Wilson 19.
“Did Tilly make it to the clubhouse? I know I haven’t made an official claim to her yet, but—”
Lincoln holds his hand up to stop me and I snap my jaw shut. “Wilson, we have a lot to cover and not a lot of time. I’m gonna talk, you’re gonna listen, and you can ask questions at the end.” I nod with a frown, sitting back in the hard metal chair in the “interrogation room” I’ve been in for hours after a long and tense ride in the back of an FBI car, complete with plastic seats and a plexiglass barrier between the front and back seats.
“First, I’ve just come from meeting with Tilly. She’s being held down the hall.”
“What—” I jump up from the table, quickly dropping back down when the cuffs halt my progress. Although, the hard slam of Lincoln’s hand on the table and an uncharacteristic sneer on his lips is probably the main reason I sit my ass back down and shut the fuck up. Inside, though, I’m seething. My girl is here? They arrested her? What the fuck for?
“After they arrested you at the hotel, they searched your suite there, and found nothing. A judge signed off on a search warrant for Tilly’s home and her arrest about a half hour later. As of right now, they haven’t found anything, nor will they, but they are exercising their rights to hold you both for up to 48 hours before officially charging you with anything while they search for actual evidence. They claimed you both are flight risks.” He shakes his head angrily, his nostrils flaring. “I met with her first, had her go over a timeline with me of everything involving the fundraiser. A witness claims someone matching your description was seen lurking near the event hall after the event concluded. Your fingerprints were found on the exterior and interior doors, a U-Haul was rented in your name, your personal relationship with Tilly gives you access to the banking system, and a few other bullshit pieces of ‘evidence’ I won’t even dignify with an explanation. All of it can be explained or disproven easily enough and Fields and Pierce are working on doing that right now with security and street camera footage.”
“Why did they arrest Tilly?”
Lincoln sighs, rubbing his hands over his face and bald head. “She set up the bank accounts, was in charge of the fundraiser, knew the security measures, processed the winner’s payments, recently moved here, Mars was in retrograde on the night of her birth…again, a bunch of bullshit. Flimsy circumstantial evidence. They are grasping at straws because they haven’t found the money or items yet and several prominent members of society were in attendance and their donations were stolen. Arresting you and Tilly appeases those upset by giving the appearance the FBI is making progress.”
“Linc, she can’t stay here. She isn’t built for…this.” I wave my hand around the sterile metal room, my heart hurting knowing Tilly is probably terrified.
With a smirk, Linc shrugs, “She’s stronger than you think. And will make a damn good Ol’ Lady once you ask.”
“What happened?”
“She’s scared, upset, and angry and waffling between those three emotions and everything in between. But earlier at the clubhouse…she stepped up, saw how hard and damaging this all was for Sammy, bringing back so many unpleasant memories. She promised not to fight, she’d go willingly, and on the way out the door, told our Junior Prospect that your bike better be spotless or he’s washing the toilets with his toothbrush. Snapped the boy right out of his downward spiral, gave him something to focus on. Audrey’s been texting me with pictures. Look.” He pulls out his phone and cycles through a series of photos where Sammy and his best friend Enzo have all the bikes lined up, hoses, buckets of water, soap, sponges, the works.
“She’s my Ol’ Lady.” I say proudly. “Not asking her is just a technicality.” He snorts, then gets back to business.
“Women aren’t fans of technicalities. Anyway, for the moment, Tilly is fine. She held her own during questioning. And despite how they barged into your hotel room and the clubhouse, they were surprisingly polite to her. I get the impression Lomax, the agent in charge, doesn’t believe either of you are guilty. But he’s stuck right now between what the higher ups want and what the evidence suggests.”
“We can work with that.” I say absently, knowing from experience that an officer or agent usually follows their gut, and they fight back harder when you disagree. In this case, his gut feeling will work in our favor. Hopefully.
“We can. Lomax will be in shortly to question you; we’ll be honest but—”
“Not forthcoming. I’m a lawyer too, you know.” Lincoln chuckles. “I’ve also worked alongside you for 6 years now. Ain’t my first rodeo.”
