Lucky's wife sighs. “Gwen, Wulf’s team didn’t mean to insult you. In my mind, those Feds trusted you above the rest.”
Leave it to my friend to look on the bright side. “But I felt like such a fool. Wulf should’ve told me.”
“Hun, go talk to him.” Her advice makes my stomach churn because she’s right. I need to come clean and tell Axel what Danbury said about Ledbetter.
After splashing water on my face, I enter the war room area and count heads. “Where’s Brittany?”
Eyes never off his laptop, Scott loosens his tie. “She said she needed to return to your place for some clothes.”
“She better not steal mine.” As I drop a filter into the miniature drip coffee pot, Rhonda steps beside me.
“You have nothing to fret about. Ax and Britt were never a real couple, just fuck buddies.”
Oh great, now I feel better.
While I ponder on how to respond without sounding like a Victorian librarian, my hubby stands, puts his arm around me, and kisses the top of my head. “None of us trust her either, babe.”
“Then why work with her?” From my perspective, their project plan has unavoidable risks.
He scratches the growth on his chin and sighs. “My boss and Interpol have agreed to cooperate. It’s not our call.”
Suddenly, phones ping, jaws drop, and all eyes lift to my husband.
“What’s going on?” I tug Wulf’s hand to read the email, too, and gasp. “You? Murder her roommate? Why, that’s ridiculous.”
Chapter 9
“Don’t worry about the wolf; worry about the sheep who thinks he’s a lion.” ~Unknown
Axel
Shit.Standing in the kitchenette, I pour a cup of coffee from the Box O’Joe and visualize potential scenarios in my head. “We’ll need to move up the Danbury meet-up.”
“Excuse me?” Eyes wide, Gwen’s voice raises an octave. “You’re wanted for murder, and he's your first concern?”
Some on my team may be thinking along the same vein, so as I add sugar to the bitter brew, I carefully select my words. “If the locals intended to arrest me, I’d already be incarcerated.”
Hunter removes his suit jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his starched white button-down shirt. “Trev, call Brittany and have her change the time to one hour from now.”
Ignoring my wife’s glare, the analyst shouts, “On it.”
Gwen’s misgivings cannot influence my decisions. If we miss this opportunity, we may never capture Ledbetter. I have no idea what he is doing in the States, but apparently, it is important enough to risk the FBI closing in on him.
At exactly ten-o-five, I park my car in the three-store strip mall, press my phone’s flashlight app, and follow the smell of stale cigarettes through the six-foot cornstalks.
“Stop where you are.” A heavy-set man wearing a pink flamingo Hawaiian shirt jumps between the rows, wielding an RF detection wand. “Arms up.”
“I’m not wired.” Ready to kick his ass if he makes one wrong move, I let him wave the stick around my body.
When he finishes, he reaches into his breast pocket, pulls out a pack of Camels, and taps the end on his palm.
“After what happened in the bar, I needed to be sure.” He flicks his lighter and returns his rheumy eyes to me.
“Britt said you know where we can find Ledbetter.” Uneasy, I get right to business.
He coughs, puffs, and frowns. “Did she mention what I want in return, mate?”
“Why don’tyoutellme?” The cornfield seems closer than it was a minute ago, a clear sign from my subconscious that we need to close the deal.
