Chapter 34 #2
I just didn’t know that I wouldn’t have a choice. After the night at the Four Horsemen where he had caught John Valentine drugging my drink, I had come to rely on the peace of mind I had at knowing he was near.
I had trusted him long before he had proven to me that I could.
He trusted me to keep going.
The dealer called for everyone to make their bets, but his eyes lingered on me. “What’s it gonna be, gorgeous?” A teasing twinkle glimmered in his eye. “All in?”
Nerves bubbled inside of me like an insidious pool of lava on the precipice of eruption, right before a slow smirk curled at the corner of my mouth. “Nice try.” I slid two thousand dollars’ worth of chips forward.
I could turn it into another twenty-grand in the blink of an eye.
A hand landed on my shoulder. I glanced to see who it was. Blue suit. Black leather ID holder.
FBI.
Chips tumbled to the ground as my hands were yanked behind my back. “Amelia Hawthorne, you’re under arrest for accessory to fraud.”
Someone grabbed Jude’s backpack from where it was tucked away at my feet. I was yanked out of my seat as the chaos of the casino seemingly ceased to exist.
Were Miranda rights just something actors did in police procedurals? Did the FBI have to read you your rights, or were they exempt or something?
It seemed like something I should know.
Then again, I had never been arrested before.
I had never been stuffed into an unmarked SUV before.
I had never been marched into the FBI Las Vegas Headquarters before.
It all seemed to be very by the book. That was, until the handcuffs were taken off.
I was ushered into a room with a cozy couch, soft lighting, and potted plants, and was offered my choice of coffee, water, tea, or a soft drink.
Now I really had no idea what was going on.
One minute, the woman who had cuffed me at the blackjack table was being rather gruff and curt. The next minute, she was apologizing for how tight the handcuffs were and urging me to help myself to the little basket of snacks on the coffee table in the room where I was sequestered.
Hello, whiplash.
Much like the casino, there were no clocks in here. I had no sense of time, though it had to be well into the middle of the night.
Or maybe we were nearing dawn . . .
Like the mob, I supposed the FBI never slept.
The door opened and freakishly bright fluorescent lighting flooded in from the sterile office environment just outside.
“Miss Hawthorne,” the woman who arrested me said as she held the door open. “Please come with me.”
My stomach growled as I eased out of the comfortable chair and followed her out. I should’ve helped myself to the snacks.
I was led into a room that was much more like I’d expected. Something empty. A steel table. Two chairs across from each other. A mirrored window along one wall. An odd odor like a high school gymnasium locker room.
“Please have a seat,” she said, ushering me in before closing the door and leaving me all alone.
So. Nameless FBI lady wouldn’t be joining the fun.
Minutes—or maybe hours—passed before the door opened again. Was that part of the mind games?
An older gentleman walked in, followed by the same lady who had been escorting me from room to room.
“Miss Hawthorne—”
“Dr. Hawthorne,” I said, then immediately regretted it. Jude would’ve wanted me to keep my mouth shut.
But it was clear they knew who I was—hair dye and fake ID aside.
His eyebrows lifted, but not in fury. Just surprise.
“My apologies, Dr. Hawthorne,” he said with an odd lilt of kindness in his tone as he took the seat across from me. “My name is Agent Sanders. This is Agent Dutton. She’ll be joining us to help you feel more comfortable.”
Ah. She was a chaperone. How nice.
“How are you doing, Amelia?” he said, putting us on a first-name basis that I wasn’t sure I cared for. “You’ve had an interesting few weeks.”
I said nothing.
These were the same people who had taken Jude.
Jude, who had committed some very real crimes.
Jude, who had kidnapped me.
Jude, who had . . . who had saved me.
Jude, who had sacrificed himself for me.
“That’s not a question,” I said as neutrally as I could.
Agent Dutton covered her mouth to hide a smile. Agent Sanders kept his expression cool but blinked as if he couldn’t believe I had just called his hand.
“If I’m under arrest, I’d like my attorney to be present. Especially if you’re going to question me. And aren’t you supposed to read me my rights?”
“You’re not under arrest,” Agent Sanders said as he leaned back in his chair, assuming a more casual position, as if we were just chitchatting. “My apologies for the antics back at the casino. Sometimes you need to tell a good story to make people believe what you need them to believe.”
My spine went ramrod straight as he regurgitated the same sentiment that Jude had preached over and over again. Tell a good story.
Something wasn’t right.
I swallowed the lump in my throat as puzzle pieces began to fall into place. “If I’m not under arrest, then I’d like to go.”
