Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
After a delicious, filling pizza, of which she ate far too many slices, Kara grabbed her computer and brought it over to the table while Max finished eating.
They hadn't talked about the case or their pasts over pizza, keeping the conversation to more neutral topics.
Although she had learned that he loved baseball, was a big fan of indie films versus commercial blockbusters, had read a fair amount of history books, and had favorite foods in probably six different cultures.
He was smart, well-read, and one of the sexiest men she'd ever met, and the more she got to know him, the more she liked him.
She told herself not to get carried away, not to trust everything that he said. He'd admitted to being a spy. He knew how to create a persona, and she'd made mistakes before believing someone to be good when they were anything but good.
Forcing herself to stop thinking about Max, she put Whitney Holden's name into the search engine. While she didn't have access to her team's resource databases on her personal computer, she could still do a little digging.
"What are you looking up?" Max asked.
"Information on Whitney Holden."
"She really bothered you."
"She bothered you, too."
"She did," he admitted. "But she could have just been shaken up by her close call with death. It's not surprising she wasn't thinking clearly."
"Look at you, giving her the benefit of the doubt," she said dryly.
He smiled. "I try not to see anyone as just one thing, because no one ever is."
"No, they're not," she murmured as her gaze scanned Whitney's profile. "This is interesting. Whitney is into fitness. She goes to the gym three to four times a week and has a personal trainer named Giannis, who works at…" She looked over the top of her computer. "Wanna guess?"
"Forge Fitness."
"You win. Whitney also goes to the gym where Samantha went, where Jonas Cray was seen, and where Elias Costa lied to us about knowing Jonas. I need to talk to her now."
"Now?" he echoed, glancing down at his watch. "It's after nine."
"I don't care. It can't wait until tomorrow.
She could run." As she finished speaking, she opened the email Wes had sent her earlier, which contained Whitney's personal information, including her phone number and address.
"She lives in Brooklyn. I'm going to see if I can catch her at home, maybe before she has time to call her lawyer. "
"She probably already did that," he said, getting up along with her. "I'll go. You might need backup."
"I can call Tyler to meet me there."
"Or I can just go with you. I will have your back, Kara."
She didn't believe everything he said, but she believed that. And she didn't want to waste time trying to reach Tyler, who'd already told her he was meeting a friend. "Let's go."
"I'll drive," he said. "You can keep digging into Whitney on the way, just in case we don't find her at home. We need to know who her friends and family are, and who might take her in if she were in trouble."
She nodded, grabbing her jacket as she followed him out the door.
On the drive to Brooklyn, she researched Whitney. "She lives her life online," she told Max as he sped through the dark city streets. "She's thirty-five years old and single now after her last boyfriend cheated on her. She loves working out, nutrition, manifesting, and poker."
"That's quite a combination," Max muttered. "Maybe she played poker with Costa."
"I don't think she's a high roller, but she's a pretty, single woman. They might have wanted her in the game." Her gaze moved down the page. "Turns out the cheating boyfriend made a living online playing poker, so she probably learned a lot from him."
"Wonder if she's racked up some debt."
"And maybe needed a quick payout," she said, following his train of thought.
"She doesn't seem violent or dangerous or ideologically anything.
But she seems to like attention, and her social media pages are full of rants about being used or taken for granted.
I both can and can't believe she puts all this online for anyone to read. "
"It wouldn't be difficult to manipulate her after hearing what you just told me."
"No, it wouldn't," she agreed. "Maybe that will help us get her to open up."
"We're almost there," he said, checking the GPS.
She straightened in her seat, scanning the addresses. "That's it."
As Max pulled up in front of a duplex and turned off the lights, she saw a woman come out of the front door carrying a suitcase.
She was on her phone and didn't notice them at all as she headed to the car parked in front of the garage.
She opened her trunk and struggled with the phone in one hand and what appeared to be a heavy suitcase in the other.
"She's running," she said, her hand on the door. She sprang out of the car, with Max right behind her. They were at the car before Whitney realized they were there. She squealed in alarm as she dropped her phone.
