Rowe took a seat across from her at the table, glanced at his watch, and jotted some notes down on a yellow legal pad. Then he launched into some questions about her actions leading up to the shooting. Had she received any strange phone calls earlier that day? Had she noticed anyone suspicious lurking around? As she answered the series of questions, she clasped her hands and tried to get the shaking under control.
Suddenly, the door burst open, and a young man entered the room, followed by a white-haired guy with a bulbous nose. He wore a dark suit and tie, unlike the younger guy, who wore a variation on Rowe’s jeans-and-windbreaker theme. Everyone’s posture straightened, and the cell phones disappeared, so Feenie guessed White Hair was in charge.
“I’m George Purnell, FBI.” He extended a hand.
She shook it, sensing this was a name to remember. “I’m Francis Malone.”
“I know.” He slid her pink handbag in front of her. Then he pulled up a side chair with tacky orange upholstery and sat beside Rowe. “I take it you’ve met Special Agent Rowe?”
She snorted. “Met him, yes. If being tackled to the pavement constitutes a meeting.”
Purnell frowned at her. He thought she was being inappropriate.
“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I’m a little…flustered at the moment.” She reached for her water again, becoming intensely aware of the many pairs of male eyes focused on her damp T-shirt. She changed her mind about the water and crossed her arms.
Purnell cleared his throat. “Ms. Malone, do you know who was shooting at you back there?”
“I was kind of hoping you would.”
Purnell leaned back in his chair, clearly disappointed with this answer.
Rowe turned and gestured to the four agents behind him. They filed out of the room, and Feenie felt slightly more at ease when they were gone.
“Unfortunately, we don’t,” Purnell said. “The shots came from an alley behind an abandoned building, and we haven’t located any witnesses yet who saw the suspect. Police are canvassing the area now. You sure you have no idea?”
Great. The FBI was just as clueless as she was. Wonderful news.
“I mean, someone’s been following me,” she said. “I know that. I just don’t know who it is. He drives a—” Oh, God.
Purnell leaned forward. “A what?”
“Nothing. I noticed a tan Blazer following me a while back, but I guess that was you guys.”
Purnell flicked a glance at Rowe, and Feenie could almost hear the silent reprimand.
“Did he have a getaway car?” Feenie asked.
“We don’t know.”
She stared at Purnell, feeling more frustrated than ever. Maybe it was just a delayed reaction to being shot at, but her fear was quickly morphing into something else. Something with teeth.
“Do you want to fill me in on what you do know?”
The agent didn’t seem perturbed. “Ms. Malone, we’re on a task force investigating, among other things, your ex-husband.”
“I put that together, thanks.”
“We need to ask you some questions about him,” Purnell said.
“Go ahead. I have nothing to hide.” At least, she didn’t think she did. Maybe she should ask for a lawyer. But she didn’t know anyone not connected to Josh, except the guy she’d hired to handle her divorce. He’d turned out to be an expensive disappointment, and Feenie still harbored suspicions that he’d taken money under the table to botch her case. She’d be better off on her own.
“Do you need to read me my rights or something?” She hoped they’d think she was bitchy and litigious.
“You’re not in custody.”
“I’m not?”
“No. You’re free to leave whenever you want.” Purnell tipped his head to the side appraisingly.
“Not before I ask you a question,” Feenie said. “Why am I under surveillance?”
Purnell didn’t answer. Rowe slid the legal pad in front of him, and he pulled some glasses from his pocket and positioned them on the end of his nose. He resembled Feenie’s father reading the Sunday paper, and she guessed he was about the same age.
“Ms. Malone, you were married to Josh Garland for, what, about five years, was it?” Purnell asked.
“Yes.”
“And how long have you been divorced?”
“Officially? About a year and a half. We were separated for six months before that.”
He took out a ballpoint pen and scrawled something on the pad. “No children?”
She blew out a breath. “No.”
“And you still reside at the house on Pecan Street? The one you lived in while married to Josh Garland?”
“Yes,” she answered. She looked at Rowe, but his face was a blank mask. “No offense, but these questions seem a little basic. Don’t you guys have all this already?”
The side of Rowe’s mouth ticked up, but Purnell ignored her. “And you and your ex-husband no longer see each other socially?” Purnell continued.
“No.”
“What about business? Are your finances still intertwined?”
“Definitely not. Feel free to check, if you don’t believe me.”
Something in his expression told her he already had. They were investigators. They probably had a three-inch file on her already. But she knew what they were doing. She employed the same technique whenever she interviewed people for a story. It was simple: Start with easy, comfortable questions, and make sure you know the answers. Watch people’s mannerisms as they respond. That way, when you get to the questions that count, you can tell if they’re lying.
“Can we cut to the chase, please?” she asked. “Surely you must have something to ask me that you don’t already know.”
Irritation flickered over Purnell’s face. “Okay. Ms. Malone, how would you characterize your relationship with Marco Juarez?”
“What does that have to do with Josh? Or my being shot at?”
“We’re just trying to understand the circumstances here.”
She gulped. “We’re…friends, I guess.”
His look sharpened. “Friends? Are you romantically involved?”
