Page 74 of Tangled
A beat of silence filled the room, then Jessica answered. “Tomorrow.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Scarlett walked down the block toward the Lima Bean, conscious of the wire shewore despite its small size. The technology had improved since all the movies she’d seen with people wearing actual wires. Today, she sported only a pair of clear glasses—which gave those not in the shop visual surveillance—and a necklace that acted as a mic. Both transmitted by Bluetooth, and Ava was on deck to provide a backup connection on the off chance Rathwell had a jammer. It wasn’t likely he’d be carrying one, but they weren’t taking any chances.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the door of the coffee shop, and the smell of the brew hit her, wrapping around her body and filling her lungs. Nausea washed through her—the one factor they hadn’t made a contingency for, and she forced herself to breathe slow and deep. Mixed with the overwhelming smell of coffee, she made out the scents of cinnamon, yeast, and sugar, all much more palatable to her stomach. Focusing on those smells to the extent she could, she scanned the shop. She had no idea who any of the Feds or HICC operatives were, but she spotted Jessica right away. Sitting at a table with her back to her, she was doing a crossword and drinking a cup of coffee. And right behind her, facing Scarlett in a two-person booth, was Rathwell.
His gaze scanned the shop, passing over her once before coming back. She gave him a little nod, then started toward him. He assessed her as she crossed the floor, and she did the same. Dressed in his uniform, he had his dark hair gelled back and his thin lips tipped up with a cocky welcome as she approached.She’d intentionally dressed down and wore a pair of Chuck Taylors, jeans with a hole in the knee, and a wool peacoat that had seen better days. She smiled to herself when she saw the flash of dismissal in his dark eyes—he’d made his snap judgment about her, as they’d thought—hoped—he would.
“Rathwell,” she said, stopping at his table. He held her gaze, then gestured for her to sit. She took a beat before complying.
“I understand you have some information on the death of Gracie Lopez?” he asked. She wondered if he even noticed he’d used her nickname rather than her full name.
“I do. She was murdered,” Scarlett said, repeating what she’d told him when she’d asked for the meeting.
“Her death was ruled an accidental overdose, fentanyl. I looked up the report after you called me,” he replied. He hadn’t looked up jack shit, she was certain of that.
Instead of saying anything, though, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the key. Setting it on the table, she then reached in and pulled out a bottle of sleeping pills, placing it beside the key.
A muscle in Rathwell’s temple ticked.
Then finally, she set Gracie’s phone between them. “There was an interesting file someone deleted from her phone,” she said.
Rathwell’s face went rigid, but he didn’t otherwise react.
“Interesting, the report said they’d found nothing on the device,” he replied.
She tipped her head. “They didn’t know where to look.”
A disdainful smile teased his lips. “And you did?”
She shrugged and looked away. “I have friends who know about these sorts of things.”
He let out a low, condescending laugh. “Right,” he said.
She let the silence fill the space between them for a good minute before she spoke again. “See, what I think happened isthat after you raped Gracie, she tried to blackmail you and you killed her.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Interesting theory.”
“You know, she hated cut flowers. Only liked live plants.”
A beat passed as he processed the comment, then his eyes narrowed. “And this matters why?”
“Because you messed up. You said you brought her flowers the day you used this key”—she set her index finger on the item—“to get into her apartment and add a single fatal fentanyl pill to this container”—she shifted her finger to the small plastic bottle. “You probably even removed a few of the pills so that the fentanyl would fall into her palm, and into her mouth, sooner rather than later.”
“Again, an interesting theory.” His voice was steady, but his gaze darted between the items on the table. “But I never knew or met Graciella Lopez.”
Scarlett eyed him, letting the silence drag out. He made no move to fill it, and she had to give him kudos for that. After more than a minute passed, she sighed.
“So that’s the way you want to play it?” she said.
“I’m not playing at anything,” he replied. “I’m here because you said you had information on her death. As a cop, it’s my duty to follow up on a claim like that. It doesn’t look like you have anything more than a work of fiction that you’ve strung together.”
“You really didn’t know her?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I saw pictures of her, though. In her case file. Beautiful woman.”
And there she saw it, a flicker of gleeful deceit in his eyes. And a hint of assured power. He thought he held all the cards, and he was enjoying it.
