Finally, he spoke. “I need to see Loretta’s files again. Can you bring them to me?”
Clearly Loretta hadn’t shared all of her files with him. “No,” Anya said. The agents guarding the entrance to the apartment building wouldn’t let her leave anyway. She was under lockdown until Loretta returned from making herself bait for the damn killer. “Sorry.” A sharp rap sounded on the door. “I have to go. Bye.” She clicked off and turned to run through the narrow living room for the door. Was there news on Loretta?
She flung open the door. Two men stood in the bright hallway.
“Anya Best?” The first guy had brown eyes, wavy dark hair, and a charming smile. He stood like he could handle himself. A jacket covered his large frame, and a slight bulge showed at his waist.
Gun. He had a gun at his waist. She gulped. All right. She stepped back. “Who are you?”
The guy dug out a badge holder and flipped it open. “U.S. Marshal D. J. Smithers.”
She blinked. “The FBI agent downstairs let you in?”
“Of course,” he said smoothly.
The other guy, much shorter than his buddy, nodded soberly. He had nearly black eyes, adult acne, and a slight paunch over his dress pants. “We just need a moment of your time.”
“Why?” If this was about the task force, the FBI would be present. “I don’t understand. Is this about the Copper Killer case?” She needed Loretta to be there. Where was her sister, damn it?
“No.” Smithers tucked his badge back into his coat. “It’s about Heath Jones and the Lost Bastards detective agency.”
Anya’s mouth dropped open, and the phone felt heavy in her hand. She’d just disconnected the call. Like, seconds ago. “Um.”
Smithers kept her gaze. “We have your phone bugged just in case. We’ve been watching the Lost Bastards, and we know that Heath met with your sister last week. When he just called—”
Air burst out of Anya’s lungs. “Bugged? My phone?” Her mind spun. “This doesn’t make sense. I mean, what does this have to do with the Copper Killer case?”
“Nothing,” Smithers said calmly. “This is about Lost Bastards.”
Her lips trembled. “How—I mean, why—No, how are you here so fast?”
“Oh.” Smithers relaxed. “That. We were scouting the area when the call came in. Happy coincidence that we could get here so quickly.”
There wasn’t any such thing as a happy coincidence. Anya’s stomach started to hurt. Something was off. She turned toward the other guy. “I didn’t see your identification.”
He straightened and then solemnly drew out a badge.
Her body relaxed. The cops were the good guys. “I’m sorry to be so suspicious. This is just weird.” She looked closer at the badge. Her stomach dropped. It was a good fake, but a fake nonetheless. She’d seen the genuine thing just a week before. Why have a fake badge? There was no way he had made it past the FBI guard downstairs. Somehow they’d snuck in.
These guys wanted Heath Jones, and all she’d done was talk to him on the phone. If she screamed, would anybody hear? Most people were at work right now and not in their apartments, and the FBI agents only covered the entrances to the building. What kind of mess was Heath in? Did it have anything to do with Loretta’s case? God. What if it did? She had to get out of there. So she forced another smile. “I don’t really know Heath Jones or his business. What’s this really about?”
Smithers didn’t miss a beat. “We’re concerned about them. It looks like they’ve gotten caught up in a dangerous case with Colombian drug cartels, and we’re concerned for their safety.”
Colombian drug cartels? Seriously? Who was this guy? That was the biggest load of crap she’d ever heard. At the moment, she had more important issues to deal with. Heath and his agency would have to handle their own problems, and if she had to throw him under a bus, she would. She moved closer to Smithers to show trust. “Do you have a card? I’m happy to call you if he contacts me again.”
Smithers nodded. “Actually, we’re hoping you can arrange a meeting.”
She glanced down at her phone and clicked a button. “His number didn’t come up when he called.” She turned the phone toward Smithers. “See?”
His eyebrows drew down in the middle. “That’s unfortunate.”
“It sure is.” She reached for the door. “I’m sorry, but I have a case to work on right now. I’ll contact the Marshals Service if I hear from Heath again.”
His body straightened, and he planted a hand over hers.
She coughed, her body stiffening. Adrenaline shot through her veins.
“I think we need to make a plan,” he said, his face lowering toward hers.