Did mind-blowing sex count? “Uh…I guess so.”
“Okay. So, given that you’re romantically involved with Mr. Juarez, would it be fair to assume that you’re helping him with his investigation?”
She didn’t like where this was going. “I thought you wanted to talk about Josh?”
“We do. And Juarez. Could you answer the question, please?”
“Yes, I’m helping him.”
“Is that what you were doing at Cecelia Strickland’s house today? Helping Juarez?”
Feenie bit her lip. “I was visiting my friend.”
“Ms. Malone, since you’re romantically involved with Mr. Juarez, I assume he’s filled you in on his personal connection to your ex-husband.”
Her stomach tightened. “What personal connection?”
“He never told you about Paloma?”
“Paloma?”
“Paloma Juarez?”
Dear God, he was married. She should have known.
“I don’t really know anything about…her.”
Purnell’s eyebrows went up, but she got the impression he wasn’t that surprised. “Really? Well, we should enlighten you. Paloma Juarez was Marco’s sister.”
Sister. Thank you, God.
“He believes Josh Garland had her murdered.”
“What?”
“Several years ago, Paloma Juarez was working on the vice squad in San Antonio. She was investigating a smuggling ring with ties to your ex-husband when she disappeared. She and a federal agent who was working undercover. We believe they were abducted and killed. Together.”
Feenie glanced at Rowe, then back at Purnell.
“Marco’s sister. Was murdered by Josh. Is that what you’re saying?”
Purnell shrugged. “We doubt Josh Garland actually carried out the murder. We have reason to believe he hired someone. Now Mr. Juarez
, it seems, is trying to track that person down. It’s quite possibly the same person who shot at you today.”
She tried to get her mind around it. Marco had a sister, one who had died. He hadn’t told her much about his family, and she’d tried to respect his privacy. Now she felt incredibly stupid. His family was the one that had lost a loved one because of Josh. It was all connected—his sister, his investigation, his obsession with Josh.
His obsession with her.
She slumped in the chair, too shocked to speak. She’d been played all along. Once again, the dumb blonde.
“Marco Juarez has spent the past two years fixated on his sister’s death,” Purnell told her. “The official investigation didn’t go anywhere, because we didn’t Want it leaking out that we had an agent involved. So Mr. Juarez took it upon himself to start snooping around.”
She stared at Purnell, still too stupefied to talk.
“Let me get to the point. We believe Marco Juarez is using you to get to Garland. But his primary objective isn’t Garland at all; it’s his sister’s killer.”
That snapped her out of her silence. “You don’t think he wants Josh? That’s crazy. He’s collected evidence. He’s—”
“We didn’t say he didn’t want Garland. Just that Garland isn’t his only goal. You see, we think he’s hoping your ex-husband will give up his sister’s killer. Juarez wants revenge and probably a body. Garland could provide the first, at least partially, but not the second.”
“So…he wants to track down the man who actually murdered her so he can find out what happened and recover her remains?” Her mind flashed back to the day of Rachel and her mother’s funeral. She knew how important those rituals were. “Can you blame him?”
“Not really. If that’s all he wants. But he’s jeopardizing our investigation in the process.”
“How?”
Purnell looked her over, then turned and nodded at Rowe.
“We believe Juarez may be getting to a breaking point,” Rowe said. “He’s becoming impatient. Everything he’s worked for is finally coming to a head. We believe he might use the information he’s collected so far to blackmail Garland into giving up his hit man. After that, we don’t know what he’ll do. Maybe he’ll kill Garland. Maybe he’ll go after Garland’s hired gun. Unfortunately, if he eliminates either of them, we’re faced with a major setback.”
“The contract killer is likely to be one of our best witnesses against Garland,” Purnell said. “And we need Garland to connect the dots between the other suspects we’re investigating.”
Was this why Marco was so adamant about not turning to the authorities? For once, it made sense. Marco had his own agenda, and it went way beyond seeing Josh behind bars.
“Okay,” she said slowly. “Why don’t you just arrest Josh? Put him in jail and charge him with a crime? I’ve got a laundry list of possibilities.”
Feenie saw the muscle in Purnell’s jaw jump. She’d hit on a touchy point. “We can’t do that yet,” he said. “We need Garland to continue business as usual for a while so we can get to some people even higher up the food chain.”
“Yeah? Like who?” She was pretty sure they wouldn’t answer this, but she was too curious not to ask.
“You ever hear of Manuel Saledo?” Purnell asked.
“No. Should I have?”
“His name was in the news a few years back in connection with something called Operation Money Trace. His brother’s in a federal prison now, but Manuel’s still in Mexico. Seems he’s taken over the family business.”
“I don’t know the man,” Feenie said. She needed to find out if they knew that Saledo’s business involved exploiting young girls. “So, this ‘business as usual’ strategy. Just what type of business—”
“The drugs, the child trafficking, the money, all of it,” Purnell said.
They knew about the girls. It was the one good thing she’d heard out of his mouth.
But why weren’t they doing something about it? She squeezed her eyes closed. It was all so complicated. So sleazy. How did she get entrenched in all this? She opened her eyes.
