Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
“Thanks for waiting for me,” a sarcastic voice said.
Beth came in like a sudden storm cloud. She reached across the table, thrusting her hand out to Ms. Hayward, and wordlessly demanded a handshake. “I’m Beth Garrity, an inspector for the Office of Enforcement Operations.”
Beth’s handshake was aggressive, and she didn’t notice the girl’s wound or the way she winced. As soon as the handshake was over, Beth dropped into a seat, and I wanted to knock the chair out from under her. I’d never liked the woman. She reveled in pointing out others’ mistakes while being completely oblivious to her own.
“Typically, we conduct an interview,” Beth continued, “to determine if you should enter the program.”
“WITSEC?” I asked.
A vent kicked on somewhere, and Ms. Hayward shivered. “What’s that?”
“That means witness protection,” said Bill. “We’re not there yet.”
Beth shook her head. “It’s not your call.”
“The hell it isn’t. She’s under protective detail until all this shit gets sorted out.”
Bill was a friendly, outgoing guy in general, but he was one hundred percent capable of playing the asshole card when needed. Beth pretended to be indifferent when his tone set her aback.
“I came here to brief the witness,” she started, then reloaded with more confidence. “Your witness.”
“We can’t get you to move on other cases for weeks. Now you’re suddenly screaming I’m slowing you guys down. What’s the rush?” He leaned forward in his chair. “You’ve got a packet pulled together? Great. You can hang on to it for another day or two.”
The two continued their power struggle while my focus drifted across the table. The girl’s dark blue dress was torn on the side, and she used one hand to hold it closed. She held her shoulders close to her body like she was freezing. Why hadn’t someone given her a sweatshirt or a blanket?
I’d thrown my jacket over the back of the chair. I could offer it to her.
The thought surprised me. It wasn’t that I lacked compassion, but it had never been my strong suit. Chasing. Investigating. Confrontation. These were the items in my wheelhouse, not handholding. Yet the fact remained, I wanted to . . . what? Offer comfort?
Christ, I thought. I needed to get some sleep; I didn’t feel like myself.
My gaze went back to my boss, who was laying into Beth like he enjoyed it, which he probably did. But then I could sense the pair of eyes that were on me, drawing my focus back to the girl, causing her gaze to immediately drop to the floor.
Shit.
She flushed, embarrassed to have been caught staring, and the innocent reaction stirred something inside me I had to ignore. Why was she paying any attention to me, anyway? She should be listening to Bill talk about—
“Sounds like a plan,” he said, and looked expectantly to me.
Shit.
Whatever they’d agreed upon, it must have been Bill’s idea because Beth looked pissed. She stood too quickly, hinting at her frustration.
“Fine. I’ll see you Monday.” It sounded like a threat. She gathered her things and went in a huff, leaving Ms. Hayward alone with us.
“Always a joy to work with,” I muttered.
“Yeah, because you’re a real delight yourself,” Bill said. “Now hurry up and get out of here before her boss sends her running back with something I can’t sidestep.”
I stood and moved toward Ms. Hayward. As she rose gingerly out of her chair, I lost all common sense and slipped a hand under her elbow to help her. She gasped and recoiled from my touch so violently, she almost toppled over.
I stepped back, immediately giving her space and lifted my arms as if to say, “my mistake.” Her haunting eyes peered up at me, but she offered no explanation for her reaction. I didn’t deserve one, anyway.
“You ready?” My voice was quiet and even.
She nodded slowly.
“Thank God,” she uttered when she spied a brown suitcase waiting beside a desk, a pink ribbon knotted through one zipper. Her bag had been sent over from the hotel. I grabbed it by the handle and wheeled it to the closet-like restroom.
“Do you need anything?” I asked and checked to make sure it was unoccupied. She shook her head and darted inside, shutting the door behind her.
I busied myself studying the case file that had been sent to my phone. I read the witness statements and examined the pictures of the theater and the aftermath of the assassination. My gaze lingered on the image of Ms. Hayward in her stained costume, her hands soaked in blood. Two separate thoughts competed in my mind. How pretty she must have looked in her glittering costume before the shooting—and how brave she’d been following it.
Uncomfortable tightness banded across my chest.
Information was still coming in, but once I’d read everything and was sure I was up to speed, I began to worry.