Baldwin sighed, sounding put out, and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. He opened it up, keeping it in his hand, and held it up to Angela's face.
Angela compared the information on the badge to the driver's license. She was already pretty sure the badges were legitimate, but if Mario was trying to bust her, this would be one hell of a way to go about doing it. Baldwin held up a Washington, D.C., license. Peel did the same. Their information matched.
"What do you want?" she asked, deciding they could go to hell if they wanted verbal confirmation that she was who they claimed she was.
"I just told you." Baldwin took back his badge and secured it to his belt, then shoved his wallet in his back pocket. "Tell your date you're leaving."
"He will want to take me wherever I go."
"That's fine. If he insists on returning you to your hotel room at the Drake," Baldwin said, narrowing his gaze on her and giving her a look that said they knew all about her. "Let him take you. If for any reason he diverts his course and tells his driver to take you somewhere else, we will have him pulled over. While the police are detaining his car, you will insist you don't like cops and tell Mandela you'll grab a cab. You'll slip out of the car before he can stop you. If he tries to detain you, the officers who pulled him over will prevent him from doing so and let you go. Do you have any questions?"
"Quite a few." Angela flashed her smile at the two of them, although she doubted it looked sincere. They were busting up her investigation, which pissed her off more than she would let them know. All she could do was go along with them. "I don't like this," she added, sighing. "I've put in just over a year learning everything I could about the game." She held her ground, studying both their blank expressions. "I don't want to be ordered off this investigation."
The look they both gave her let her know they'd heard that line one too many times. Angela opened her mouth to ask what they were planning on doing. Whether they liked it or not, she was on the inside. Angela wasn't opposed to working with the FBI. It sure as hell beat being tossed to the side and not getting any credit for a year of dedication to the investigation.
"We don't have any say in that matter, miss," Peel informed her before she could say anything else. He didn't sound apologetic or concerned. He just stated the facts. "We're following orders and you need to do the same."
Neither one of them needed to threaten her with arrest. Angela understood how it worked. They were FBI. If they wanted the case, they took it. Even the local cops could lose a case to the FBI if the Bureau decided it would be that way.
Angela turned around and strutted out of the room, outraged and upset at the same time. At least returning to their table didn't require she mask all of her emotions. She really was upset when she explained to Mario that there had been a family emergency.
"My father's secretary just contacted me. My grandmother has had a stroke."
"Why did they call the restaurant and not your cell phone?" Mario asked, the question sensible, which was why she'd immediately brainstormed to come up with a believable answer, and a clever one, too, at that. Especially if Mario did know more about her than he'd let on.
"My sister is the only one I've told about you," she offered, sliding into her chair and clasping her purse in her lap. "She doesn't live with my father, either, but has been visiting these past few months. When Grandmother collapsed, she told my father's secretary where we were dining."
Mario accepted her explanation without a blink of an eye and did insist on returning her to the Drake, as she'd anticipated. He didn't alter his course, and fifteen minutes later his limo pulled under the awning outside the front of the hotel.
Mario hadn't said a word during their drive, nor had he touched her. Her insides twisted further, although he made no show of sharing his thoughts with her or taking anything out on her. The limo stopped and he placed his hand over hers before she turned to the door.
"Before you start apologizing," he began, giving her a knowing look with his piercing dark, opaque eyes, "remember family always comes first. I'll call you later."
She hadn't planned on apologizing but bailing quickly. "I'm sorry. I can't help saying it." She offered a small and, she hoped, sincere-looking smile. "Your concern for family is admirable. Unfortunately, my family isn't worth being too concerned over." She held on to her cover and watched to see his expression change to disapproval, anything. When he kept his feelings masked behind his grave stare, Angela guessed something else was preoccupying his thoughts and probably he didn't mind getting rid of her since he might not need an alibi any longer. "I would much rather spend the evening with you than pacing sanitary hospital hallways. But I couldn't say no, now could I?"
