Page 83 of Big Bad Wolfe

“There’s Lynn, reliably on time as always,” she said. “Would you let her in, please? I don’t want the cookies to burn.”

“Anything to get to sink my teeth into your hot cookies, sweetheart.”

With her lilting laughter swirling around him, he strode to the door.

Lynn’s tasteful makeup, impeccably styled hair, pale pink suit and heels were a startlingly formal contrast to Jillian’s relaxed attire. And she wasn’t alone. Her husband stood beside her, also dressed to impress, flanked by Wentworth and another man who carried a camera.

“Hello again, Mr. Wolfe.” Reynolds greeted him with a toothy smile. If he was surprised to see Zane answering Jillian’s door, he didn’t show it. But then the good old boys who networked in D.C. were masters at playacting.

“Actually, it’s FBI Special Agent Wolfe.” Zane purposefully didn’t let them in the house as he covertly watched both men’s reactions to his announcement.

Reynolds’ jaw hardened—almost—imperceptibly and his eyes cooled, but his smile didn’t dim a watt. “Special Agent, is it then?”

Wentworth’s pale complexion bleached a shade paler, his narrow eyes narrowing further. “I hope there’s no trouble.”

“I told you both about the vandalism at the center,” Lynn said.

Reynolds frowned. “Vandalism doesn’t fall under FBI jurisdiction.”

“I’m here as Jillian’s friend.” Zane indicated the guy with the camera. “Speaking of, who’syourfriend?”

“This is my publicist, Larry. I have another check for the Center and he’s documenting my donation.”

Nothing like using underprivileged kids for political gain. Zane ran his tongue around his teeth. “Ms. Ramsay has been the target of anonymous harassment lately. No photos in or around her home.”

“Look here, Wolfe,” Wentworth huffed. “Congressman Reynolds is an extremely charitable benefactor to the Hope Center. And if Ms. Ramsay would like his handouts to continue, it’s in her best interests to fully cooperate with all publicity efforts.”

“You know, Carson,” Zane said pleasantly. “That sounded an awful lot like extortion.”

As Carson blanched, Reynolds clapped his assistant on the back. “Simmer down, Wentworth. We aren’t here to strong-arm the girl. It is, after all, all about the kids.”

Yeah, and I’m a fucking ballerina.Zane returned the Congressman’s phony smile with one of his own. “We appreciate your understanding. I’m closing in on the scumbag who’s stalking Ms. Ramsay. It shouldn’t be too much longer before we start making arrests.”

Let’s see if that bit of intel shakes any rats—or ferrets—loose and sends them into a panicked scramble to cover their tracks.

Jillian walked up behind Zane. “Hi. The cookies are done. What’s taking so long?”

Zane moved just enough so she could stand in the doorway beside him. “The Congressman brought another check for the Center and we were having a chat.”

“Oh, how nice. Thank you.” She flicked Zane a puzzled sideways glance. “I’m sorry to keep you all out on the porch. Won’t you come in?”

“No … no.” Reynolds handed Jillian the check. His publicist automatically started to raise his camera, but a glare from Zane made him quickly lower it. Reynolds cleared his throat. “You girls have a lot of arrangements to finalize for the fundraising gala, so we’ll be on our way.”

“Thank you again for the donation,” Jillian said. “The children benefit so much from your generosity.”

Or blood money.

“A worthwhile cause.” Reynolds brushed a kiss on his wife’s cheek. “Phone me when you need a ride home, dear, and I’ll send Carson with the car.”

The three men turned and walked toward the luxury SUV parked at the curb.

Zane stepped back, finally allowing Lynn entry.

The flustered woman hurried inside, hot pink flags streaking her regal cheekbones. “Please accept my apologies for Wade. I asked himnotto bring a photographer to your house, but you know how stubborn men can be when they get their hard heads set on something.”

“Do I ever,” Jillian replied. “Let’s go into the kitchen, I just made cookies.”

“I am terribly sorry though, Jillian.”

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