122 Rules (36 page)

Angel scoffed, the words failing to intimidate her. “Fine. She overheard some mob guys planning a hit, and the FBI needed her as a witness so they could put them in jail. Only instead of protecting her, they stuck her in a shitty little town in the middle of nowhere. The bad guys found her and blew up her house.”

“So you’re telling me she survived being blown up in her house?”

“No.” Angel huffed and rolled her eyes. “
Obviously
she wasn’t in the house. Her boss, Lisa, was. Look, we’ve been driving for days. Someone from the mob almost killed us, twice, and for all we know, he’s still out there. Are you going to call someone to come help us or not?”

The receptionist’s pinched face spoke to her exasperation, but instead of asking them to leave, she sized Monica up. “Who was the defendant you were testifying against?”

“Laven Michaels.”

For a second, the woman’s eyes widened. She picked up a phone and whispered into it, then returned the receiver to its cradle. “Someone will be down in a few minutes. Please take a seat.” She pointed to a bench on the other side of the foyer.

Once they made it out of earshot, Monica leaned over, giggling. “‘Shouldn’t you be writing this down?’ Girl, you have balls. Big, brass ones.”

“It’s all about intimidation with these people.”

“How do you know all this?”

Angel shrugged. “Haven’t you ever watched TV?”

A few minutes later, a nondescript man in a dark suit approached them. “Hello, ladies. I am Special Agent Martin, please come with me.” He led them to a handle-less door.

Fear and trepidation gripped Monica’s heart as their new friend typed in a number on an inset keypad.

“What is it?” Angel asked her.

“
Déjà vu
.”

“Well, love, it’s what’s gotta be done. I’ll be with you this time.”

That helped, though it didn’t entirely quell the quaking in her heart.

The lock buzzed open, and they stepped across the threshold.

47

Monica’s sense of
déjà vu
deepened as Martin lead them down a familiar white hallway and back to a small room that could have been the twin of the one she’d been in before. The sensory recall slammed into her like a speeding New York taxi.

He set up three chairs around a small round table and left.

Monica couldn’t sit and began pacing. “Ang, are you sure about this?”

“It’s a hell of a time to have second thoughts. You know there really isn’t any other choice. What else are we going to do? Keep running for the rest of our lives?”

Monica stopped. “It’s an option.”

“It’s
not
an option. Besides, this time you’re not alone. Between the two of us, we’ll kick their ass.”

She frowned. “You mean like at the restaurant?”

Angel took a seat as though she had the whole thing figured out. “Look, we had it under control. If that Peter guy hadn’t shown up, we’d have thought of something. Besides, compared to the mob, these FBI guys should be a walk in the park. At least they have to follow the rules.”

Monica heard Angel’s words, but she didn’t believe them. The FBI had been in control of her life—dictating what she could and couldn’t do, flying her in to testify, questioning her every move, listening in to her conversations, herding her like they were sheepdogs and she the only member of the flock—for so long, she didn’t remember how it felt to not be under their thumb. They made the rules and seemed free to change them at any time to suit their needs.

A half hour later, Martin returned, carrying a clipboard and a pen. He took the empty seat. “Hello, ladies. Sorry for the wait.”

What had taken thirty minutes? Another intimidation technique? A chance for them to change their minds?

Angel must have wondered the same thing. “Where have you been? Why did it take you so long to get something to write on?”

Martin stared at her. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Angel Humbolt, and I don’t like being kept waiting unnecessarily.”

“Noted.” Martin wrote something on the clipboard. He turned to Monica. “I understand you are Monica Sable?”

She nodded.

“And you are in Witness Protection?”

“Yes. My new name, my alias, is Susan Rosenberg.”

“I see.” Martin scribbled some more on his clipboard.

“We are here to see Jon.” Angel tapped the table, an impatient look broadcast on her face.

“So I’ve been told.”

Angel held up her hands. “Well?”

“Well, I need to confirm your story before we can contact him.”

Angel pushed Martin’s clipboard onto the table, staring him in the eyes. “It’s not a story. Your agents screwed up, and if it weren’t for her quick thinking, she’d be dead.”

He continued to stare at Angel, but asked Monica, “Where were you relocated to, Ms. Sable?”

“Walberg, Arizona. It’s a total shithole.”

“Do you have identification?” The agent turned his attention to Monica.

She dug out her Arizona driver’s license. “I don’t have my real one. The agents took it.”

“I will need your identification too.” He spoke at Angel but did not bother to look her way.

Angel frowned at Martin. “Why?”

“Standard procedure.”

“It’s the line they use for everything illegal they do,” Monica informed her.

Angel pulled out her California driver’s license and handed it to him.

Martin studied their IDs then stood. “Please be patient, ladies. I’ll be back.” He opened the door to leave.

“Wait,” Angel called.

He turned, his eyebrows raised as he regarded her.

“Can you do something about these?” She picked up one of Monica’s hands, showing him the handcuffs.

“Probably. Once we run the police reports to verify you aren’t wanted, we’ll talk about it.” With that, he left.

“Jesus, really?” Angel flipped off the closed door.

“Really. This is pretty much what happened last time. I was pissed the first time too. I think they leave you in here to wear you down.”

According to Angel’s watch, which they had to rely on this time, Martin had been gone for over an hour when the door opened again.

“It’s about time…” Angel’s eyes grew wide when a different agent entered the room. “Who are you?”

Amusement flicked across the man’s face. “You must be Angel. I’ve heard so much about you. My name is Jon.”

