“For the umpteenth time—”
“You’ve got it. We just have to figure out what it is and where to find it.”
“Then drive me to the nearest FBI office and escort me in. We’ll all look for it together.”
“I can’t.”
“Because?”
“Because I can’t blow my cover. Not yet. Right now Hawkins and The Bookkeeper think that I’m just the freight dock worker who was lucky enough to get away. An eyewitness to the mass murder. Which is bad. But not nearly as bad as an eyewitness who’s also an undercover federal agent. If they discover that, the target on my back gets bigger.”
“But the FBI would protect you.”
“Like Officer Fred Hawkins of the Tambour P.D. was going to protect you?”
He didn’t have to spell it out. She connected the dots. “The Bookkeeper has local FBI agents on his payroll?”
“I’m not willing to bet my life against it, are you?” He gave her time to answer. She didn’t, which was as good as her saying, No, I’m not. “You wouldn’t be sitting there if you didn’t believe at least some of what I’ve told you.”
“I’m sitting here because I believe that if you’d intended to hurt us, you would have done so as soon as you arrived yesterday. Also, if everything you’ve told me is true, then our lives, mine and Emily’s, are in danger.”
“You’re right so far.”
“But the main reason I came with you has to do with Eddie.”
“What about him?”
“You’ve raised two questions that I want answered. One, was his death really an accident?”
“It was made to look like it, but I don’t think it was.”
“I have to know,” she said with feeling. “If he died of an accident, that’s one thing. Tragic, but acceptable. Fate. God’s will. Whatever. But if someone caused the crash that killed him, I want them punished for it.”
“Fair enough. What’s the second question?”
“Was Eddie a bad cop or a good cop? I know the answer to that one. I want you convinced of it, too.”
“I don’t care one way or the other,” he said, meaning it. “He’s dead. All I care about is identifying The Bookkeeper and putting him out of business. The rest of it, including your dead husband’s reputation, makes no difference to me.”
“Well, it makes a huge difference to me. And it will to Stan.” She gestured to the cell phone still in his hand. “I should call him, tell him we’re okay.”
He shook his head and pocketed the phone.
“He’ll be beside himself when we turn up missing.”
“I’m sure he will be.”
“He’ll fear the worst.”
“That you’re at the mercy of a killer.”
“He won’t know otherwise. So, please—”
“No.”
“That’s cruel.”
“So’s life. You can’t call him. I don’t trust him.”