction. The LAPD is calling in everyone to help.”

“I’m not… I don’t think I’m a part of everyone.”

“It is my understanding that it is the daughter of the Russian ambassador,” he said. “They insisted we reach you. Don’t take the time to change your clothes. Go straight to Parker Center.”

She looked down at her faded jeans that were frayed at one knee, her black boots, her white T-shirt, her flannel jacket.

“Yeah,” she said. “All right. I’m on my way.”

She reached across the desk and hung up the phone.

Deb stared at her.

“Sick grandma,” she said, grabbing her backpack and heading for the door.

* * *

Visitor parking at Parker Center was a nightmare, and despite Annie’s many assignments over the last few months, she was still considered a visitor. On a day like today, where multiple agencies had been called in, the parking garage was packed. She finally got lucky and found someone pulling out of a spot on the top level, and she swung into it faster than another car coming from the other direction. She didn’t feel one bit sorry about it either.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the reflection of a car window as she hurried toward the elevator and groaned. She couldn’t look less professional short of showing up in pajamas. She dressed for comfort during test-taking since it involved long periods of sitting, but now she was probably going door-to-door looking more like a Clinton canvasser than someone helping with a kidnapping.

The desk sergeant was unfamiliar with her and busy. When he finally got around to looking at her driver’s license, he looked at it for a long time, compared it to his list, then looked at her again before writing something in his logbook and slipping her a visitor’s badge.

“You need to go up to Special Services, so take the elevator—”

“I know where I’m going,” she muttered, grabbing her backpack and clipping the badge to her flannel.

It took a long time for the elevator to come down, and by the time she got up to the Special Services floor, she realized she was hungry and had to pee. The room was bustling with mostly uniformed officers and men in suits; she recognized a few but didn’t know anyone by name.

Chief Worth spotted her the moment she stepped into his bullpen, and he stood up, a look of relief on his face.

He waved her over. So she was going to be the center of this dog-and-pony show, not simply going door-to-door or answering the tip line or processing paperwork or, hell, translating phone calls in Russian or something.

She held up one finger and took a sharp turn into the women’s restroom and locked herself in a stall. She peed while rummaging in her backpack for something to eat. She found a Twinkie and ate it in three quick bites, happy there was no one around to judge her for her sins. She disposed of the crinkly wrapper in the menstrual receptacle and flushed the toilet.

She washed her hands and fluffed up her curls before stepping out into the hallway again. Worth was waiting for her.

“The Russian ambassador to the United States is a man named Vladimir Lukin, and he’s been the ambassador for nine months,” Worth said without preamble. “Lukin is stationed primarily in DC but had business at the consulate in San Francisco and brought his family down to Los Angeles for sightseeing.”