by Mary Stone
Zane stifled a yawn. “I could use a little coffee, actually. Thanks, Artie.”
Amelia couldn’t tell if her brain was playing tricks on her or if Zane’s faint Jersey accent had gotten stronger after spending a few days on the East Coast with his family.
Though she had been prepared to sit in the relative silence of the unadorned waiting area for the next twenty-five minutes, the temptation of liquid energy was hard to resist. “I think I could use some too, now that you mention it.”
Dropping back to his office chair, Artie grinned. “Sounds good. I’ll see you when you head back over here, but if I don’t buzz you in right away, just hit the call button.”
She shot the older man a little salute. “Oh, we’ll be buzzing all right.”
Snickering softly, Zane strolled toward the doors and pushed the first set open.
Amelia shot her partner a why are you laughing at me glance. “What?”
He shook his head as they stepped out into the cool, albeit humid, morning air. “You and your terrible puns.”
Amelia would have socked him in the arm if they hadn’t been in public. “Coffee. Buzz. It’s punny.”
“If you say so.” He readjusted his silver and black striped tie before smoothing a hand over his tailored suit jacket.
She nudged him with her elbow. “You laughed.”
As they strode toward a crosswalk at the end of the block, Amelia gestured to Zane’s tie. “Is that new? I swear I’ve never seen you wearing that particular one before. Since I see you pretty much every day, I think I’ve got a good handle on your tie collection.”
Snorting out a laugh, he stopped a few feet behind a cluster of people. “No, I’ve had it for a while. Guess it just got buried under the pile.” He glanced at the black and silver fabric, running a hand over the length to smooth it down.
“A pile?” Amelia’s eyebrow arched sharply. “You keep your ties in a pile? Aren’t you supposed to hang them up or something?”
Zane snorted. “Only the expensive ones, or only if you care about them.”
He was the most perplexing man she’d met, and the more quirks she learned about him, the more intriguing he became. “So, you’re saying that you sometimes wear cheap ties, huh?” The light changed, and the little crowd began its procession across the street. Though Amelia assumed their trip to the neighboring donut and coffee shop was just to pass the time, the first whiff of roasting coffee was like the embrace of an old friend.
The morning breeze rustled Zane’s sandy-colored hair, but as always, not a single strand seemed out of place. “I’ve never spent more than ten bucks on a tie. I don’t see the point. I honestly couldn’t tell the difference between a hundred-dollar tie and a four-dollar one, not even if someone paid me.”
Wondering if he was lying, Amelia inspected the fabric. “I don’t disagree. I just didn’t figure a guy in an Armani suit would wear something off the discount rack.”
As they stepped onto the sidewalk, Zane shook his head. “This one was on clearance for five bucks, I’ll have you know.” He patted his black jacket. “And it’s Tom Ford, not Armani.”
She nudged the door to the little coffee shop, opening it with her shoulder. “Armani was the only brand I could think of. I’m not much of a men’s fashion connoisseur.”
Before they reached the short line of patrons, Zane had retrieved a worn but expensive looking wallet from an interior pocket. Unlike Amelia, Zane Palmer came from money.
She’d gathered that his childhood was marked with its share of strife, but finances had never been an issue for Zane and his family. At least not after his mother had landed a spot at one of the East Coast’s premier financial management services.
Anne Palmer had managed assets for some of the world’s wealthiest families, which had sent her own net worth skyrocketing. Though she no longer worked as a hedge fund manager, Zane claimed she was still a sharp investment wizard. If someone gave Anne a dollar, within thirty days, she’d turn it into a hundred. In a year, she’d have increased that to many thousands.
Six months earlier—after they’d both transferred to Chicago—Amelia and Zane had been assigned as partners. During those awkward early days, Amelia felt slighted by Zane’s attempts to pay for her coffee or lunch. It wasn’t until they’d gotten to know one another during the Leila Jackson case, that Amelia came to understand that Zane’s acts of generosity were not meant to show off or flaunt his financial status.
