Cat smirks at me. “Uh, because it was a character’s name onWestworld. I liked it. Looked it up. It’s cool, don’t you think?”
I slowly nod. That was a little too close for comfort. What were the damn odds she would pick that name out of thin air?
She gives me a curious look then closes her eyes again. “Any-hoo,Akecheta. Jeffrey Rose and Dakota Helfinger were scheduled to be in court this week. Both men were being held at the federal pen near Ridgeway. They’re high-value targets, meaning only a handful of people knew their travel plans.”
“Marshals.”
Cat’s eyes open. She frowns at me. “Right. The Marshals.Us.”
“That’s what I said.”
Her ice-blue eyes narrow and send chills over my skin. “Until a few hours before transport, not even the Marshals involved know they’re going or what route they’re taking.”
“So, you’re ruling out the two who were killed,” I question.
Cat’s chair thunks back to the floor. “Careful, asshole. One ofthe twowas my friend.”
I forgot that tidbit. Sheila Rector. They went to college together. “Sorry. Trying to be objective is all.”
She stands and stretches, the T-shirt pulling out of her jeans. I catch a glimpse of her smooth belly then look away quickly.
“Could it be your computer friend? The one you called?”
Cat shakes her head. “Premy? No way. That woman is die-hard Marshals Service.”
“You talked to her a few hours before we were attacked,” I point out.
“And I also stopped at the same diner I always do when I’m in the area. Twice. And Persis saw us there, not that I think she’s got anything to do with it,” Cat bites her lip. “There’s also anyone who knew we were meeting there. And that idiot warden who gave you a ride. It’s a long list.”
She’s right, but I can’t stop the gnawing feeling in my gut. “Forget about the attack at the diner. Where would the fugitives go?”
“Depends on whether or not they’re working together, or it was a coincidence.”
“Elaborate.”
“Both men have - fans.”
“Fans?”
“Jeffrey Rose has the Rosettes. Dakota Helfinger - a.k.a. Dakota Hell - has the Hellions.”
“Rosettes and the Hellions. Sounds like a podcast.”
“It’s worse than that,” Cat grimaces then pulls out the letter we read earlier. “The Rosettes are the group of women who want to marry Jeffrey Rose. Like Tova Rose, at least that’s what she’s calling herself now.”
“What the hell?”
“Oh, yeah. It’s disgusting.”
“Are the Hellions Dakota Helfinger’s lady fans?”
“Lady fans?” Cat snickers. “That sounds like something you attach to your coochie during menopause.”
My face heats. I do my level best not to look in the direction of hercoochie. That only makes Cat laugh harder.
“The look on your face is priceless,” Cat points at me. “Not so funny when the sexual harassment shoe’s on the other foot, eh?”
I unwrap a plastic cup and pour myself some water.