"Of course not." He let go of her hand. "Dinner was quite enjoyable, mi amore," he said, lowering his voice as he brushed his knuckles down her cheek. "I didn't get to discuss our travel plans. You will come with me while I travel on business, yes?"
"It sounds fun." Angela's going along with whatever he said at the moment would allow her to get out of the car faster. "Give me a call later."
She managed to step out of the car. Albert was there, holding the car door for her and gallantly offering his hand, although if she leaned on the old man Angela would bet they'd both topple to the ground. Mario looked noticeably pleased when he strutted around the back side of his limo and came up to her, ignoring Albert, who moved out of the way easily.
Mario wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her up against his body. "You are an incredibly beautiful woman, amore," he whispered, lowering his lips to hers.
Angela wouldn't be surprised if the FBI was watching. If the agents were, they probably had been for a while. They would know she'd never kissed Mario before. Although she despised the chaste kiss, she allowed it, then lowered her head, ending it easily.
"I need to go," she said quietly.
"Of course." He released her and moved to the back door Angela had hopped out of. Tomas was already standing there, a quiet giant, as still as a statue and not focusing on either one of them but patiently waiting for his boss to climb in so he could close the door.
Albert caught her eye and smiled. She started toward him, seeing how anxious he was to help escort her inside. When she turned to tell Mario good night, he'd already returned to the backseat and Tomas was sliding into the driver's seat. She watched the long, regal-looking vehicle pull out of the circular drive in front of the Drake, then glanced around, trying to look casual but shifting her attention from car to car. There was no way to tell whether anyone was watching her or not.
And honestly, what had just happened? Neither agent at the restaurant had told her officially to leave the case alone. One of them had mentioned something about debriefing her, but she'd been left with no specific instructions. If the FBI pulled her off the investigation, did they find Jake, too? Somehow, she didn't see that scene going down well at all.
Albert escorted her through the doors to the hotel, and she managed to slip away from him without too much small talk and start across the lobby. Angela pulled out her phone and texted Jake. She typed: Drake, stared at the one word, and pushed Send as the elevators opened on her floor. She stared down the hallway toward her suite at two men who were leaning against the wall. They straightened when they spotted her. One of them cupped his hand to his ear, and his mouth moved, indicating he was talking to someone. Her phone buzzed in her hand. She stared at the message.
I'm dodging suits. How about you?
Crap.
She responded: Big-time. Then without giving it much thought, since she barely had a minute before agents would be around her, she added to the text message: Did you find my sister? Angela clicked Send and dropped her phone into her purse.
"Angela Torres?" A middle-aged man, who sounded friendly, flashed his badge in her face as she approached her room. He moved in next to her, lowering his voice, when she pulled out her card key to unlock her door. "Or should I say 'Angela Huxtable'?"
The last t
hing she wanted was anyone seeing FBI outside her hotel suite. For whatever reason, the FBI was all over her. If she made a show of cooperating, maybe they'd let her stay on the case. She'd heard where it had happened before. Private investigators had been known to assist the FBI from time to time. Her best guess was they'd been working the case as long as she had, clear back to Tijuana. Now that everything was building to a head, they were moving in to claim the action. It wouldn't look good for the feds if a local private investigator made the bust on such a large criminal activity as the game. God forbid she steal their limelight.
"We need you to come with us." The agent put his hand out, blocking her from sliding her card through the lock to open her door.
She glanced at the agent speaking, then at his partner, who now stood on the other side of her. "I'm not going anywhere dressed like this," she said, keeping her voice calm. "Not to mention, I'm sure you understand that I can't leave with you. It would blow my cover, which would not only put my life in serious danger but cause Mandela to run, or alter his plans. If you're here, I'm guessing you realize how close I am to shutting down the game for good."
"We have confirmation that Mandela is driving in the direction of his home. He doesn't suspect anything, or maybe he has other matters that are more important than you," the second agent offered.
