Page 11 of Bad Situation

I get up and walk through stacked boxes to go to my fridge in the tiny-ass apartment I just moved into to grab another beer. When I get back to my computer, I switch up my thought process. Instead of looking through Jen’s files, I start reading through Bree’s. I have no idea what kind of agent she is, but her work will show me her thought process.

I try to put Jen out of my mind. I’m not only anxious to see what she says in the interview tomorrow, but also how she acts.

Or reacts.

To me.

She never called. Unless she didn’t find the business card I left behind. But it was front and center in her drawer—no way she could have missed it. Her not calling supports my notion that the woman is smart. She has no business talking to the FBI after being served a warrant without her attorney present. Only an idiot would do that.

It still doesn’t change the fact I need to talk to her. I have no clue how to rationalize the fact that watching her caused me to lose my damn mind. That I’ve worked undercover for years and, unless I wanted to fuck one of the skanks those motherfuckers kept around to enjoy as a side piece instead of their wives, there was no way for me to meet a woman without putting her in danger. Not if I didn’t want to get my hand chopped off by the mafia or my balls busted by the FBI for blowing my cover.

I like all my extremities right where they are, especially my balls.

Since I didn’t want the drama or the STDs that could’ve resulted from a quick fuck while under, the only relationship I’ve had recently is with my right hand.

I need to see Jensen Montgomery. Alone. I need to make her listen. I need to talk to her so I can explain.

And I didn’t think it was possible for my dick to give a shit about which way a case went, but right about now, it’s praying to the sex gods that Jen Montgomery is innocent. Because my gut tells me she is.

I just need to prove it.

*****

Jen has avoided eye contact with me since we were ushered into the conference room. She’s done such a bang-up job of evading my presence, I might as well be a ghost.

The tension in the air has gotten thicker by the moment. What started out as an innocent line of questioning has turned into a witch hunt by Bree. I’ve only worked in the Dallas Field Division for a matter of days but I can tell the woman is out for blood. If she doesn’t watch it, this’ll bite her in the ass in court. We’re not prosecutors; we’re investigators.

“Solocode Intel?”

Jen glances at her attorney and when he gives her the nod, she looks back at Bree and answers as she has over and over. “No.”

“Zaamtech, Inc?” Bree keeps going.

This time Jen doesn’t get the go-ahead to answer and I can see her patience dissolving, her tone as hard as a rock. “No.”

“Betaway?” Bree keeps clicking off the list of companies involved.

Jen leans forward and just when I think she’s about to come apart, one of her many attorneys butts in. “That’s the ninth company you’ve rattled off. I think it’s clear my client doesn’t know what you’re talking about or to whom you’re referring. If you’d please get to the point, we’d appreciate it.”

Bree sits back in her chair, smug as a Cheshire cat who just caught her own dinner single-handedly. “Montgomery Industries is in the process of purchasing Birmingham Refining and delisting it on the exchange, taking it private. Am I right?”

“That’s no secret,” Patrick says. “It’s been in the works for ages and has been filed with the SEC. Hell, it’s all over the business news channels.”

Bree sits back, levels her eyes on him and is so sure of herself that I’m surprised she doesn’t announce Checkmate. “I’ve just named a list of shell corporations that have connections to Birmingham Refining. In fact, all of these companies—which are fake—have been buying shares left and right for the last five months. We got a tip from the SEC that a majority of Birmingham’s shares were purchased after their stock prices dipped to an all-time low.”

“They’re still a publicly traded company. What does that have to do with my client?” another attorney asks.

“Your client,” Bree pauses and nods to Jen, “had Excel files on her hard drive with the exact amounts matching the stock purchases. Every single one.”

“No—” Jen’s voice rises as she lifts from her seat before her attorney catches her by the arm. Her eyes jump to him as she twists her arm out of his hold and swings her head back to Bree. “That’s not true. I’ve never heard of any of those companies, let alone worked with them. Where did you get this information?”

“Birmingham Refining is a publicly traded company, as you said. It’s not hard to find.” Bree explains.

“That’s bullshit—” Jen spits but Patrick Moss cuts her off.

“Enough.” He gives her a look that says shut the fuck up before turning back to Bree. “I need a list of those corporations.”

The side of Bree’s mouth curves up in the corner as she looks to Dean, who’s not said one word, but does her bidding and slides a sheet of paper across the table. The attorney doesn’t look at it, but rather hands it aside to another man who pores over it with hungry eyes.

---