The truth behind Zane’s kindness was simple…he was a kind person. Rather than live a life of luxury in the financial industry, he was here, in the same stressful line of work as Amelia. Her year and a half as an FBI agent paled in comparison to Zane’s near-decade, but she’d been with the Bureau long enough to understand what a toll the job could take.
He flashed her a grin, and the weariness she’d sensed in him disappeared.
Once they’d received their orders, they headed back across the street. As promised, Artie buzzed them into the building as soon as the doors at their back had latched into place.
Amelia and Zane took a pair of seats in a row of cushioned chairs lining a wall. For the first time since they’d left the FBI office that morning, they were out of earshot of any potentially curious bystanders.
“So.” Even though they were the only two occupants of the drab room, Zane’s voice was hushed. “What do you make of Enrico’s sudden change of heart? You think he’s stringing us along?”
Taking a sip of her coffee, Amelia prayed it was the former. The last thing they needed was to chase down dead ends. “It’s hard to say. He might have heard ‘death penalty’ and had a change of heart.”
Tapping a finger against his paper cup, Zane nodded. “Could be. But he’s given us jack shit so far, which makes me wonder if he’s got anything at all.”
Amelia refused to head down that dark train of thought. She had to hold out hope for something positive to follow up on. “I think he’d have to know something. The mystery man in their little basement of sin was their cameraman. He’s got to have a first name, and he’s got to know what the guy looks like.”
Zane stretched both legs in front of himself. “And all he’s got for us is that the guy’s a detective and that he’s been on the force for a while.” He snorted. “That doesn’t really narrow it down much.”
“No, it really doesn’t, but…” she glanced at him with a hapless shrug, “there’s only one way to find out, and that means we’ve got to get that idiot to protective custody before one of the Leónes’ errand boys sticks a shank in his liver. It’s only a matter of time before they know he’s up to something.”
Before Zane could reply, the heavy set of metal doors to the right of the reception desk opened. A man stepped through the doorway, and his neatly pressed gray suit jacket and slacks proclaimed him an authority figure. Auburn hair, streaked with silver, was combed straight back from his bearded face, and a pair of black-rimmed glasses gave him a scholarly air.
The man’s eyes flicked from Amelia to Zane and then back. “You must be Agents Palmer and Storm. I’m Donovan Gillem.”
With one more glance at Zane, Amelia pushed to her feet.
As Zane extended a hand, he stepped forward. Even at six-three, Zane only stood a hair taller than the older man. “Warden, nice to meet you. I’m Special Agent Palmer, and this is my partner, Special Agent Storm.”
The warden offered a smile as he shook hands with them, but the warm expression didn’t reach his eyes. Gesturing for Zane and Amelia to follow, Donovan led them down the hall he’d just emerged from. A left turn at the end of the corridor brought them face-to-face with the wood and glass door of an office.
“I’m not usually this tardy, so please accept my apologies.” Donovan unlocked and pulled open the creaky door. “There is always a never-ending stream of meetings at the courthouse.”
Zane nodded politely. “Not a problem at all. Thank you for squeezing us in.”
Donovan waved a hand at two squat chairs. “Have a seat
, Agents. What brings you to MCC Chicago?”
Once the warden took his spot behind a gray metal desk, Amelia and Zane took their seats. Resting her coffee cup on one knee, Amelia met Donovan Gillem’s curious stare. “We’re here about an inmate. It’s a sensitive issue, which is why there weren’t any details in the message we left.”
As if a fog had rolled away from the warden’s brain, the man’s eyes sharpened, and he straightened in his seat. “What do you need from me?”
Amelia pushed at the cup’s sleeve with her thumb. Wardens were always a wildcard. Some were completely cooperative while others hated when orders came down from on high, telling them what to do with their inmates. She hoped Gillem would be the former. “We need an inmate put in protective custody as soon as you’re able. Today, preferably…please. He’s a Federal witness.”
Donovan’s eyebrows shot up to his forehead. “A Federal witness? How long has he been working with the Bureau?”
