No one would.
She sank, helpless and despairing, into darkness.
Ronisha Azzan had already been in the war room for an hour that morning, hard at work on the Jenna Caddrick abduction case, when security escorted the senator up from the Time Tripper Hotel. He arrived flanked by staffers carrying briefcases, intimidating by themselves, but the federal agents were conspicuously absent. That unexpected pleasantness allowed Ronisha to relax a fraction—but only a fraction, because the senator’s grey eyes blazed with a look that boded ill for her immediate future, leaving her to wonder if he’d spent a bad night or if he woke up every morning in a foul temper.
Bax arrived on the senator’s heels, carrying a sheaf of printouts and a CM disk. If the bags under his eyes were any hint, the Time Tours CEO had definitely spent a bad night, working as hard as Ronisha had. She nodded Bax toward the coffee; he poured himself a deep cup before sliding into a chair at the war room’s immense conference table. Ronisha turned her attention to their unwelcome guest. “Good morning, Senator. I hope you slept well?”
Caddrick scowled. “As a matter of fact, a bunch of goddamned maniacs kept me awake all night, in the room under mine. Am I to understand that you actually permit lunatics on this station to worship Jack the Ripper as their personal god?”
Ronisha shrugged. “Last time I checked, we still had freedom of religion, Senator. As long as they don’t actively threaten anyone, they can worship whomever they like.”