"Oh my God, you scared me," she said, reaching down to pick up her phone.
The screen was dark. Whoever had been on the call with her was gone. "Where are you going, Whitney?" she asked.
"I—I'm going to my mom's house. She lives in New Jersey. I'm too scared to stay here." Whitney's gaze flickered from her to Max and back again. "What are you doing here? I told you everything I know."
"You didn't tell me you go to Forge Fitness, that you know Elias Costa and Jonas Cray."
"Jonas? I don't know a Jonas."
"But you know the others," Max interjected. "Do you play poker with Elias?"
"I don't understand why you're asking me these questions about the gym?"
"The gym is tied to the bombing, which means you're tied to the bombing," she said. "You didn't just accidentally forget something before that bomb went off. You knew it was coming. You knew when to get out."
Whitney's face paled in the shadowy light, and she put a hand to her heart. "I—I didn't know. I swear. I had no idea there was a bomb."
"You're lying," Max said. "You set your boss up to be killed."
"I didn't know," she repeated, desperation in her voice.
"You didn't know they were going to kill James?
" she asked, bringing Whitney's attention back to her.
"That's good, because then you may escape a murder charge.
But there could be other charges unless you help us.
Tell us what you know, and I'll make sure you get the best deal possible.
Make no mistake, Whitney, you are in a hell of a lot of trouble. A man died today."
Whitney bit down on her lip so hard that she drew blood. "He just told me to make sure the inspection was today, and to make sure James checked the electrical panel on the fourth floor before he left."
"Who told you to do that?"
"His name is Cal. I met him at Forge Fitness at one of Elias's poker games," she admitted.
"So you did play," she said.
"Yes, and I lost a lot. I owed Elias forty thousand dollars.
He said he'd clear my debt if I did this one small favor for his friend Cal.
I couldn't say no. I didn't think anyone was going to die.
" Her voice broke. "I thought they just wanted to sabotage the inspection, delay the building project.
Cal said that someone wanted James to understand his decisions could be painful.
And that I should stay out of the electrical closet.
I thought maybe there was a hot wire or something in there.
Or they wanted him to find something to delay approving the inspection. "
"You thought it was worse than that," Max said sharply. "That's why you ran, isn't it, Whitney?"
"Something felt off," she admitted. "I was afraid of whatever was coming, so I said I needed to get a file, and I left.
I had barely reached the car when the building blew up.
It felt like the world shattered around me.
" She turned from Max to Kara, giving her a pleading look.
"I realized I was supposed to be in there when it happened.
That I was supposed to die, too. I have to leave tonight. I have to get out of here."
"You're not going anywhere by yourself because you're not safe," Kara said. "You're a loose end. And someone will want to make sure you never talk. The only way for you to ever be safe again is to work with us."
The sound of an engine revving snapped her head toward the street. A dark sedan was speeding down the block. The window opened.
"Gun," she yelled, grabbing Whitney's arm and pulling her back behind the car as gunfire erupted, shattering the windows above their heads.
Max was on the other side of the car, firing back, but the car had already disappeared around the corner. Dogs barked, and lights came on as the neighbors reacted to the shots.
She looked down at Whitney, who was crying, her eyes filled with terror. "Are you hurt?"
She shook her head. "No. I'm terrified."
"He's gone."
"For now."
Max came around the car, his weapon still in his hand. She hadn't realized he had a gun, but she was happy that he did, because she'd been too busy shielding Whitney to fire her own weapon.
She called 911 to report the incident and to verify she was an FBI agent on scene so the police wouldn't draw their weapons when they saw them. The dispatcher told them that cars were already on the way.
"The police are coming," she said.
"Are the police going to arrest me?" Whitney asked.
"No. I'm taking you into my custody," she said decisively.
"We'll get you into a safe house tonight.
" She called Ops to report what had happened and request a safe house.
She was given the address of an apartment in Midtown and was assured that two agents would meet her there as soon as they could.
In the meantime, she needed to deal with the police.