Angela shrugged. She was being polite. They didn't need to be pricks. "I'm not leaving with you." She ignored the agent's hand and slid her card key into her lock. "And I am changing clothes. I would appreciate it if you didn't stand outside my suite while I do so." She pushed open her suite door and stepped inside, turning to face them. Neither one of them would be able to say a word in their reports about her not being cooperative or being rude.
The agent who was wired cupped his hand to his ear again. It was nice to see that even the FBI didn't have perfect equipment. Obviously it was hard for him to hear whoever was on the other end. He mumbled something under his breath, listened as he stared at the floor, then responded. "Roger that," he said, reaching for her hotel room door at the same time when she would have let it close in their faces. "Miss Huxtable, we need a bit of your time. I'm sure you don't wish to interfere with national security and I know you understand the importance of this investigation, since you've been on this case for over a year now."
His smug grin didn't intimidate her. "It sounds like you've known where I've been for quite a while then," she said, keeping her expression serious as she placed her hand on the door. "Another hour won't hurt anything. I'm changing clothes."
"If you make any attempt to flee, or to contact Mandela, it will be viewed as interference with this investigation," the second agent told her.
"Now why the hell would I want to jeopardize this investigation?" she snapped, about done with all of their pompous attitudes. "Unlike you, I don't care who slaps on the cuffs. As long as this nightmare ends. If you have any idea how despicable the game is," she ranted, barely managing to whisper, and deciding not to mention her desperation to find her sister. If they thought Angela's interest in the investigation was too personal, they'd yank her off of it even faster. She snapped her mouth shut, pressed her lips into a thin line, and gave each of them a reprimanding stare "I just need a few minutes to change."
The first agent braced his arm, keeping his hand flat on the door and preventing it from shutting in their faces. He reached into his shirt pocket with his free hand and pulled out a card. "Call my cell as soon as you've changed clothes. We'll wait for you in the lobby."
Angela nodded, accepted the card, and took her hand off the door. "Fine. I'll call you. And thank you. You try spending an evening in heels. You'd want out of them, too."
The agents' expressions didn't change, but the one took his hand off the door. It closed quietly, the lock clicking into place. Angela leaned against it, staring into her dark suite as she let out a loud breath.
"Well, this sucks," she muttered, kicking off her shoes and pulling her phone out of her purse at the same time.
This was her case. If Jake proved where the kidnapped victims were, and especially if they were drugged, she was almost guaranteed an arrest.
Angela walked through her suite, taking her time looking at everything as she tried remembering how she'd left the place. Jake had her so worked up and upset when he'd stormed out, informing her she deserved better, and had left her naked on the bed. His end of his phone conversation had made no sense to her, yet she'd applied so many different possible meanings to it, she'd been sick to her stomach by the time she'd left her hotel suite, she had almost forgotten to put away her equipment. The suite appeared untampered with, but the FBI would be able to enter and do as they pleased in here without her knowing.
Heading to her closet, she squatted in front of her suitcase and shoved her clothes aside. All of her surveillance equipment appeared to be just as she'd left it. She pulled out the small black box and turned it on, holding it in her hand as she reached for her sweeper. It wouldn't hurt to go over her room and make sure no new bugs had shown up while she'd been gone. Even if the FBI possibly had equipment that was more top-of-the-line than what Angela owned, it brought some peace of mind when there didn't appear to be any listening devices hidden anywhere around her. The black box grabbed her attention, though. Mario was having one hell of an excited conversation with someone in Italian.
"Good God! Slow down," she hissed, unable to catch even a word here or there.
Mario was coming through loud and clear. But he spoke so quickly Angela couldn't catch more than a word or two and even then didn't have a clue how to spell them to enter them into her online translator.
She changed clothes as she listened. The only thing she could confirm was that Mario was pissed as hell. Angela didn't need a translator to figure that out.
Once she was in comfortable shorts, a tank top with a jogging bra on underneath, socks, and tennis shoes, Angela pushed the button to call Jake.
