God, I sounded so pathetic. She ignored me.
“Pull this fucking car over right now,” I shrieked, searching the inside of the car for a weapon. We were going way too fucking fast now for me to just open my door and jump out. Not without risking serious injury.
My heart pounded, sweat mixing with the sticky syrupy coffee that I was drenched in. I’d pull her ponytail, maybe try and choke her and get her to let up on the gas pedal.
“Relax, Shiloh.”
I jumped back in my seat, my hand frozen midair between our bodies.
“What the fuck did you just say?”
She licked her lips and shook her head. “Relax, Shiloh. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Clarissa Nguyen. FBI, Criminal Investigation Division. Organized Crime Unit.”
I blinked. And blinked again.
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” I finally muttered, letting my hand finally fall back to my lap.
She laughed, sending me an amused glance. “No. I’m notshittingyou, Shiloh. I’ve been following you for weeks now.”
“Seriously? You really expect me to believe you right now?”
“Open the glove box.”
Intrigued, but keeping an eye on her, I flipped the glove box open. There was a badge inside and I grabbed it, keeping her in line of sight as I opened it and read the inside.
“How the fuck do I know this isn’t fake? This doesn’t really prove anything.”
We were pulling off the highway now into a suburban neighborhood with modern looking homes currently decked with varying degrees of Christmas paraphernalia.
“You’re right, it could be fake. Or it could be real, and I could be telling you the truth.”
Or you could be some elaborate test from Carlos?
She stopped in the driveway of one of the houses, parked the car and removed the keys. I debated taking my chances and running.
“Just come inside for a minute. I promise the doors aren’t going to be locked and you can leave whenever you choose.”
I squinted my eyes at her. “Promises mean nothing coming from your mouth.”
She nodded, opening her car door, and left me dumbstruck at her absence. Clarissa didn’t bother trying to coerce me any further, and I watched her walk to the front door and step inside. I looked through the glove box and console for any signs of a weapon. It was stupid of me to enter the house without one, but my curiosity was getting the better of my judgment.
With Adrian’s confession last week, it didn’t seem like a coincidence that an FBI agent had been stalking me and wanted to talk. What if she told Adrian I wasn’t cooperating and he hurt my friends? With a growl of frustration, I flung the car door open and headed inside.
The house was modestly decorated outside, with just Christmas lights and a wreath on the door. But inside, the lack of Christmas was stark. No tree, no garland. As I glancedaround, there wasn’t any decor in the house at all. A simple sofa and coffee table filled the space of the living room. No TV, no pictures, not even a lamp.
I closed the door behind me, despite myself, and called out for the stranger.
“In here.” Her voice carried from deeper into the house, down a hallway to the left, and I flicked the hall light on as I passed it.
I found her in a bedroom, just as bare bones as the living room. Only a double bed. No dresser. She stood in front of the closet, sliding hangars haphazardly across the rack, until her fingers stilled.
“Here,” she said softly, probably to herself.
She spun around with a soft smile. “Sorry, I didn’t plan on dousing you with my coffee. I hope this fits.”