Zane glanced at his watch. “Since about a half hour ago.”
“Oh.” Scooting forward, Donovan rested both elbows on the desk. “Well, we can get him moved, but our protective custody spaces are currently full. Since this is a temporary facility, we don’t keep as many spots reserved for something like that.”
A stone sank into the pit of Amelia’s stomach. Nothing could just be easy, could it? “How soon can you move him?”
The warden rubbed his bearded chin. “We’ll need the paperwork from the prosecutor to show he’s a high-value witness before we can begin the moving process. It takes a couple of hours.”
Zane raised a hand before Amelia could reply. “Wait. You need the paperwork from the U.S. Attorney’s Office? The Assistant U.S. Attorney hasn’t even stepped into a courtroom yet.” He gestured to himself and then Amelia. “We’re the agents working the case. The agents who’ve been working it. He’s a witness. Unfortunately, an important one too. I can tell you right now that if anyone finds out that he’s a witness, which they will, then he’s as good as dead. And if he’s dead, then our whole damned case is dead.”
Holding up both hands, Donovan gave them a look that Amelia would have labeled as patronizing if it didn’t also hold a hint of arrogance. “I understand the urgency, but even I have to get approval to do something like this when protective custody is full. Putting a new inmate in a more secure location means that we’ll have to remove another, and to get approval to do that, I need paperwork from the case prosecutor.”
As much as Amelia wanted to spit out a slew of four-letter words to describe the urgency of the situation, she bit her tongue. Donovan Gillem might have been a prison warden, but his status didn’t render him above reproach. For all she and Zane knew, Donovan was a rat.
Amelia considered their options. The U.S. Marshals could be called in but that could also take a couple hours. They could take Carlo to an FBI safe house, but they’d need a shit ton of paperwork for that too.
“Then put him somewhere temporarily.” She nodded at the warden’s closed door. “Put him in a broom closet for all I care. Please. Anything to get him away from the general population. We don’t have the Federal prosecutor on call, you know that, right? It might take two days, maybe three. And in the meantime, every minute our witness is in gen-pop is a minute someone could kill him.”
The warden dropped both arms to rest on the desk. “I’m aware, Agents, but my hands are tied here. If we move another inmate back into general population without properly vetting the situation, there’s a distinct possibility that the ousted inmate could be killed or injured too. We’re at capacity, which means we don’t have any spare rooms in the more secure areas.”
Though Amelia wanted to protest, Donovan had a valid point. Prisons across the country were notoriously overcrowded, and she didn’t have to stretch her imagination to realize the issue extended to protective custody. Inmates weren’t moved to secure locations without a valid reason. If Donovan had to pull an inmate back to gen-pop, chances were good they’d be in almost as much danger as Carlo Enrico.
Zane must have been in agreement with her thoughts because he didn’t jump in to protest as the office lapsed into silence. And he didn’t look happy, either.
The warden readjusted his glasses, offering them both a sympathetic smile. “Look, I understand what you’re saying. I really do. I go through the protective custody roster regularly to make sure the only inmates in there are the ones who need to be there. I don’t doubt that this inmate needs our protection, especially if he’s a Federal witness. But I can’t just tell the rest of the prison officials to take my word for it. They’re going to want some kind of documentation from the prosecutor.”
“Do we have any alternatives? Any other options?” The combative tinge had dissipated from Zane’s tone.
Drumming his fingers against the metal desktop, Donovan slowly shook his head. “Not many. We could move him to a different location, but that would require the same type of approval as protective custody. It’s not something we could do within minutes.”
Amelia tapped her fingertip to her lips. “Are you sure there’s not a spare broom closet you could toss him in?”
The remark was far from professional, but a hint of amusement flashed across the warden’s face, and the tension evaporated from the air. Amelia and Zane had only been at the Chicago FBI office for half a year, and she didn’t want to make an enemy of a Federal prison warden before she hit the one-year mark. She’d learned from Zane that a little levity could go a long way when it came to maintaining alliances.
