Page 69 of The Pleasure of Panic

“You’ve been digging in my past?”

“Let’s just say… yes.” And I can’t help it, I smile.

“Is everything a game to you?” Issy is back now, pissed off. About me knowing her better than she thought, or knowing her new boyfriend, I’m not quite sure.

“Um. Pretty much, yeah,” I say. “Why not, right? Why not play life like a game? It’s as good a strategy as any.”

“You’re fucking with the FBI,” Murphy says, dead serious.

“Are you sure about that?” I say, leading him by the hand again. He just stares at me, so I continue. “Are you really sure about that, Agent Murphy? Because someone at the FBI, an organization to which you belong, fed you a lie last night about me being unavailable. Let me guess,” I say, looking back at Issy. “Something happened last night after our little chat?” She squints her eyes at me. “And they wanted to question you about it. You’re a very smart woman, Issy. I knew this intuitively, even before I started looking into your background. So you, rightly, said ‘Lawyer!’ And they countered with, ‘He’s unavailable.’ Am I right?”

She swallows, licks her lips, then says, “Close.”

“OK,” I say, folding my hands on my desk and glancing up at Murphy again. “So I was here last night. Pretty late, in fact. I didn’t get any calls. No calls came into reception, either. So…” I open my hands up. Obvious answer, people.

“You’re telling me my department is dirty,” Murphy says.

“Is that what I’m telling you?” I ask back. “Or is that something you already knew, Finnegan Murphy?”

“Good for you, you’ve got a file on me.”

Ah, he’s starting to get it now.

“This isn’t looking good for you, Wells. You’re playing a game you can’t win.”

But I just say, “Whoever makes the rules wins, Murphy. You know that just as well as I do.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO - ISSY

Whoever makes the rules wins .

Well, I can’t argue with that.

We left Jordan’s office after that little remark. He encouraged us, actually. Got up, pointed to the door, and said, “If you don’t mind, please close the door on your way out.”

“He’s hiding shit from his father,” Finn says. “Did you catch that little remark?”

I did, but so what?

“We could take this to him. I’m sure Wells Senior would be very interested in knowing what his son—and full partner in his very high-profile law firm—is doing.”

“We could,” I say, looking out the window as we travel down I-25 towards the Tech Center. “But we’d be following the wrong leads.”

Finn is quiet after that. Quiet the whole rest of the way. We’re already off the freeway, turning into the hotel, when he finally says, “We’re gonna figure this out.”

“Yup,” I say. “We are. For sure.” And then I look at him. Wait for him to look at me as we pull up to the valet. “But it’s not going to be good. It might be better to just walk away.”

“What?”

“Just pack up my shit, leave the country—”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Finn,” I say, turning in my seat. “That guy on TV this morning. Caleb Kelly? He’s fuckin’ Mob, OK? And your boss, partner, whatever the fuck he is, was standing next to him. The FBI is dirtier than you ever imagined and we, the two of us, are right in the middle of it.”

“We’re not running,” he says.

“No? Then what are we doing?”