"Are you at the hotel?" Jake asked when he answered, not bothering with hellos. It sounded as if he was driving.
Suddenly it seemed another lifetime ago when he'd left her lying naked on his bed after his phone wouldn't stop ringing. At the time it had seemed such a big deal; now she didn't find herself caring. They'd reached out to each other when their investigations hit rough waters. If they were in a relationship, that was how it would be. Although it was also how good partners treated each other.
"I just got here. What's going on?" Once she had an update on his evening, she could then tell him about hers. Angela needed him to explain what had happened on his end. Maybe it would make her end make more sense.
"I'm coming back from the airport. We just made a bust."
"What?" she yelled into the phone. "What bust? What are you talking about?"
"We need to talk in person." Jake sounded too calm. Too serious and in command.
Angela's skin prickled. Something was seriously wrong. "That's easier said than done. I thought you had a scrambler on your phone."
"I do. So the suits are on your ass, too?"
"Unfortunately. I bought a few minutes by insisting that I change clothes. The FBI provided an escort back to my hotel room from the restaurant where Mario and I were," she offered. There wasn't time to drag everything out of Jake. "But what kind of bust are you talking about? Mario wasn't arrested."
"Okay, let me think." Jake didn't answer her question. "The feds are all over you, and they're all over me. We need to debrief."
"I agree with you there." She began pacing, glaring at the carpet while gripping the phone to her ear. "There were two agents at my door when I came up to my room. They're waiting in the lobby for me."
"Listen to me, Angela." Jake's voice was deep, raspy, as if he'd just gone through one hell of a workout. Images of all that muscle, taut and glistening with perspiration, brought her pacing to a halt.
"I'm listening," she said, her voice cracking. Thinking of Jake like that would make concentrating another story. And there was
n't time to lust over a man who possibly had a long list of women wanting him right along with her.
"Neither one of us has broken any laws. The FBI wants us out of the way so they can claim the glory when they take down the game. But you can walk away from those agents and they aren't going to arrest you. We need to find a place to meet."
"You didn't hear me. They're waiting for me in the lobby," Angela stressed.
"Here is what you're going to do. Put on plain clothes, nothing revealing. Wrap your hair up around your head. Do your best to make yourself as nondescript as possible. You're a breathtakingly beautiful woman, Angela. It's very easy to pick you out of a crowd."
Angela didn't say anything. She didn't want to admit how his words affected her. She caught herself staring at herself in the mirror, though, listening to his deep baritone stroke her senses.
"Wash off all that makeup, pull that luscious black mane of yours up, and take the service elevator down to the back side of the Drake. Leave through the kitchen if you have to. Don't be afraid of the FBI. They don't want us on the case. You don't want to talk to them. Keep your confidence up and don't let them intimidate you."
Angela snapped out of her trance. "The suits don't intimidate me," she informed him. "No one does. And fine. I'll be behind the Drake in a few minutes. But you aren't coming here. Not if they are on your ass, too."
She needed control of the situation, and in order to achieve that she needed all the facts. Obviously Jake was worked up. He needed to explain in detail what had happened to instigate this bust.
"Here's what we're going to do," she said before he could speak. "I'll grab a taxi here in a few minutes." There wasn't a lot of time to think this through, but Angela couldn't come up with a better idea. She prayed she wasn't slitting both of their throats. "Type this address into your GPS." Angela gave him her home address.
* * *
It really did surprise her that she made it out of the Drake, flagged down a taxi, and half an hour later was walking up the dark steps to her front porch. She hadn't been home in almost a week, and somehow entering her home made everything from the past week seem distant somehow. It wasn't, though. Angela headed across her dark living room to her thermostat and adjusted it so that her central air kicked on. Not only was this case erupting all around them, but dodging the FBI would make matters more complicated also. She and Jake needed to talk, though. Once they both knew everything they had to share, she had no problem seeking out the agents. It made more sense to do it on her time, when she was prepared.
Bounty Hunters: 03 Stay Hungry Page 27