Page 53 of Witness Security Breach

Charlie was dressed and on her feet, moving toward him before the door shut behind him. “Where have you been? Are you all right? I’ve been worried sick about you. I checked the business center and the front desk to see if you got your own room.”

Good thing he’d used a computer at a different hotel. Otherwise he would’ve got sidetracked. He set the documents on the bed and handed her a coffee and a bag with her sandwich and half the order of beignets.

“What is this?” she asked, sounding bewildered.

“Breakfast and leverage,” he said coolly, nodding to the pages.

She stared at him wide-eyed. “Where did you sleep?”

“Didn’t. You?”

She shook her head, her eyes looking haunted.

He bit into a beignet. Warm and deep-fried and sweet, it hit the spot. He held up the pastry. “You should try one. You’ll like it, Killinger.”

She flinched at his use of her last name and grew overtly edgy.

If she wanted to play the he-was-her-brother game, he’d do her one better and play the they-were-only-partners game.

“We’re going to get Albatross back,” he said, trying to prevent things from getting unbearably awkward.

They were forced to be together, but he’d get his own room or, to conserve their limited cash, at least switch to double beds. The more professional he kept their interaction, the easier it’d make things.

No compromising positions. No embarrassing confessions. No kissing. No touching.

Stick to business and the monumental task at hand.

“How?” she asked.

“Blackmail.”

For the rest of the morning, they walked on eggshells around each other and avoided eye contact as he showed her the printouts and they hashed out a quasi plan.

They had to buy Edgar time and they had the power to do it. That was the easy part.

The rest would be tricky. There were too many variables beyond their control to know if it’d work. They had everything to lose, but it was their best chance. The key to success was proper redirection. Fortunately, Killinger was an expert at it and he was a quick learner.

He picked up the phone and dialed a number he’d written down last night.

The phone rang and was answered. “You’ve reached the FBI field office of New Orleans.”

He listened to the automated menu and hit the number for the prompt that he wanted. As luck would have it, someone answered on a Saturday. “This is Agent Simmons. How can I help you?”

“Hello, I’m calling from the US Marshals office. I was wondering if Agent Bryan McCaffrey was in today,” Aiden said, inquiring about the special agent in charge of the office, according to the website.

Most FBI field offices were open seven days a week and some of the larger ones worked around the clock. With a smaller office such as New Orleans, there was no telling if the boss would be in on a Saturday.

“Yes, sir. He is. May I ask what this call is regarding?”

“I had some questions following a hunch on a case I’m working and wanted to discuss something with him.” Aiden didn’t actually want to talk to McCaffrey; he’d called only to find out his schedule for the day. “On second thought, something just occurred to me. I think I should get some additional information first, get my ducks in a row before I bother him. How late is he going to be there today?”

“Well, he works from seven to seven.”

“Is he just committed or going through a divorce?” Aiden asked, recalling that when Draper had been hired to take over the San Diego office, he had been going through a divorce and had worked twelve-to sixteen-hour days, as well.

“Both,” the agent said. “Can I get your name to pass along to him? I’ll give him a heads-up to expect a call later.”

“Thank you.” Aiden hung up and nodded to Charlie. “He’ll be in. Let’s go.”