“First time you’ve been the one riding the bull.”
I tilt my head back and forth, “True. I’m not worried about me, it’s Tilly that’s got me…” I break off not knowing how to explain what I’m feeling.
“I know man. Women. Fucking pain in the ass and kind of our sole reason for existing.”
“Yeah.” Clearing my throat awkwardly, I sit up in my chair. “Alright, let’s get started.”
Lincoln walks to the door, knocks twice and sits down next to me instead of across the table. Special Agent Lomax steps in with another agent and takes the seat Lincoln just vacated. We stare at one another for several long seconds, both of us taking the measure of the other. I’m no expert, and plenty of people are gifted in the arts of deception, but I don’t get the impression Lomax is dirty.
“Where are the auction items, Mr. Wilson?”
“You’re guess would be as good as mine.” I answer, my lips twitching with the urge to grin.
“Where did your girlfriend transfer the money to?”
“Did you ask her the same question?” Lincoln kicks my leg under the table.
“I did.” Lomax releases a heavy sigh and slumps in his chair. His black suit is standard wear for the FBI, and while his tie looks to be a bland black and gray stripe, if you look closely, you’ll see the gray stripe is comprised of various ships from Star Wars. Dammit, I’m gonna end up liking this guy.
“The money is probably wherever the thief transferred it to. I suggest tracking them down and asking.”
“Your fingerprints were at both entrances to the storage area where the auction items were held.”
I glance at Lincoln, and he gives me a subtle nod. “Me and how many others? I assisted my club brothers when they delivered their donated items.”
“And the U-Haul you rented?” He pulls a piece of paper out of the file folder on the table between us and slides it over to me.
“How was it paid?” Lomax’s head cocks to the side so I elaborate. “How did the renter pay for the truck?”
“Cash.”
“So, you think I paid cash for a U-Haul to steal a bunch of expensive items, but I used my real name to rent it?”
Lomax huffs in frustration, eyes rolling skyward. “Is this your signature?” He points to the bottom of the agreement.
“No.”
“Really?” Lincoln holds up his finger, using his other hand to scroll through his phone.
“These are court documents submitted by my client three months ago.” Lincoln spins his phone around, but not before I see he’s opened his email to a series of scanned documents from one of our closed cases. I smirk as Lomax’s eyes dart from the rental agreement to the court documents. “Notice any differences, Special Agent Lomax?”
“Tell me about the night of the gala.”
“It was a warm spring night in northern Kentucky—”
“Mr. Wilson.”
“Matilda and I dressed at the clubhouse, drove in my car to the event, arrived an hour early. We stayed to clean up, leaving the venue just before midnight. We drove straight to the Lytle hotel, and remained in our suite until you busted down the door Monday morning.”
“You never left?”
“Nope. We found plenty of…surfaces to keep ourselves occupied.”
“Tilly is going to rip your balls off.” Lincoln mutters.
“Attorney-Client privilege.” I remind him.
Lomax chuckles, his posture relaxing for the first time since I met him earlier today. “There isn’t any such thing as Interrogator-Interrogatee privilege.”
“Noted.”
“One more question, Mr. Wilson. How many phones do you have?”
“One.” I answer immediately. “And you confiscated it before I was kindly escorted out of the hotel.”
“Thank you, Mr. Wilson. An agent will be in shortly to escort you to a holding cell.”
“Special Agent Lomax?” He glances over his shoulder to look at Lincoln. Linc taps on his iWatch.
“You’ve got less than 41 hours.”
With that unwelcome reminder, Lomax and his partner leave the room without another word. Lincoln places his things back in his briefcase and snaps it shut. “That went well.”
“It did.” I agree. “Did it go as well for Tilly?” Lincoln’s hesitation is all the answer I need. “Linc—”
“I’m your brother. Your best friend. And your boss. I’ve got this. Tilly will be fine. Why don’t you spend your remaining time here, thinking of how you’re gonna ask her to be your Ol’ Lady.”
“Pssh. I ain’t asking.”
“Ah, yes, women just love being told what to do.”