Agent Sanders lifted an eyebrow. “You’re not under arrest right now.” The threat was thinly veiled. “But I’m sure we could make something stick.” He glanced at Agent Dutton. “What’s the going rate for using a fake ID to travel across states? Still a misdemeanor?”
She studied her nails. “We could make it a felony. I hear academic institutions are quite fond of employing felons.”
The threat was crystal clear: cooperate or we’ll ruin you.
They weren’t here to rescue me. They were here to use me. I just wasn’t sure how.
I kept my mouth shut. My teeth ground together as the agents bantered amongst themselves.
If they were going to arrest me for something, they would have already done it, which meant they needed something from me.
I just had to figure out what it was.
An involuntary yawn spilled out of my mouth.
Agent Sanders reached into his suit jacket and produced a photo. “Dr. Hawthorne, do you know this man?”
Jude.
I took one look at the photo of the man I had fallen in love with. He was holding one of those felt boards with his name in little white letters; the ones people held up when they were arrested and booked.
It couldn’t have been from when he was taken away tonight. He looked a few years younger. His hair was long and he looked like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. I had no idea Jude had been arrested before, though I suppose it shouldn’t have come as a surprise.
Denying that I knew him wasn’t going to be the hill I would die on tonight. “Yes.”
“What’s his name?”
“Jude Greear.” That’s when I realized the sign Jude was holding in the mugshot didn’t say Greear. It said Graham.
Agent Dutton’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Greear?”
I nodded. “That’s what he told me.”
Agent Sanders slid the photo across the table, closer to me. “Where did you meet him?”
“At the Four Horsemen casino in Atlantic City.”
“And this is the man who kidnapped you outside of that casino on May 23?”
How did I answer that? Yes, Jude had kidnapped me. But he had done it to get me out of harm’s way.
In the eyes of the law, it was still kidnapping.
But . . . it also wasn’t.
“I was in trouble. He helped me.” It was the simplest version of a very complicated truth.
“Because your brother owes a debt to John Valentine,” Agent Sanders said.
Wait . . . how did the FBI know that? Joel, Jude, and I were the only ones who knew. Well, us and John Valentine.
Still, I didn’t speak.
Agent Sanders turned the line of questioning to what I had done since arriving in Las Vegas.
That’s when I realized exactly what Jude had done.
He had given me truth.
Whereas I wanted to go straight to the casino to start playing, he insisted on spoiling me and spending the day together.
He had given me something to recall.
It was impossible to lie when you could tell the truth.
I’ve always had an exit strategy.
This had been his plan all along.
I should have been relieved, but it made me furious. I was sick to my stomach. Had he actually been arrested? Or had it been a convenient story the FBI told to get him out of the casino, the same as they’d done to me? But why were they trying to get us out of the casino?
I’d put the puzzle together, but there was one piece missing.
One piece that tied everything together.
One piece that explained everything.
One part of who he was that changed everything.
Agent Dutton cocked her head to the side. “Dr. Hawthorne, are you alright?” She sounded genuinely concerned.
I spilled it all.
Everything.
How he had turned me away the first night I had tried to get into the Four Horsemen. Everything that led up to him drugging me, stuffing me in his car, and crossing the country to hide away from a legendary mob boss. How we had gone to Las Vegas to win money to free my brother.
They asked where Joel was hiding, but I didn’t have an answer for them. It was just like Jude had told me. You can’t lie about something you don’t know.
I finished the account of everything that had happened prior to me being led away in handcuffs.
By the time I was done, Agent Sanders and Agent Dutton were speechless. After a moment of silence, Agent Sanders reached into his suit jacket again and produced a second photo.
It was of Jude, though he didn’t look anything like the man that I knew.
His hair was in a clean-cut comb-over. He was freshly shaven.
An American flag was in the background of the portrait.
His expression was neutral. Noble. Had he been in uniform, I would have assumed it was from his military days. But his suit was plain. Dark blue.
Much like the ones sitting across from me.
Agent Sanders positioned the photos side by side, then tapped the mugshot.
“This is Jude Graham. He works for John Valentine.” He lifted an eyebrow, studying my reaction.
“He’s John Valentine’s right-hand man. Likely, the one supposedly running the organization since John Valentine has been arrested.
” He tapped the patriotic portrait. “And this is Judah Greear. An FBI agent.” He rapped his fingers on the table, rattling the metal.
“So”—he leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers—“which one is the man that you know?”