As we take off our coats, Slate clears his throat. “In case you’re wondering, there is no power and no internet. A gas generator runs the well’s water pump. The bathroom works on gravity. Ladies, no going outside unless one of the men is with you. It may look deserted, but the island does have a caretaker. No one is supposed to be here off-season and he will report us. The curtains will keep out most light so you can use a flashlight but only if necessary. Suds and I will keep watch. Sam, you’re our backup.”
I hold up my hand like a grade school kid. “Can I borrow one of your burner phones? I want to call Dr. Jones.”
My husband throws one to me. I bite off the plastic packaging and push the familiar digits. “Hey Jenna. Sorry it’s late but I need a huge favor.”
“No worries, sleep is overrated. What can I do for you?”
“I can’t access the internet and need Jason’s help. A few hours ago, we were chased around Manhattan. I need to know who it was.”
I send her an image and a few minutes later she heaves out a sigh. “They’re FBI.”
“Shit, I figured as much.”
“Do you want me to have Colin intervene?” Her NYPD hubby is a great guy, but I don’t want him to have to choose between his job and his friends.
“No, not yet. We have Slate with us, and Quinn is on his way.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“Yeah, a real blast.” After we hang up, I call the Buffalo police department and ask for O’Rourke. “It’s Samantha Sutcliff. Can I ask? Are you collaborating with the FBI?”
“The Feds? Hell no. Wh-”
“Thanks. I’ll keep in touch.”Shit. If they aren’t working the murder, why follow us?While I ponder possibilities, the door opens.
I reach to my holster, recognize the lawyer, and give him a big hug. “How’d you arrive so fast?”
“Private jet to JFK, helicopter to the beach, and boat to the pier.” He hangs his long black wool jacket on a door, straightens his silk tie, and setting his phone on the table, he shakes hands with Chrissy.
“I’m Andrew Quinn, your attorney.” A smile softens his handsome face, but she seems unaffected.
Her lids lower and her tone shifts to the same belligerent one when we first met. “Christine Bright, your innocent client.”
He brushes crumbs off the kitchen chair, unbuttons his suit jacket, and sits. “Okay. Let’s get started. We can speak alone, if you like.”
Leaning back, the girl eyes me, and crosses her arms and ankles. “I don’t care who hears. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Well, that makes my job easier.” Quinn leans forward, his face still friendly, and thumbs his phone. “Do you mind if I record this?”
“Go ahead.” She shrugs, he sets down his device, and waits for her to look up before starting.
“Tell me about Akash Patel.”
“The website nerd? I only met him twice. Three times, if you count his dead body.” Her gaze and voice remain steady. It sounds to me like she’s telling the truth.
“And the night he died?”
“I received a booking via the app, took an Uber, and went to the designated room. When I got there, Akash wasn’t moving.” She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “Damn, I shouldn’t’ve touched him. I know that now, but I couldn’t believe… I’ve never seen anyone so cold and blue. I tried to find a pulse. I’m pretty sure I left fingerprints on his wrist and neck. They’re going to find my DNA on him.”
“Then what happened?”
“Like I told her.” She glares at me. “I called Ronnie, my mentor.”
“How long before she arrived?”
“It was fast. Maybe five, ten minutes?” Her eyes go wide. “Holy crap. She must’ve been close. God, I was so freaked, it never dawned on me. Do you think she did it?”
Andy shakes his head. “We shouldn’t jump to conclusions until we have all the facts. Tell me about your sex work.”
