Like the mob, I supposed the FBI never slept.
The door opened and freakishly bright fluorescent lighting flooded in from the sterile office environment just outside.
“Miss Hawthorne,” the woman who arrested me said as she held the door open. “Please come with me.”
My stomach growled as I eased out of the comfortable chair and followed her out.I should’ve helped myself to the snacks.
I was led into a room that was much more like I’d expected. Something empty. A steel table. Two chairs across from each other. A mirrored window along one wall. An odd odor like a high school gymnasium locker room.
“Please have a seat,” she said, ushering me in before closing the door and leaving me all alone.
So. Nameless FBI lady wouldn’t be joining the fun.
Minutes—or maybe hours—passed before the door opened again. Was that part of the mind games?
An older gentleman walked in, followed by the same lady who had been escorting me from room to room.
“Miss Hawthorne?—”
“Dr.Hawthorne,” I said, then immediately regretted it. Jude would’ve wanted me to keep my mouth shut.
But it was clear they knew who I was—hair dye and fake ID aside.
His eyebrows lifted, but not in fury. Just surprise.
“My apologies, Dr. Hawthorne,” he said with an odd lilt of kindness in his tone as he took the seat across from me. “My name is Agent Sanders. This is Agent Dutton. She’ll be joining us to help you feel more comfortable.”
Ah. She was a chaperone. How nice.
“How are you doing, Amelia?” he said, putting us on a first-name basis that I wasn’t sure I cared for. “You’ve had an interesting few weeks.”
I said nothing.
These were the same people who had taken Jude.
Jude, who had committed some very real crimes.
Jude, who had kidnapped me.
Jude, who had . . . who had saved me.
Jude, who had sacrificed himself for me.
“That’s not a question,” I said as neutrally as I could.
Agent Dutton covered her mouth to hide a smile. Agent Sanders kept his expression cool but blinked as if he couldn’t believe I had just called his hand.
“If I’m under arrest, I’d like my attorney to be present. Especially if you’re going to question me. And aren’t you supposed to read me my rights?”
“You’re not under arrest,” Agent Sanders said as he leaned back in his chair, assuming a more casual position, as if we were just chitchatting. “My apologies for the antics back at the casino. Sometimes you need to tell a good story to make people believe what you need them to believe.”
My spine went ramrod straight as he regurgitated the same sentiment that Jude had preached over and over again.Tell a good story.
Something wasn’t right.
I swallowed the lump in my throat as puzzle pieces began to fall into place. “If I’m not under arrest, then I’d like to go.”
Agent Sanders lifted an eyebrow. “You’re not under arrestright now.” The threat was thinly veiled. “But I’m sure we could make something stick.” He glanced at Agent Dutton. “What’s the going rate for using a fake ID to travel across states? Still a misdemeanor?”
