In the time away from the stress of his presence, she’d mulled over what SAC Keaton had told her about Yanira Flores’s statement.
According to Yanira, Joseph hadn’t even been in the room when Dalessio was killed. Amelia had been given a copy of the girl’s official testimony, and she’d been over the write-up so many times she had it memorized.
Joseph had scared the living hell out of Yanira. The poor girl had thought he was a friend of Alton Dalessio’s, and she was certain he’d shown up in the doorway after Alton was already dead.
In the midst of Amelia’s conversation with SAC Keaton two weeks earlier, the implications of the inconsistency hadn’t dawned on her. In fact, she hadn’t realized the significance of the discrepancy for close to a week.
Joseph hadn’t seen a damn thing.
He’d caught wind of the opportunity to act as a witness to back Amelia up in the hearing after Dalessio’s death. Then, he’d managed to figure out her guilt when she thought she’d prematurely pulled the trigger. The how was still a mystery, but she didn’t need to know.
Joseph had lied to her, the FBI, and then he weaponized the tall tale in an effort to blackmail her into having sex with him.
Amelia’s stomach turned.
She’d almost done it. She’d almost given in to him. And when she’d changed her mind and told him no, she was sure she’d come within an inch of a violent assault. She’d have fought back with everything she had, or at least that’s what she liked to tell herself.
The truth was, she didn’t know how she’d react. No one ever did.
As the ringtone ceased and the line clicked to life, Amelia shook away the thoughts and groaned at the name on the screen.
“Hello? Amelia?”
“Hey, Lainey.” Amelia propped her elbow on the frame of the door, trying to keep her tone neutral. “I said I’d call you at noon, remember?”
“Yeah… yeah, I remember.” Lainey yawned. “How’s your day going? I just woke up, if you couldn’t tell.”
“It’s good. Quiet, but that’s good.” Amelia swallowed her sense of unease.
First Joseph and now Lainey. Apparently, she always had to have at least one source of stress in her life. As if her job at the FBI wasn’t enough.
After she’d accidentally picked up one of Lainey’s calls, Amelia had guilted herself into answering another a week later. Her younger sister swore up and down that she was ready to get clean, that she’d go to rehab, she’d leave her shithead boyfriend, see a counselor. Whatever it took, or so Lainey said.
Though Amelia had been down this road before, the conviction in Lainey’s voice had been difficult to ignore. For the first time since her last failed attempt to give up heroin, Lainey had admitted to her repeated lies. She’d confessed that no one had forced her to mule drugs for the local gangs and that even though her boyfriend was a piece of work, he’d never made her walk the streets for cash.
Of course, Amelia herself had come within an inch of becoming a prostitute of sorts herself. The knowledge had softened her heart a bit at Lainey’s circumstances.
When Amelia had asked Lainey what she needed, Lainey’s request had been simple.
A plane ticket.
Amelia had no earthly idea how her sister had gotten to Milwaukee, but she was stuck in the city with virtually no way out. No car and no money to buy or rent one. Sure, Amelia could drive to Wisconsin to drag her sister from whatever hole she called home, but as far as she was concerned, that defeated the purpose of Lainey’s supposed dedication.
This was a journey Lainey had to start on her own. Amelia wouldn’t give up an entire day just to drive to Milwaukee and return empty-handed.
A plane ticket, on the other hand. That was something she could do. Lainey couldn’t sell a ticket in her own name. There was no way for her to monetize a trip to Chicago.
The logic was sound, but Amelia wasn’t convinced. She’d asked Lainey to keep in touch with her while she considered the request. Amelia wasn’t naïve enough to think her sister had stopped using in the interim, but the connection was her best effort at extending a lifeline to someone who’d done nothing but lie to her for the past three years—the time since Lainey’s most recent relapse.
For fifteen minutes, Amelia and Lainey carried on a regular conversation.
Amelia told her younger sister about how Hup had gone back to flushing the toilet in the middle of the night, and Lainey told Amelia how she’d feed the neighborhood cats. She could only afford the cheapest off-brand cat food, but the strays didn’t mind.
After the call ended, Amelia stared off into the distance before she started her car.
On her way back to the FBI building, she spotted a familiar car in the rearview mirror.
Bile crawled up the back of her throat, and she fought to keep from throwing up the cinnamon roll she’d ordered for lunch. An involuntary tremor worked its way to her hands, and she clenched the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white.
Gritting her teeth, she focused on the road. She hadn’t noticed Joseph’s car at the café, but he still could have followed her. For what purpose, she didn’t know. If his intent was to finish what he’d started two weeks earlier, she’d be happy to shoot him in the dick.
She snorted at the thought.
With only the occasional glance to ensure that her tail was Joseph, Amelia passed through the FBI’s security checkpoint. She kept her speed slow and even as she cruised to the second story to park.
Joseph chose a stall one row down from hers. Pushing his sunglasses to the top of his head, he stepped out of the driver’s side like he didn’t have a care in the world. Like today was a normal day. Like he hadn’t just followed a woman he’d tried to blackmail into sex.
Like water
