Chapter 20
Sam
“Wake up, sugar.” My husband taps my cheek and when I yawn, he shoots me a lopsided smile while rubbing my shoulders. “Time to go back to the hotel.”
As I glance around the empty interrogation room, the crick in my neck tells me I’ve been sitting in the same position for far too long. “Did you break your world record?”
“Some are arguing the finer points. They claim you did some of the talking.” He helps me to stand and places a warm cup of Dunkin’ in my hands.
After removing the cover and taking a slurp, a few braincells fire. “Maybe there’s a Guinness Book pairs-rambling category?”
“There is now.” Chuckling, he walks me down a long hall and past cubicles where policeman stop and congratulate him.
Once we hit the cold outside air, he leads me toward a waiting Ford Escort and opens the door.
In the back seat, I kiss his soft lips. “Did you convince them we had nothing to do with the lobbyist’s murder?”
“For now.” His warm gaze captures mine and as he palms my cheek, my fingers latch behind his neck.
“Did they say how he died?” As my heart rate increases, I picture the hotel lobby and the possibility of closets big enough for sex.
“Yup. He took a bullet to the forehead at close range.” Sebastian’s hand slides up my thigh, making it almost impossible to think.
“You know… Both of our cases revolve around the bribe of a federal judge. The only way we can find our answers is if he confesses.”
His hand stops its upwards journey. “This isn’t an episode of Scooby-doo. Why would Bannerman incriminate himself?”
“Give him an or-else?” I attempt to win him over with my broad smile, but his lips turn in the opposite direction.
“And who would deliver this alleged threat?”
“The scariest man I know.”
“Moi?” When his brows raise, I laugh, roll my eyes, and punch him gently on the arm.
“I guess you could threaten to talk him to death. No. I was thinking more along the lines of Frankie.”
Suds does a double take. “The hitman? You’re not serious, are you?”
“It’s not like I’m asking him to kill the guy. I simply want to scare him into a confession.”
My husband shakes his head. “It’s too late. He gave his decision. The tribe lost. The pipeline will be built through their sacred ground.”
Leaning over, he kisses me on the nose like the conversation is done but he needs to hear me out. “Nu-uh. I read if there is evidence of corruption, the defendants can ask for another appeal. Here’s my plan. Frankie will break into the judge’s home and convince Bannerman he’s a loose end and going to be killed just like Cavell. It’s probably not far removed from the truth. I’m betting he’s in over his head.”
“You know what they say. If you make a deal with the devil, you’re gonna get burned.” The way he glares, I think we’re talking about me.
I continue to explain my rationale as we exit the Uber and am about to drive home my final argument on the sidewalk when warm bread, cinnamon, and bacon waft from the lobby.
“Oh my God. It smells so good in here.” Taking his hand, I use my nose to find the restaurant.
We sit, we order, and as he leans back in his booth, he sighs. “Let’s assume, for one moment, I agree to your cockamamie plan. How can we be sure the judge will even want a bodyguard and if he does, will call Patten Securities? That’s a lot of ifs, babe.”
“True, but there’s such a thing a subliminal messaging. Facebook does it all the time. They target people’s interests. We can ask Jason to bombard his social media with ads. I bet he’ll bite in no time.”
He sips on coffee, eyeing me with those gorgeous brown orbs. My gaze drifts to his lips, my clit twitches, and I wish like hell we were back home in Brooklyn, waking up in bed. With my palm cupped to his rough cheek, I lean in for a kiss. After breaking apart for air, he holds my hands, and we stare like we did when we first met.
“Alrighty then. Let’s say your plan works and he hires me. How do you suggest I get the judge to spill his guts?”
