Page 20 of Tormented Diamonds
Gibbs all but throws himself out of his chair and sprints out the door only to return fifteen seconds later, wiping sweat from his brow. “What the hell are you saying, Marchesi?”
“I’m saying Henry Saddler, the marshal that two of the highest judicial organizations in the government assigned to escort their prize witness into Witness Protection, was my father’s bitch boy.”
“You’re lying.” Gibbs’s head snaps toward his partner, his eyes bulging as he sinks into his chair. “He’slying, Ted. He’s making up shit to deflect blame.”
“It’s possible,” I say, savoring the sound of their knees bouncing under the table. “I’ve been known to create a diversion or two. However, if you pull Becca in this office, she’ll tell you it was Henry who kidnapped her and brought her across state lines to my father.”
“That’s unprovable,” Lattimore insists.
Bounce. Bounce. Bounce.
“Perhaps. But you know what isn’t? Bank records that show regular deposits into an offshore accountfrom a shell corporation listed in the Marchesi name.” I shrug, leaving out the fact it’s mine. “If that’s not enough to convince you, perhaps a less-than-flattering conversation between my father and your boy Saddler will do the trick.” Pulling my phone from my pocket, I hit play and hold it up for maximum acoustics. Within seconds, the room fills with the sound of the gloriously damning audio Antondidn’tplay for the Authority.
Once it ends, I glance between them. If Gibbs clenches his teeth together any harder, they’re going to break apart. Lattimore is just staring off into space, stuck in some petrified limbo between shock and acceptance.
“So, you see, gentlemen,” I say, tucking my phone away. “I have you by the proverbial balls. I hold a can of worms neither the Bureau nor the Marshal’s office wants opened. You stay out of my business, and it stays closed. Don’t, and, well…” Standing, I button my suit jacket and straighten my tie with a wink. “I’m sure we all know what happened to Pandora.”
I open the precinct door to find Anton leaned against the driver’s side of my parked Maserati, his arms tucked tightly across his chest like the end of some cheesy chick flick.
As if my night couldn’t get any worse.
I lumber down the steep concrete staircase to the parking lot, my temper bouncing like a ping-pong ball between extremes. By the time I hit the bottom step, I’m not sure if I want to give him a raise or run him the fuck over. “Remind me to take my keys away from you.”
A normal person with any self-preservation would get the hell out of my way. Not Anton. The only movement he makes is a stiff nod toward the station. “Are you going to tell me why you voluntarily put all ourasses on the line?”
“Are you going to move?”
“No.”
Scowling, I walk around the car to the other side and open the door and drop into the passenger seat to ride bitch in my own car. Once he’s settled behind the wheel, I side-eye him. “You’re late.”
“You’re ungrateful.”
“Stop being so fucking needy.” I jerk my phone from my jacket.No missed calls.My imagination plunges into a dark place. “How did things go with Becca?”
“Exactly how you’d expect,” he mutters, giving zero fucks about the cars behind us as he guns it into traffic. “She asked questions, challenged what I said, ordered me to leave, then called Owen.”
“She didwhat?”
“Why are you so surprised? You’re the one who told her to ‘press one for Anton and two for Owen.’” He takes his hands off the wheel to draw air quotes. “Don’t fault her for following directions. If you want to get mad at somebody, look in the mirror.”
“I meant in an emergency, not to track me like a bloodhound.”
I don’t know whether to be proud or pissed.
“Did you forget you married a psychiatrist? That woman’s trained to sniff out coded bullshit, and you’ve been spewing it like fertilizer. Are you surprised she put ‘two and two’ together?” This time when he carves out his fucking air quotes, the car veers to the right, nearly sideswiping a utility pole. A last-minute forearm to the window keeps my skull intact.
“Anton, so help me God, if your hands leave that wheel again, you’re going to lose one.” His haughty chuckle only shaves a sharper edge to my shitty mood. “Does she know?”
“Yeah,she knows.”
I close my eyes, my night sinking deeper into the toilet. “I couldn’t let them get to her.”
“I know.” A strained silence settles between us as he continues to weave in and out of traffic. “So, what did they want?”
I’m too tired to give him a play-by-play of the whole interrogation, so I hit the important highlights, emphasizing their lack of substantialanything,as well as their sad little Keystone Cop search for Saddler.
“Dio santo,” he mutters, scrubbing his hand down his face. “You talked to the feds without having a lawyer present?”
