Chapter 13
Daisy tucked her panties back below the waistband of her jeans and then ignored the red-faced Special Agent Crabtree, who’d taken the photos of the side of her breast and her favorite emerald underwear.
Ackers had averted his eyes and stared fixedly out the window. Heaven forbid he see some skin.
“Have you heard anything from my dad? Does he know about any of this?”
Crabtree paled a little at the reminder her father was a senior agent, a hero, who’d recently been held hostage and who’d helped take down a corrupt billionaire and his global empire—a man who was about to replace Ackers as top dog at HRT.
Ackers hesitated. “I texted him to say Jordan had you safe in his custody and not to worry.”
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
The man watched her with a troubled gaze. “You and Jordan…?”
“Well, he’s hard to resist.” She gave him her patented sunny smile.
No matter how good his intentions, she hadn’t forgiven him for how he’d treated her at certain points last month either.
However, Jordan was the only person she wanted to sleep with as part of her payback strategy—and that was purely personal.
An itch she wanted scratched and done. No messy emotions getting in the way, so they could part ways and both carry on doing what they loved.
He certainly wouldn’t want more than a short fling. He was even resisting that.
She yawned and stretched out her stiff limbs, a reminder that she’d been trapped in the trunk of a car last night—and how Jordan had calmed her, made her feel safe.
“Any chance of some food? I haven’t eaten since last night.”
Thirty minutes later, Daisy sat at a table, bit into her slightly cold burger, and decided life could be a lot worse.
Agent Crabtree sat opposite with a stern expression on his narrow face. The other agent had been called away, but the whole setup felt very much like an interrogation. She dipped a salted fry into ketchup and eyed the agent as he surreptitiously watched her eat.
People often underestimated her because of her looks and her stature.
Over the years, she’d learned to use that to her advantage.
But her grad program was all about the nuts and bolts of nuclear reactors, and her appearance was irrelevant.
She’d forgotten how refreshing it was not to be judged on her looks alone.
“Miss Montana—”
“Call me Daisy.”
He cleared his throat. “Daisy. I need to ask you some questions about Francois Tremblay.”
“Do investigators from France, Mexico, and IAEA intend to question me too?” She licked the salt off her fingers.
“They do, yes, but the director wants us to question you about what happened first.”
She sighed. “I’d rather get it over with in one go if that’s okay. I’m tired, and I need a nap.”
“I’m not sure that’s advisable. I don’t mean the nap,” he assured her rapidly. “If you need to lie down somewhere, I’m sure we could arrange it.”
“Like, in a cell?” Distaste soured her stomach.
He rubbed the back of his neck as she ate another fry. “That’s not what I meant, but I’m unsure of what the facilities here actually entail.”
“Where are you usually based?”
He gave her a modest smile. “The J. Edgar Hoover Building. Headquarters. DC.”
Headquarters. So he was ambitious. Probably wanted his own field office someday. She could tell that just by looking at his perfectly pressed shirt and sedate blue tie.
“Why can’t I get interviewed by everyone at once? Beats getting asked the same questions over and over again. It’s not like I have anything to hide.” She picked up her burger again and took another big bite.
A knock on the door had Agent Crabtree climbing to his feet and talking with someone. When he came back, he was carrying a printout from a security camera.
She tilted her head and squinted at the zoomed-in image of a man who stared down at the ground about to get in the back of a black car. Not much of his face was visible.
“Who’s that?”
“I was hoping you could tell me. Did you ever see this man before? Was he part of the conference delegation?”
She took a bite of spicy pickle. Slowly shook her head. “Not a great photo, but I don’t remember ever seeing him. I don’t believe he was a delegate, but not everyone attended all the seminars or events.” She ran her tongue over her teeth. “Still, he’s not familiar.”
Who was he? The guy Jordan thought killed Tremblay?
“And what’s your relationship with Jordan Krychek for the record?”
Hadn’t they already covered this in the vehicle?
“Purely sexual.” She wiped the corner of her mouth with a napkin, smirked. “Or, perhaps more accurately, impurely sexual.”
Those serious eyes held hers. “How does your father feel about the relationship?’
