Free Internal Affairs by Jessica Andersen Page B

wearing clothing the same type as the ones Sara had sent over. Cassie looked back at her. “What have you gotten yourself into, Sara?”
    Heart thudding as her panic level rose, Sara faked a grimace, and said, “I’m doing a favor for a friend who wants to keep a very low profile, that’s all.” It wasn’t a lie. But it didn’t feel good, either.
    So turn him in, the logical part of her brain whispered. Tell Cassie right now. Say, “Romo Sampson showed up at my place yesterday, wounded and covered in blood, alive, with no clue where he’s been for the past bunch of months, what he’s been doing, or who he’s been working for.” Yeah, that was what she should say, she knew.
    But she didn’t.
    Cassie gave her a long look, then shook her head. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
    Me, too, Sara thought wildly, hoping she wasn’t in the process of making the biggest mistake of her life. “Did you get a hit on the DNA?”
    Frustration glinted briefly in the analyst’s eyes. “No, damn it. No matches in any of the databases. Not even a partial hit off a relative. You’ve got one male donor, and the DNA is useless until you’ve got another sample to compare it to.”
    “Isn’t that the story of our lives?” Sara said, and she wasn’t faking the regret. Although CODIS grew by leaps and bounds each year, the federal DNA database still only held a fraction of the available samples, and then primarily those belonging to major violent criminals, such as murderers and rapists. Although the repository of DNA profiles held millions of samples, matching an unknown was still a long shot. Cautiously she asked, “Did you check the samples against the PD and military databases?”
    Romo would be in them, she knew, and the knowledge strung her tight. She’d been betting the blood contributions from the spatter would overwhelm any sweat contributions from his body, and she’d only given Cassie clothing fragments that hadn’t been stained by the blood loss from his shoulder wound, but still, it had been a calculated risk.
    Cassie lifted a shoulder. “Military, police. The works. No match.”
    Sara tried not to let her relief show. “Anything on the bullet or spatter pattern?”
    “It’s all in here.” Cassie lifted the sealed folder.
    Sara stopped herself from demanding a summary, reminding herself she was supposed to be nothing more than an educated drop point for some mythical undercover operative. There was no reason for her to want the nitty-gritty, beyond curiosity, and up to this point, she’d made a point of not wanting to know too much about the case, just as she’d tried to avoid the news bulletins the day before.
    She’d done her work and helped where she could,but—especially after Romo’s death—had distanced herself from the details. Reversing that now would only draw a level of attention she couldn’t afford. Technically, Cassie shouldn’t even have done the work she’d asked. But friends trusted friends, which made Sara feel even worse.
    “Thanks, I’ll pass it along,” she said. “Did you want to grab some coffee?” She would’ve rather kept sulking in her office, but she had a feeling the moment she and Cassie parted company, the astute cop’s brain was going to circle back on dangerous questions, and Sara couldn’t afford to let that happen. Romo couldn’t afford for her to let it happen.
    Cassie checked the time on her cell, and made a rueful face. “Rain check? I’ve got a meeting in twenty.”
    “Absolutely, rain check it is,” Sara said, trying to keep the relief out of her voice. “Thanks for doing this.” She held out her hand for the folder, hating the lies. The deeper she got into this, the worse it seemed. For several moments she was sorely tempted to come clean to Cassie, bring her friends in on the situation and let Romo be furious with her. Was that really such a bad idea?
    But when Cassie sketched a wave and headed for the door, Sara didn’t call her