Page 3 of Love Undercover
The coffee got her blessedly through the morning and another toddler time, the STEM activity for the elementary kids, and the ear-full of chit-chat from the adult conversation-starved stay-at-home moms. That last one made her late getting back to theoffice computer to clock out for lunch. Sadie hurried across the library, hoping to sneak by her boss.
Not only did she fail to avoid the older woman’s eye, but it wasn’t Roberta’s austere glare that made Sadie slow her step and clutch the empty to-go cup in her hand a little too tightly.
Two men in suits stood with Roberta, and it was the staring contest of the century. Anyone who could dish back what Roberta doled out deserved a prize, and Sadie assumed that these men were hardened against such tactics. One had his hands on his hips, his blazer tossed back in the process, revealing the gun in a chest holster.
Law enforcement, then. Feds if she had to guess, but that was based on the shows she watched on TV rather than actual experience. If they had been wearing sunglasses, she would’ve expected an alien to bust out of the Roberta-suit she’d come to know as her boss. It would explain some things, actually.
But there were no sunglasses, and Roberta was just naturally that weird.
The two men were older than Sadie, but maybe not older than Roberta. It was hard to tell exactly. One had a slight paunch compared to the wiry frame of the other.
Sadie approached with trepidation and plastered a polite smile on her face. It wasn’t hard since her muscles were used to holding it in place by this time of the day.
“Here she is now,” Roberta said, gesturing with jerky displeasure.
Sadie’s eyes widened, and her smile turned brittle. They were here for her? “Is. . . there a problem?”
The two men turned simultaneously, like they were puppetted by the same master. The paunchy one pursed his lips and looked her over. The lean one narrowed his eyes, his frowning mouth dipping even farther.
“Ms. Powell?” The paunchy one had a surprisingly smooth and pleasant voice, like a butterscotch candy that slowly melted on the tongue.
It unsettled her even more. “Yes, that’s me.”
“I’m Agent Hicks, and this is Agent Richter.” He flashed his FBI badge before slipping it back onto his belt without looking. “May we have a word with you?”
Even though she had expected as much, given the greeting, she couldn’t think why they’d want to speak with her and struggled through her response. “I—yes, of course. Um, Roberta, can we use the office?”
Roberta lifted a sharp eyebrow but dipped her chin once in assent.
Sadie swallowed and spun on her heel, leading them behind the check-out desk and into the office as tingles ran through her entire body. Would straight-laced Roberta fire her for this? It wasn’t like it wasnormalfor her to be questioned by the FBI, but Roberta didn’t necessarily know that. This was only Sadie’s second summer here, and two months hardly gave enough insight about a person. She still half-believed Roberta slept here.
Heading directly to the desk trash can to throw away her empty cup gave her something to do as she searched wildly through her recent activities. Was there anything she potentially got herself into without knowing it? She certainly spent a lot of time bingeing serial killer documentaries and podcasts, but who didn’t? That was, like, the second-most popular American pastime.
The two men walked into the room with overly casual movements. Richter, the lean one, stood with his legs slightly spread and stared at her while Hicks surveyed the room with a hunter’s slow deliberation.
Their silence filled the room like a physical presence, sending prickles of panic along her skin.
Oh, God, she thought.I looked up how serial killers evaded capture the other day. They probably think I’m a murderer and a danger to my students.
Her breaths came in little spurts, and she felt the heat creep into her cheeks. Richter’s head tilted very slightly, apparently noting the change. Could he hear her galloping heart?
“I’m sorry, gentlemen,” she blurted, her voice tight. “Can we cut to the chase? Have I done something wrong?”
Hicks glanced over, his expression mild. “I don’t know. Have you?”
“No!” She held up her hands, shaking her head vehemently, though she shuffled through mentally again. Speeding to the coffee shop wouldn’t bring federal agents into her sphere. Maybe rolling through that stop sign, but that would be small potatoes for the FBI.
“Hicks,” Richter warned with an eye roll.
Hicks’ mouth tilted up on one side. “You haven’t done anything wrong. That we know of,” he added with a wry grin.
She looked at Richter, whose expression hadn’t changed. It was hard to get a read on the situation if one was teasing her and the other wasn’t. “I don’t understand.”
Hicks’s expression turned a little more serious. “We have some questions about your boyfriend, Greg Calloway.”
Her stomach torqued in a way reminiscent of that time she got food poisoning after a seafood dinner. The one that put her off lobster bisque for life.
She swallowed the sensation down and tried to keep her voice even. “Greg? Why? Has he done something wrong?”