“Are you kidding me?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“I’d like to see you ask him that question.” She took a long pull on her soda to give her temper time to cool. “Are you a virgin, Agent Crabtree?”
His shoulders went back. “I fail to see how that matters.”
“Join the club. I’m trying to create a comparable scenario so you might understand. Did you get permission from your partner’s father before you slept with her or him?”
He sighed. “Of course not.”
“Did you ever consult your parents before you did the dirty with anyone?”
His cheeks began to redden. “No.”
“So why would I? Why are you asking me these asinine questions that have nothing to do with Francois Tremblay’s death?” She popped another fry into her mouth.
“Because there is an eye-witness that places you on the beach sharing a romantic moment with Francois Tremblay shortly before he was found dead, which is at odds with your claim to be in a relationship with Jordan Krychek.”
“Romantic moment. Jeez.” So much for trying to protect her reputation.
Everyone would know her name now for all the wrong reasons.
Everyone would believe she’d been having an affair with Tremblay—or worse, that she’d killed him.
She had to hope news of her secret, hot, FBI boyfriend would be enough to stop people speculating—except it wouldn’t, not until they figured out how and why Francois died.
“I told you already, I did see Professor Tremblay on the beach when I met up with Jordan after the banquet. And, despite what the gossips might allude to, we weren’t arranging a threesome in Francois’s room.
I’m not that adventurous and I doubt Jordan is either, although I’ve never asked him about multiples. ”
Her sarcasm seemed to be lost on the agent.
“I’m not saying the professor wouldn’t have been into it, but Jordan and I had our own plans.
We chatted briefly with Francois. I accepted a glass of wine from him.
He’s a leader in my field, so I couldn’t very well ignore him. Then we went our separate ways.”
She thought about the suave, sophisticated man she’d spoken with on the beach.
A player, sure, but he hadn’t tried to force her—a low bar, but one most women could appreciate.
She pressed her lips together. She’d liked the professor more than she’d expected even though he’d tried to proposition her.
“I’m sorry he’s dead. I enjoyed his company.
” She watched Crabtree carefully. “When he left, he seemed fine, happy even.” Her voice hitched.
“There was no indication he was thinking about taking his own life, even though I know suicidal ideation can be a lot more complex than what people reveal on the outside. But I really don’t think that’s what happened with Tremblay.
He was talking about wanting to be head of the International Atomic Energy Agency one day.
It’s too big an emotional shift in too short a time for me to believe he took his own life. ”
Agent Crabtree refused to meet her gaze. “You definitely don’t know this man?” He tapped the printout again.
“I have never seen him before.” She had a good memory for faces. “Who is he?”
“I’m not at liberty—”
“Oh, for God’s sake.” She slapped her hand onto the printout before he could remove it, committed those vague features to memory. “Did this man murder Tremblay?”
Crabtree snatched back the printout. “I can’t say.”
“Can’t or won’t?” She finished her burger, wiped her mouth. “Can we maybe invite the others inside and get this over with, all in one go? I really don’t have anything to hide, and I want to talk to my boss and friends, reassure them I’m okay. My dad, too.”
“Well, if you’re genuinely okay with that—”
“I am—as long as they are not all delving into my sex life constantly. That’s my business.
I don’t mind telling them I have a partner who’s an FBI agent and we were together when Tremblay was killed.
But if they start probing for details about Jordan, you shut that shit down, or I’ll be calling in a lawyer, and they can go through proper legal channels.
I may be open about my sex life, but that doesn’t mean I want it on the front pages of some newspaper—nor the fact I was wearing green panties listed in twenty-five different police reports in three different languages with photographic evidence. ”
He ran a hand under his collar. “I’ll verify with them that you’re in a relationship with an FBI agent and the two of you were together at Time of Death. That should be good enough to satisfy them.”
“As long as they don’t decide Jordan and I killed the professor together.” She swallowed her last fry with no small amount of regret.
Agent Crabtree mistook her expression. “Just tell the truth, and everything will be fine. But please, don’t mention this man.” He tapped the photo and then slid it into a file folder that sat in front of him.
“Why would I? I never saw him, and I don’t know who he is.”
“Excellent. Ready?”
She nodded and prepared to lie her ass off.