Page 116 of The Bodyguard

“She’s a woman who wants leniency for Pham, a terrorist.”

“I know who Pham is,” she snapped.

“What you don’t seem to understand is that Mylene has been intimately involved in a foreign-based misinformation campaign,” John replied equally coolly. “Not to mention, she’s part of his network, which understands that if you’re eliminated, you won’t be able to testify—and the case against him crumbles.”

“That’s bullshit. There’s plenty of evidence of exactly what he did to me. What he’s done to everyone.”

“You still don’t understand the threat you’re under.”

Anger flashed down her spine.

“Pham’s a billionaire with a network of killers and a legal firm of A-plus lawyers working around the clock on his defense. To prosecutors, you’re the golden ticket. Angela…” John drew in a deep breath and let it out. “Simply put, the case would be easierto plead down if you were dead. So pardon me if I want you to understand why we have this woman at a black site, chained to the table.”

Angela rubbed her temples. “Can Sawyer come in with me?”

John’s eyebrows arched. “He can watch from where I am. We’ll be less than five feet away.”

“I’d rather he was in the same room.”

John looked over his shoulder and studied Sawyer’s face. Sawyer didn’t offer the behavioral analysist anything to decipher. John pursed his lips. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “Mylene isn’t in a good headspace. Adding another person to the mix might not help with our end goal.”

She bet their end goal wasn’t the same as hers.

John held up his phone. The screen showed a paused video of Mylene. “This is her.”

That woman was definitely the woman Angela had seen over the years, but the Mylene on the screen and the one in Angela’s past were worlds apart. This Mylene was broken. “That’s her?”

John pressed Play.

The video came to life. Mylene sat on the cement floor of a cell, moaning. Her arms wrapped around her knees. She rocked on the floor, occasionally releasing her knees and pulling fistfuls of her tangled hair. In a hoarse voice, she begged to go home. She cried and cackled and curled like a baby, moaning again.

Angela tore her gaze from the screen. “And now she’s cuffed to a table?”

“Secured,” John agreed.

Her pulse quickened. “She doesn’t need to be here. She needs help.”

“Actually,” he countered, “she wants to be here. Remember? She wants to see you.”

She hated John. He simplified—borderline infantilized—them both. Mylene needed psychiatric help, and just like Angela felt for Pham, she did for Mylene. Angela stood. “Then let’s go.” She moved to Sawyer’s side, not trusting John. “Will you make sure you’re on the other side of the door?”

“I’ll be where you want me.”

Her heart squeezed. Sawyer didn’t give two shits about John Patterson’s preferences. His only goal was hers. “Thank you.”

They entered the hallway and followed John around a corner. Two guards were posted outside of a door. Angela’s stomach dropped. She had so many questions for Mylene and felt that none would be answered.

John nodded to one of the guards. They unlocked the door and held it open.

Angela’s heartbeat galloped, and her purpose for being there suddenly disappeared. All she could remember was when Mylene had watched Angela from the sidelines as Pham pretended Angela was Quy Long. Mylene didn’t help. She couldn’t. She was just there.

Angela forced her clenched jaw to relax and then walked in. There sat the woman she’d seen from afar. The pained face from John’s video had nothing on the pain that radiated from the woman cuffed to the metal table.

The dark hollows of Mylene’s eyes pleaded when she saw Angela.

That desperation punched Angela in the chest. “Mylene.”

Mylene sniffed with her runny nose. “You know my name?”

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