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If I did that they’d think I was paranoid. Or worse. It’s not like I had any proof.
The man behind the reception desk in prison had seemed disinterested when I reported the threat made against me. He drew my attention to a notice on the wall that reminded visitors the prison could not be held liable for the psychotic behavior of criminally insane felons. OK, so that was a lie, but it might have said that. The upshot was the man hadn’t believed me. I’d filled in the form anyway, but I was certain nothing could come of it.
“Coffee!” Harley appeared with two cups of coffee. “Nurse Ratchet told me you could have coffee.” He handed me a paper cup containing brown steaming liquid. I watched as he sipped his and grimaced. That told me all I needed to know about the quality of coffee in this place. But whatever.
“Nurse Ratchet?”
He smirked a little. “She’s a bit scary so the name fits.”
I rolled my eyes. “The poor woman has probably worked an 18-hour shift and is exhausted. Cut her some slack!”
He flopped down in the chair next to my bed. “Yeah, whatever. Did the cops talk to you? I passed them outside.”
“Yeah, but I can’t remember much of anything.” I frowned as I sipped my coffee. The pain in my shoulder was still there, but not quite as bad. Maybe the doctors would let me leave soon?
“We talked to them while you were unconscious, but they seem to think we were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
For a moment, I debated whether I should tell him about what happened at the prison, but just as the words were forming on my lips, the door swung open again.
This time, to my absolute delight, it was Quinn and Brax.
Quinn’s face lit up when he saw me sipping coffee in bed. He rushed over to the bed and kissed me. I caught the expression of surprise on Brax’s face before the shutters came down. Quinn must not have said anything to his friend.
That surprised me. Or maybe not. Guys were far less likely to have meaningful conversations with each other.
Not that I was a fan of girly chats either. Or had any friends other than Tessa.
A cool voice interrupted my thoughts.
“Miss Cancello? I’d like a word, if you’re feeling better.”
Everyone turned to look at the man standing in the doorway. His cropped hair and dark suit screamed official. The badge he flashed confirmed he was FBI. “Agent Norcross.”
“You know who I am?” Stupid question really.
He nodded. “Of course. I’m one of the agents working on your father’s case.” He scanned the room, his eyes lingering on the three guys.
All of them looked surprised and wary but they said nothing. No doubt they were wondering why the FBI wanted to talk to me. I was curious too. I hadn’t spoken to them since the early days of Dad’s arrest, when they’d pulled me in for questioning to see what I knew.
Which was nothing.
In my somewhat limited experience, FBI agents were all humorless individuals. This guy didn’t seem like an exception.
“What do you want to talk to me about?”
He glanced at the bandage across my shoulder. “I’d have thought that was obvious, Miss Cancello.”
I stared at him. “Not to me.”
He sighed like I was inconveniencing him in some way. “You went to visit your father on Saturday. The very next day, someone shoots at you. I don’t believe in coincidences. Do you?”
My skin prickled and I fought to maintain a neutral expression. Now was not a good time to discuss the visit with my father. I had no idea whether I could trust this guy. If he wanted a chat, he’d have to haul me in for an official interview.
“The cops think it was gang-related,” I repeated.
“I know what the cops think. I’m more interested in what you think.”
“I have no thoughts on the topic. I can’t remember anything that happened. One minute I was drinking coffee, the next, here I am.”