“Unfortunately, no.” Donovan flattened his palms and glanced from Amelia to Zane. “I can have the COs on that floor keep a close eye on him over the next couple days, or I can order increased security around the area.”
Zane was shaking his head before the warden finished. “No. I appreciate it, but I think right now, the fewer people who know about this, the better off we are. We’ll get the U.S. Attorney’s office to push through that paperwork as soon as they can.”
“That sounds good. I’ll keep an eye out for the message.” Donovan pushed to his feet. Amelia and Zane followed suit, and the three of them made their way through the hall and back to the lobby.
After handshakes, she and Zane headed back out to the bustling Van Buren Street and then to a parking garage catty-corner to the prison. The temperature had risen since their coffee trip, and to Amelia’s chagrin, her phone advised that the high for the day was in the nineties. Again.
Groaning as she took her spot on the passenger’s side of Zane’s silver Acura, Amelia slumped down in the seat.
Closing the driver’s side door, Zane glanced at her, an eyebrow crooked in concern. “Was that about Carlo or something else?”
Amelia pulled her handbag from where she’d crammed it beneath the seat. “Both. I don’t suppose you have the Assistant U.S. Attorney saved in your favorite contacts, do you?”
His gray eyes were fixed on the windshield as he turned the key over in the ignition and pursed his lips. “Not in my favorites, no. But I might still have her number.”
Amelia did a double take. “What? I haven’t even met the prosecutor for this case yet. How is it you’ve got her number?”
As he shifted the car into reverse, Zane gave her a fleeting glance before backing out of the parking spot. “We, uh, we went on a couple dates.”
“Wait.” Amelia held up a hand. “Hold on, you what? Is that…something you can do? Are you even allowed to date the person who’s prosecuting a case you worked on?”
He thrummed his thumbs on the steering wheel, avoiding her curious stare. “We’re not dating. We went on, like, three dates, and that was a while ago. It was before we worked the Leila Jackson case.”
A pang of relief wriggled into Amelia’s thoughts, but she ignored the sentiment and all its implications. “That’s good, I guess? Does she know that she’ll be prosecuting a case you worked on?”
He nodded, but his expression was unreadable. “Yeah, she does. That�
�s why I know she’s the one working it, actually. She called me to tell me, and she said she’d already disclosed our past…um, relationship.” He paused, pursing his lips as they finally turned onto the busy downtown street. “Her boss, the U.S. Attorney, gave her the green light. You know, since it was a while ago, and it wasn’t really…serious.”
Though she considered Zane Palmer one of her good friends, Amelia knew very little about his dating history. Granted, they hadn’t known one another well before the Leila Jackson case, and romantic relationships weren’t a topic they often broached in casual conversation.
For good reason.
When Amelia was a teenager, she’d spent four years in a committed relationship with the son of a prominent D’Amato family capo. No one aside from Amelia’s closest family and friends knew about Alex Passarelli, and as far as she was concerned, that particular secret could stay buried for the rest of her life.
“Huh.” Amelia tapped an index finger along the doorframe, wondering how far she could press into his dating life. “I guess you guys ended on good terms, then?”
As they slowed to a stop behind a sea of morning commuters, Zane rubbed his chin. “Something like that. We weren’t ever really together. It was just, you know…” He left the remark unfinished as he turned up the air-conditioning.
“Just fun?” Amelia was careful to keep her tone neutral and non-accusatory. She and Zane were both adults, and the occasional fling was normal for single people in their age group.
His eyes finally met hers. “Yeah. I met her on one of those dating apps. One of my friends back home kept telling me that online dating was a good way to get out and see some of the city. He wasn’t wrong.”
A howling sort of chortle slipped from Amelia’s lips before she could stop herself, but when she spotted the alarmed look in Zane’s eyes, she slapped a hand over her mouth until she could regain control. “I’m not laughing about you being on a dating app. That’s what all the cool kids are doing these days, anyway. I met an ex of mine on one of those things when I was stationed in Virginia. No, no, you’re fine. I’m just imagining what your profile must look like.”