Neither of us says a thing until the door opens, and Jude comes bounding in. “Found one,” he says, holding a hairbrush up.
I quirk a brow. “Are we forgoing jail time and heading straight for corporal punishment?”
Jude chokes on a laugh.
River scowls.
I’m not normally so brazen, but the downward spiral my life is heading on has me acting reckless.
Jude coughs as he walks up behind me and settles a hand on my shoulder. “It’s for your hair. Apparently, you live in a teen tv show and hair grips double as lock picks.”
“Ah.”
His fingers land on my ponytail. “May I?”
“There aren’t any more in there.” I lock eyes with Agent Park. “You found the only one I had in my pocket.”
His eyes drop to the jeans hugging my legs before moving back up to my eyes. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t take your word for it.”
I shrug. Of course, they’re not going to believe me. That shouldn’t sting as much as it does.
Jude eases the hair tie off. His fingers thread through my hair and my eyes flutter shut as his nails send the best kind of shiver down my spine. My father used to brush my hair, but it never felt like this. I’d sit with my back straight, my hands clenching the underside of the chair because I could never let my guard down with my dad. Sitting in the FBI offices is the last place I should feel relaxed, but Jude has magic fingers and I sink back into the seat.
I don’t realize Agent Park has moved until the door clicks shut behind him. I blink my eyes open.
Jude must have finished checking for hair grips by now, but he keeps running the brush through my hair. I’m too desperate for his touch to ask him to stop.
“Eli thinks you’re helping your father. Keeping him one step ahead of us every time we get too close.”
You will be my perfect weapon.
I force myself not to react. “Eli’s the one with the cowboy hat, right?”
I hear the smile in his voice. “Don’t tell him I told you, but he’s got the boots too.”
I trace a knot in the wood on the arm of the chair and the cuffs rattle. “And what doyouthink?”
Jude’s hand stills, then he splits my hair into sections and begins to braid it. “I think you were the one to leak Arthur Maxwell’s identity to the police after you faked your death.”
I don’t say anything. Nine hours ago, I was waking up to a normal day as a detective for the 23rdprecinct. I was excited to go to a training lecture by a profiler I, as Luke puts it, like to fan-girl over. Since then, I’ve been arrested, escaped custody, had a panic attack in front of said profiler and been re-arrested. And now I need to decide how much I tell Jude.
He finishes the braid and uses my hair tie to secure it. “Angelica –”
“Don’t.” I pull away from him as far as the cuffs will allow. With just one word the calm his touch created abandons me entirely. “Don’t call me that.”
Jude holds up his hands. “Okay. Freya it is.” He raises an eyebrow. “Though it feels kind of weird to be calling you the name of a dead woman. How about I call you Angel?”
I sigh and lean back against the chair. I guess that answers how they figured out I wasn’t who I said I was. There’s no getting out of this. They know I’m Arthur Maxwell’s daughter. All I cando now is damage control. I want to catch my father, I really do, but I can’t do that from inside a prison cell.
Jude rounds the chair. He leans against the desk, his head cocked as he watches me. I see the moment that genius brain of his realizes I’m ready to talk.
He shakes his head, a smile playing at his lips. “You want to make a deal.”
“I’ll tell you what I know on two conditions. No jail time and I want in on the investigation.”
Air whistles out of Jude’s rounded lips. “No jail time I can do but River’s not going to let someone whose intentions are... unclear so close to an active investigation.”
“I was raised by the man you’re trying to catch. I know him better than anyone. As far as my intentions go, your theory is nearer to the mark than Eli’s.” I lean forward. “Besides, I’m a wild card, wouldn’t you rather keep me close?”