“Why not just tell Marco to get out of your way?”
Purnell leveled a look at her. “We have our reasons, Ms. Malone. It would work better if you’d influence Juarez for us. Get him to ease off a little, just for the time being. And tip us off if he plans to do anything rash.”
“You want me to spy on him for you? What makes you think I’d do that? He’s my friend.” The words made her feel sick, because they were so far from the truth. He’d lied to her. He’d used her. Still, she wouldn’t spy on him. The last thing she wanted was to be used by yet another party, even if it was the FBI.
“Accessory to murder’s a serious crime, Ms. Malone,” Purnell said.
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a reality. And you may want to remind your boyfriend that he could be looking at life in prison or even the death penalty if he does anything stupid.”
Feenie gulped. Surely Marco wouldn’t go after a professional hit man. Then again, if the guy had killed his sister, who knew what he’d do?
“And in light of today’s events, we should encourage you not to trust him,” Purnell said. “It appears as though he’s using you as bait to lure his sister’s killer out of hiding.”
“That’s ludicrous. He’s been trying to protect me.”
“Where was he today?” Purnell asked.
Feenie started to say something, then bit her lip.
“If our agents hadn’t been nearby, you most likely would have been killed. Probably by the same hit man who killed Paloma Juarez.”
“You make it sound like…Are you telling me you know who he is?” She couldn’t believe it.
“We have a pretty good idea, yes.”
She wanted to smack him, right in that big, fat nose. “So arrest the guy! What are you waiting for?”
“It’s not that simple,” Purnell said. “The suspect’s very elusive. We’ve been looking for him for months, and we still haven’t found him.”
“Well, why aren’t you looking for him now instead of talking to me? This is a waste of time!”
“We’ve got agents working the scene as we speak,” Rowe said.
“I assure you, we take this all very seriously,” Purnell added. “As I said earlier, this is a multiagency operation. We’ve got three years and thousands of man-hours tied up in it. We’d like nothing more than to arrest Garland and his associates and put them away. But we need your help. And you’re in the unique position of being close to Marco Juarez.”
Now, there was a crock.
“Hate to break it to you, but you’re on your own,” Feenie said. “I’ve been lied to and used by just a few too many people, and I’ve had enough.”
“Ms. Malone—”
“I mean it!” She stood up and snatched her purse off the table. “I don’t want any part of Josh or Marco or any of this. I’m done.”
“Unfortunately, it’s too late for that. You’re involved, whether you like it or not.” Purnell pushed his chair back and got to his feet, followed by Rowe. “And you’d be wise to help us apprehend these guys, Ms. Malone, or you could end up their next victim.”
Chapter
17
M a’am, I told you, you need to be on the other side of the yellow tape. Please step back.”
“I want to know who’s in charge here!”
John McAllister recognized the voice and whirled around. Sure enough, Cecelia Wells—Cecelia Strickland, dammit—stood just inside the crime-scene tape surrounding the Gazette entrance. She was arguing with one of the uniforms, who apparently had interpreted her blond hair and petite stature to mean she was a pushover. The cop was attempting to steer her outside the cordoned-off area, but she yanked her arm away from him.
“Get your hands off me! Who’s your boss?” she demanded. “I want to talk to him right now!”
John’s gaze skimmed her. Instead of tennis clothes, today she
wore denim shorts and a bikini top.
Fuck. Her perfect breasts were practically spilling out of the thing. He glanced around. Every male in the vicinity had made the same observation.
“Cecelia?” He walked toward her, trying to block the view.
“McAllister!” She rushed over and grabbed his arm. “Where’s Feenie? What’s going on?”
“Don’t worry, she’s fine.” From the corner of his eye, he saw the officer she’d been talking to glaring at him. John made it a point to avoid pissing off local cops whenever possible. “Let’s get out of the way, and I’ll tell you what I know.”
She continued to grip his arm as he maneuvered her to the edge of the crime scene, lifted the tape, and let her duck under. He ushered her into the alley next to the building.
“I heard there was a shooting?” She looked as if she was about to lose it.
“There was, but no one got hurt,” he said. She didn’t take her hand off his arm, and he wasn’t about to do it for her. “From what I’ve gathered so far, it sounds like someone fired some shots at Feenie when she was leaving the newspaper office about three-thirty.”
“Three-thirty? My God! That’s right when I dropped her off. Is she okay? Where is she?”
Those glistening green eyes combined with her death grip on his arm made it difficult to concentrate.
Cecelia had dropped Feenie off at three-thirty. So Feenie had been arriving at the building when the shooter fired, not leaving it. That put a different spin on things. How had the shooter known where to find her? Feenie wasn’t in the habit of working on Saturdays.
“McAllister? Is she at the hospital?”
“The officials I’ve talked to say she’s being interviewed at a safe location. And that she isn’t injured.” He purposely omitted the fact that those officials were FBI. The information would probably freak her out, and he didn’t want her involved in this situation any more than she already was.
“Who, besides you, knew Feenie would be working today?” he asked. “She doesn’t normally come in on Saturdays.”
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