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Suit guy’s eyes shift from me to John. “Name?”
Within seconds, one of the officers pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. “Thomas Reid. Age, thirty-eight. Married to Joy Reid. Two kids, Bryan, age ten, and Melissa, age six. Employed by Langford, Richter, and Ames, Personal Injury Law Firm for the last ten years.”
John’s mouth drops open. “How the hell do you know—”
“Ambulance chaser, huh?” Suit guy interrupts him again with a sarcastic chuckle. “Well, I’m not surprised. A shady fucker caught shady fucking.”
“You’ve got it all wrong,” John huffs, stomping toward him. “The lady and I were just having a conversation.”
Suit guy glances down and smirks. “You’d be more convincing if you tucked your dick in your pants.”
Cursing under his breath, John turns to zip up as the main officer gives a quick nod to the other two. Before he can take another step, the officers have his hands behind his back and are reading him his rights.
“You can’t do this to me!” he yells to suit guy. Red-faced and panicked, he swings his chin over his shoulder and glares at the officers. “Stop talking. I know my damn rights.”
Suit guy grins. “If that’s true, Tommy Boy, you also know that soliciting sex is against the law, and if convicted, punishable up to a year in jail.”
“What proof do you have?”
“Besides your dick hanging out?” He points up at the security camera. “We have your personal porno confiscated in the raid.”
“You can’t do this! My wife—”
“Is probably going to be real pissed off,” suit guy finishes for him. “You might want to start looking into divorce lawyers.”
Suit guy and I stare at each other as the officers escort John out of the room. I try to seem fearless, but I shiver. Deep lines sink into his forehead, and he bends down, grabbing the short satin robe from the back of the demolished wall.
“Put some damn clothes on,” he growls, tossing it to me before turning his head.
For some reason, I feel myself blushing and quickly cover myself. Once he turns back around, I flop onto the couch and cross my arms. “The door was a little excessive, don’t you think?”
He studies me, his thumb rubbing over the dimple in his chin. “You seem almost bored, Miss Chernova.”
I snort. “You don’t think I’m used to police raids? You put on a good show, but we both know Dmitry’s going to fill those hungry pockets of yours, and there’ll be no record of anyone ever being here tonight.”
“I’m sure that’s usually the case, but there’s a problem with your analysis.”
I gasp, dramatically throwing both hands over my heart. “No pockets?”
“We’re not the police.” Pulling what looks like a black leather wallet from inside his jacket, he flips it open to reveal a badge and credentials. “Special Agent Ethan Schaeffer. We’re the FBI.”
* * *
The FBI’sMiami satellite office looks like a typical interrogation room seen on every television crime show. Bland, sterile, and impersonal. One table, two opposing metal chairs, stark white walls, a two-way mirror, dark blue carpeting, a framed picture of the state of Florida, and not one damn clock to be found.
“For the hundredth time, I don’t know anything.”
I shift, the backs of my legs sticking to the metal chair. I have no idea how long I’ve been here, but if the pins and needles attacking my feet and hands are any indication, it has been hours. At least Special Agent Ethan Schaeffer had the common decency to give me his suit jacket to cover up my scantily clad body.
He’s a real prince.
Ethan picks up a pen and flips it between his fingers. “Come on, Miss Chernova. You really don’t expect me to believe that, do you?”
“Ava,” I say.
“Huh?”
“You’ve seen me naked. I think we’re past formalities, don’t you think, Ethan?”
