Before I can suggest that, my phone rings—Harding. “I have to take this.”
Willow sits on the couch and watches me.
“Hey, you got something?” I go to the window and stare out.
“Yes and no,” Harding says. “We’ve questioned these guys several times, and I’m convinced they have no idea who Stanvich is.”
“Then who hired them?”
“Great question. So far, I’ve ruled out Moose and Nancy.”
“Wait, you mentioned Moose to them?” That means his identity might be compromised. But hell, so is mine.
“No, I’m better than that. But get this: all three claim they were hired by a woman. But in a lineup of photos, they didn’t recognize Nancy or Sylvia.”
“Can’t you bring in a sketch artist or something?” I ask.
“The CIA isn’t exactly full of those. Besides, I’m supposed to turn these guys over in a few hours. Can you come in and question them? My gut tells me you might get more information out of them, if you can relate man to man.”
I sigh. Harding’s the best interrogator there is. If these men aren’t giving her more, I really doubt I will have any luck. But of course, I need to go in and try. It’s just the timing isn’t great. Willow is safe now, but I don’t want to leave this perfect bubble we’ve created for ourselves the last couple of days. I’m afraid once it’s gone, we might not get it back.
That’s ridiculous, though. Just my insecure thoughts.
“Yeah, I’ll be there in an hour.” I end the call and turn to Willow.
“You have to go,” she says.
I sit next to her on the couch and take her hand in mine. “I’m sorry, but I do. I wouldn’t leave if I didn’t have to. Shit. I really don’t like leaving you here.”
She squeezes my hand. “I’ll be fine. You staying here was more about keeping you safe than me. So, if you go out that door, aren’t you at risk?”
“No. That was my colleague, Harding. The men who kidnapped me are still in custody. She’s been questioning them and hit an impasse. She needs me there.”
“It’s all right. I have work I need to catch up on.”
“I’ll send you a message once I have an idea how long I’ll be,” I say.
I kiss her goodbye and make sure she secures every lock on the door.
Harding is holding the men in an office in Brooklyn that the CIA uses. When I arrive, the three men are all tied to chairs spaced about two feet apart. Now, I’ve seen bruises and marks on suspects before, but these guys are much worse off than is typical. The guy on the right sounds like he’s wheezing.
“What happened?” I ask.
“They fell,” she says.
“They don’t like answering questions. I had to get persuasive,” Agent Monroe says.
I’ve worked with Monroe a few times. He’s assisted Harding a few times over the years. He’s not exactly a rule follower, which explains why these guys look so bad.
“Yeah? How did that work for you?” I’m being facetious. I already know from Harding they don’t have the answers they need.
I walk up to the man who shot me in the arm. “Who asked you to grab me?”
He doesn’t respond.
“You wanted to know what Damien told me. Someone hired you three to get that information.”
The corner of his mouth turns up, but he quickly schools his features.
