I pause my pacing long enough to catch Adam’s raised eyebrow.
“So you do care about her.”
“Of course I do. She’s my fake girlfriend?”
I can practically hear the eye roll in his tone when he replies, “Since when was caring for someone necessary for being in a fake relationship?”
I pretend it’s a rhetorical question and go back to pacing, my strides picking up speed. Between that and the anger and frustration flaring up inside me, I’m hot enough to toast s’mores on my body.
Liam and Connor approach us from the parking lot, concern lining their faces.
“Any word on how she’s doing?” Liam asks.
“No,” I grumble. “Even being her fiancé isn’t getting me anywhere.”
I’m not looking at either of them, but I can feel their questioning gazes directed at me.
Adam fills them in. “He told them that because he hoped it would get him some answers.”
“I take it that didn’t work,” Liam says, not without a touch of humor in his tone.
Neither Adam nor I respond, figuring he already knows the answer.
Liam pulls out his phone. “Let me see if our FBI contacts have been given an update.”
I pull up short. “They know about the accident?”
“I called them as soon as I heard. Adam told me enough to make me believe it was a targeted hit.”
“There’s a chance it had nothing to do with the contract,” Connor says. “It’s possible Nikolai Orlov is responsible. He’s got to be aware that we’re working with the Feds.”
“And he believes Chloe knows something that will expose his location,” Adam finishes for him, nodding like this is a likely scenario.
Liam steps away from us for a moment to talk on the phone. A minute later, Agent Foden exits through the sliding doors and approaches us.
She gives me a nod. “I can take you to see her.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
She doesn’t say anything as she leads me to a private room at the back of the ER. Agent Ramsey is standing outside the closed door, talking to a cop.
“Any idea who did this to her?” I ask them.
“We’re examining several feasible likelihoods,” Ramsey says.
I mentally fill in what he isn’t saying. “In other words, you don’t have any real suspects.”
Neither agent flinches at my comment—or reveals what they’re thinking.
“We suggested witness protection to her,” Foden says. “But she’s not interested.”
Suggested? They’ve been able to talk to her for God knows how long, while I’ve been creating a trench in the sidewalk to rival the Grand Canyon?
I frown. “What do you mean she’s not interested?”
“Exactly that. She said something about seniors counting on her for the Christmas show, and she doesn’t want to let them down.”
We’ll see about that.
