“We were talking about wishing to be in their head and …” She takes another gulp out of her glass. “I remembered about the Neural Interface.”
My pulse spikes. “Should I know about it?”
“No,” Michelle giggles and presses her finger to her lips. “Shhh. It’s a secret.” She looks like she’s enjoying knowing something I don’t. “It could help so many people.” Her face changes with drastic speed into a scowl. “They keep it to themselves. Like they don’t have enough money and privilege.”
“Yeah, but…what’s your plan? March into R&D and take it?” I laugh. “Life’s not a spy movie, Shells.”
She seems irritated by my flippancy. “I’ll have you know my friend has…colleagues…who know how to…retrieve things.”
I scrunch my face, as if in confusion. “Repo guys?”
An amused exhale relaxes her features, and she looks at me like I’m a toddler who doesn’t understand object permanence. “More subtle than that. Mmm.” She takes another sip. “This wine is so smooth.”
My fingers inch toward her glass over the tablecloth. “Maybe let’s drink some water.”
She snatches the stem and pulls the wine to her chest, stage whispering, “I’m not drunk. It’s the truth!” Then she inches closer. I want to bolt, but I stay still until she’s so close, her lips nearly brush my ear. “I told them where to look.”
As she leans back, my eyes widen.
“Not just a little secretary, right?” Her satisfied grin is almost disturbing. “The Rawlings might not want to help, but there are good people out there, fighting the good fight.”
“The good fight, Shells?” I shake my head in disbelief. “Bombing buildings?”
“Pffft.” She takes another gulp. “It was just some smoke. Was never gonna hurt anybody. I told them what the best time was forthe show.”
“The Bureau doesn’t see it that way. They’re after you.”
She chokes, spilling wine on her dress and the tablecloth.
“What?” She gasps, trying to pull her hand away.
I tighten my grip.
“Don’t make a scene,” I say coldly. “The FBI already knows everything. And they are here.”
Glasses clink, and laughter drifts softly around us in the warm, dim lights. Our table, meanwhile, feels encased in an icy bubble. My heart is hammering out of my chest, every beat a prayer that her slip was enough.
Panic begins to crumple her face. “I want to leave,” she whimpers.
“At this point,” I say evenly, “you’re going to have to trust me, if you want to avoid a life sentence.”
Michelle freezes, gaping at me. “Life…”
“Accomplice to the bombing. Attempted murder. And a few other charges that stack up.”
“I never…she wasn’t going to get hurt.” Her words tumble over each other. “She was just leverage!” she says in a hoarse voice.
For a split second, I almost pity her. Until I remember Jackie’s face after the break-in. Her trembling hands in Eliza’s kitchen after the car chased her down.
“I get it,” I say gently. “You wanted to make it easier for your family. But you put Jackie in danger.”
Her fingers fly to her mouth, trembling as they press over her lips. “It wasn’t supposed to go this far.”
“Let me help you, Michelle. I’m the only one in your corner right now.”
I sit quietly, letting the pressure build until she spills everything.
She’s tearing the hem of the crisp tablecloth. “They said the company was never going to release it to the public.”