“You’re Jon?” Angel appraised him. “You’re shorter than I pictured.”

He chuckled. “And you’re
exactly
the way I pictured.”

They sat opposite each other, squaring off in silence for a few heartbeats.

He then turned to Monica. “You surprised me. First of all, we closed your case because we thought you were dead. If it wasn’t your ashes they pulled from that house, whose were they?”

Angel threw her hands up in the air. “Seriously? You don’t know?”

“Well, sometimes even we don’t know everything. See, that’s why we interview witnesses, to gather all the information.” He turned back to Monica. “So, if you know the answer, please enlighten me.”

“That was my boss, Lisa Bunder. She owns...owned the lawyer’s office where I worked.”

“Ah, that explains that.”

“That explains what?” Angel leaned in as she had done with Martin. “If you want information from us, it has to be give and take. Monica was kept in the dark too long.”

Jon’s eyes lit up with an emotion resembling amusement. “It explains the missing persons report filed by Lisa’s husband. He was the primary suspect in a foul play investigation. Seems they had a very…tumultuous relationship. We had a working theory he got tired of her and did something about his little problem.”

Monica nodded. “Yes, she and her husband had issues, and sometimes, she stayed the night with me. She was a pain in the ass, but she was my friend. Your agents messed up, and because of that, she’s dead.”

“That may be true, but it seems that
you
were the one who messed up.”

Angel slammed her fists down on the table. “What are you talking about? It’s the job of the—”

Jon held up a hand and turned back to Monica. “See, my people tried to keep you safe, but you tried to escape on several occasions. You were mean to the agents, hid information, emailed in secret.”

“How did you—“ Monica began.

“Others in town, unlike you, are very forthcoming with information.”

“Mary Beth. I should have been more careful around her.”

He neither confirmed nor denied her accusation. “So.” He pierced her with his cutting eyes. “Not only that, but as soon as you got your tracking device off you left town with some guy, then told him your actual name.”

“Hey!” Angel grabbed Monica’s hand and squeezed. “Look, she was in a hard spot. You stuck her out in the middle of nowhere, and she had to leave everyone she knew. She did everything—well almost everything—you asked her to.
You
needed her, not the other way around. I expect you to treat her with respect.
She’s
not the criminal here.”

Jon shifted his gaze back to Angel. “Well, because of her, someone died. That sounds criminal to me.”

“No. Someone died because she was helping you,” Angel bit back.

Monica sighed. “He’s right. Lisa died because I told Peter my name, and he tried to kill me but missed.”

“Mon, no.”

“It’s like you’ve been telling me all these years. I fight the system, and this time someone besides me got hurt.”

“Please, Monica,” Jon said, “it would help us greatly to know about the man you met.”

Monica gave a brief synopsis of the night she and Peter had spent together.

“So, you don’t have a picture of this guy?” Jon asked.

Monica shook her head. “We were only together that night. It wasn’t like I was asking for mementos or anything. I told him to leave, and he obliged.”

“I see.” Jon added more to the pages of notes he’d been taking. “Well, we’ll run Peter Morrell and Tom Phillips through the system, but my guess is they are both aliases. We’ll see if there is any video footage, maybe a traffic cam, but Walberg probably doesn’t have any.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences.” Angel, who’d been quiet, reinserted herself into the conversation.

“Nor do I. But his physical description doesn’t match anyone we have on file. It could be he’s a new player. He could have been the one to plant the bomb.”

Angel shook her head. “That doesn’t seem likely.”

“Oh? And what makes you think that?” Jon folded his hands into a triangle against his lips.

“Well, because,” Angel informed him, “the most likely culprit was Tyron, the mobber.”

“Excuse me? You mean Tyron Erebus, Laven Michaels’ hitman?”

Monica considered jumping into the middle of the conversation, but Angel seemed to have it well in hand. “You tell me. All I know is that he almost killed us twice yesterday. If you’re looking for who probably planted the bomb, I’d start there.”

“You survived an encounter with Tyron? That seems highly unlikely.”

“Where exactly do you think she got those?” Angel pointed at the handcuffs. “Tiffany’s? Look at my face. Do you see the bruises where he hit me? God, you’re such a moron.”

Jon sighed. “All right, tell me what happened.”

So Monica began a monologue, with interjections and clarifying remarks from Angel. Jon looked suspicious at first, but as their story continued, he resumed his note-taking.

“This was last night?” He glanced up from the paper.

“Yes.”

“And you said he killed the two guys at the pizza place?”

“One of them fell on the griddle,” Monica said.

“It was nasty.” Angel shivered.

“Then this Peter shot his way in and tackled the guy?”

“Yes.”

“Then you ran away.”

Angel held up a finger. “Yes, but not before he shot Lisa’s laptop.”

“Oh, right.” Monica nodded.

“He shot your computer?” Jon scribbled in his notebook. “You mean Lisa Bunder’s laptop?”

“She left it in the car. We were using it to get directions,” Monica explained.

“But before we left, Peter grabbed it and threw it in the air and shot it.” Angel made a firing motion. “Blam! Told us it had been compromised. Then we left.”

“No.” Monica bit the inside of her lip as she recalled Peter’s exact words. “He said not to log on to my email account any more.
That
was what had been compromised.”

“Oh, that’s right. It all happened pretty fast.”

Jon rubbed his forehead.

“Okay, so now you have what you need.” Angel crossed her arms as she settled back against the seat. “What can we do about getting Mon’s life back? You got your guy, now she should get what she’s earned.”