Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Both men are in crisp-looking suits, a typical TV brand of FBI arrogance dripping from their very presence. The tallest of the two men, a dark-haired man in glasses, pins me in a stare. “Ms. Blue?”
“That’s right,” I say, and I resist the urge to fold my arms in front of my body, which translates to a sheltering action, a defensive action. I will not give away how I feel to these men. “I’m Alana Blue. What can I do for you?”
The other man, a short, bulky man with a shiny bald head, says, “We’d like to talk to you for a few minutes.”
Unease is a steel blade down my spine. “About what?” I ask.
“We’ll get to that,” the man in the glasses replies. “We need you to come with us.”
Everything inside me screams of warning. How do I know they’re really FBI? I tell myself there will be cameras on us even as we speak. Someone will know who they are or are not. Unless they don’t, I warn myself. Cameras can be wiped. And an FBI badge does not define the character of the person holding it. My spine straightens. “You can talk to my attorney to arrange that meeting.”
“It’s a simple conversation,” the bald man states. “Just a casual talk.”
“Then casually talk to my attorney,” I say. “Give me your card, and I’ll have her contact you.”
He smirks. “You don’t have an attorney.”
I don’t justify the comment meant to create unease in me. I simply ask, “Am I being arrested?”
“You are not,” the man in the glasses states, and he hands me his card. “But you need to know that we’re going to have this conversation one way or another.” He motions to the other man and turns and walks away.
I rotate to face Craig. “Was the badge legit?”
“I don’t know,” he says grimly. “Looked like it to me, but I’m not sure that means a lot. Counterfeiting is an easy craft these days. And they felt dirty. They felt like lions beating back a kitten before she walks inside the police station. You going to be a kitten, or are you going to walk inside?”
Something about the remark sits wrong with me—a clawing sensation carving me inside out. Craig is law enforcement, and what felt like security before begins to set off alerts. What if West Senior gets away with what he gets away with because he’s deep inside law enforcement?
“I need to make a phone call,” I announce, and step away from him, pulling up my Uber app to call a ride. The alert says the driver is three minutes away, and I punch confirm.
I dial my attorney, Callie North, who doesn’t answer, and I’m not even truly sure she’ll feel able or willing to dive into the muddy river with me, not with snakes and monsters lurking about. Nevertheless, the beep sounds, and I go all in. “Callie, it’s Alana Blue. I’m in some trouble. Google my name, and you’ll know more. Please call me.” I end the connection and pretend to punch in another autodial before placing the phone to my ear, all the while my mind is racing. I knew I was in dangerous territory, but what I never considered was who might be in bed with Damion’s father and where that leads. And I should have. Damion has told me stories of his father.
He warned me about him.
I fight the urge to call Damion, aware that I made this bed, and I will not pull him under to suffocate with me. And he’ll jump right in if I give him the chance, which I will not. My Uber pulls up, and I immediately run toward the car. I’m opening the door when Craig appears. “What are you doing?”
“Your services are no longer needed.”
There’s a scowl on his face that reads angry, and not in an “I’m worried” kind of way. In an “I bested him” kind of way.
“Do you really think this is a good idea?”
I don’t reply. I slide inside the car and shut the door. “Lock it, please.”
The driver eyes me in the mirror but does as I’ve asked, and he’s already accelerating, moving forward, and driving me away from the place I’d gone to find justice but have failed. I should have known that justice is never easy to get when money and power are front and center. I sink back into my cushion and think about what comes next. Will the press be waiting for me at the hotel? Will the FBI? I need to go to Callie’s office, which is unfortunately in Connecticut.
I pull out my phone, book another Uber trip, and work out the details with the driver.
Forty-five minutes later, I still can’t reach Callie, but I’m standing at the back parking lot leading to her private entrance. I start walking up the stairs when to my utter shock Damion steps in my path.