Page 10 of Armed ’N’ Ready

“He didn’t say.” Her gut twisted with more worry. She hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but she had asked who the new client was, and he’d smoothly avoided telling her.

“What’s your connection with his business?” This from Sgt. Houston.

“There is no connection. I told you already, we never worked together.” Their suspicion and mistrust were beginning to piss her off.

“Then what brought you from New York City to Springfield?” Cox asked.

Christ, these two are relentless. She’d been swinging her head back and forth, answering their questions as best she could, but it was getting annoying.

“Joe knew I was fed up with the grinding commute into Manhattan and that I was looking for a change. He said there was an old restaurant on a nice piece of property about to go up for sale, and he suggested it might be the perfect location for me to open my place.” That was only part of the reason she’d moved. The real truth was that she’d needed to get as far away as possible from Steve and her former employers. But Cox and Houston didn’t need to know that.

“I opened the Dog Park Café about a year ago.” The best decision of my life, and I’m damned proud of it.

The only good thing to come from Steve’s treachery was that it pushed—no, forced—her to discover her brass ovaries and then do whatever it took to realize her dream: opening a cozy, inviting café and dog park that catered to humans and canines. She’d never regret the monumental change, but at thirty-five she was starting a brand-new life for herself. Alone.

Cox threw down his pen. “You left what had to be a highly lucrative income in a big city to open a restaurant in the middle of the woods?”

She nodded. “Lots of people try new things when they get fed up with the rat race. New York is a place of incredible opportunity, but after a while it sucks the life out of you.” And it had. “The commute alone is enough to drive a person crazy.” That part was true. Even her language had deteriorated during the daily drive into lower Manhattan. She’d invented several new curse words that would make a truck driver applaud her ingenuity.

Sgt. Houston made a hmph sound. “Are you and Myer still intimate?”

She glared at him. “That’s none of your business.”

“It is if you’re working with him,” he shot back.

Gray eyes bored into her, and she really did feel as if she were under a spotlight. His spotlight. Not for the first time since she’d come down the stairs, her face heated until she squirmed uncomfortably in her chair. Looking away from those piercing, knowing eyes, she swallowed before answering.

“I am not sleeping with him. We haven’t been together since grad school.” When her response was met with silence, her face grew hotter, and she clenched her fists, glaring at Houston. “And for the last time, I’m not working with him.”

“Did Joe invest in your restaurant?” Cox asked, rescuing her from more of Houston’s humiliating interrogation.

“No, I bought it with my own money. I put everything I had into the place.” Including cashing out most of her retirement nest egg. If her venture failed, she was toast.

She realized this was a tag-team thing, the two men intentionally peppering her with question after question in an attempt to catch her off guard, so she’d inadvertently spill some kind of secret or get caught in a lie. But she had no secrets. Well, almost none. And she definitely wasn’t lying.

“What’s really going on here?” Again, she swiveled her gaze from Cox to Houston and back again. They might not be lying outright, but they definitely weren’t telling her everything. “Joe isn’t the kind of person to have anything to do with guns. He doesn’t even like guns.”

“Maybe not.” Cox leaned back in his chair. “But he has no qualms about laundering money for those who do. The question is how much you’re involved.”

“I’m not. How many times do I have to tell you that?” Her stomach clenched with the shocked realization that despite what she kept telling them, they still thought she was Joe’s accomplice.

She noticed for the first time that when she spoke, the baby-faced agent sitting at one of the laptops clicked away on the keyboard. Whenever she stopped talking, he stopped typing.

He’s making a transcript of everything I say.

“I’m thinking I may need a lawyer.”

Cox let out an audible breath, then crossed his arms, giving her the clear impression that he was annoyed with her threat to seek legal counsel. “That’s your prerogative.”

“Yes, it is.” She mimicked him by crossing her arms. “I know my Constitutional rights.”

“Before you decide to lawyer up”—Sgt. Houston leaned down until his face was inches from hers, giving her a massive dose of his manly fresh scent—“allow me to put this in perspective for you. Last week, I was first on scene at a shooting. A fourteen-year-old girl was caught in gang crossfire. She took a bullet to the head. Her brains were splattered all over the sidewalk. Your ex-boyfriend is a bookkeeper for the same dealer who put that gun—and hundreds, if not thousands of others just like it—on the street. Thanks to them, Springfield is now a mini war zone. So, if you’re sincere about cooperating, then you’ll answer the man’s questions. All his questions. If Myer’s innocent, then the facts will support it. If he’s not, he’ll have to answer for his crimes. Trust me, we wouldn’t be here if he were innocent. Your innocence is also in question.”

Contempt flared hotly in the man’s eyes. Finally, some emotion. She’d thought he was angry, but in actuality, he was royally pissed. And he was right. The only thing she knew for certain was that she was innocent. If Joe hadn’t violated the federal crimes outlined in the warrant , then nothing she said to these men could hurt either of them. If he really was guilty, something she still had difficulty wrapping her brain around, could her responses to their questions make things worse?

I don’t know anything, so how can I hurt him?

Then again, talking about him to the police seemed like a betrayal. She needed to hear it directly from Joe. He wouldn’t dare lie to her. I’d know if he was lying. Wouldn’t I?