Page 20 of High-Priority Asset

“I can take care of myself.”

DUTCH SET THE to-go containers of food on the front desk of Kismet and wrote his cell phone number on the top of the carton. Something had spooked Isabel, but no sense in her or Brenda starving, especially since lunch was paid for.

Voices came from the office upstairs, but he didn’t want to intrude. He’d followed Isabel back to the gallery, giving her plenty of space while making sure that she was okay. She’d almost gotten hit by a car crossing one street, but she seemed more concerned about whatever she’d been running from.

“Why do you have to be so stubborn?” Brenda asked, her voice heavy with concern. “You don’t have to do this alone. I’m sure Dutch would help you, but you have to tell him what you’re up against.”

“I want him to see me,” Isabel said, “not Chad Ellis’s victim!” A hand slammed against a wooden surface and a chair scraped against the floor. “I have to help myself. Do you understand? I’m not going to accept my uncle’s bodyguards who’d only spy on me and report every move I make back to him and I’m certainly not going to start leaning on a man I just met, expecting him to protect me from that maniac!”

Dutch stiffened as he eavesdropped on their conversation.

Maniac? Chad Ellis?

The name hadn’t been in Isabel’s file.

“I like Dutch, okay! He’s a solid prospect for once. I won’t let Chad ruin that, too. He’s taken enough away from me.”

Dutch crept out of the gallery as quietly as he’d entered. His thoughts spun around Isabel’s reaction in the restaurant and everything he’d overheard.

Not a lick of it added up with the information he’d been given, troubling him a little and angering him quite a lot.

Going around the back way, he went to the command center across the street, where he found Allison and Draper. Jake Prindle hadn’t come back.

“How did it go?” Allison asked.

“Not well, but it had nothing to do with me.” He looked at Draper. “Who is Chad Ellis?”

A stupefied expression crossed his boss’s face. “Never heard the name.”

“Cut the crap and stop playing me,” Dutch said. “I can’t do my job if I don’t have all the information.”

Draper put his hands on his hips. “You have the same file the FBI gave me.”

“It’s true,” Allison said, as though she sensed Draper’s word couldn’t be trusted. “I saw it myself. The same behavioral analyst who recommended you put the file together on Isabel Vargas for us.”

“I want a name,” Dutch demanded.

“Sheila Rogers,” Allison said. “Out of the LA office on Wilshire Boulevard.”

Dutch turned for the door.

“Hold on, Haas. I can’t have you stirring up trouble with the FBI.”

“I’m going over there to get answers and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“Fine.” Draper yanked on his suit coat. “But I’m coming with you.”

LESS THAN THIRTY minutes later, Dutch and Draper were seated in Special Agent Rogers’s office that was the size of a broom closet. They were so close to her desk that Dutch’s knees practically touched the hardwood.

“Thank you for seeing us on such short notice, Agent Rogers,” Draper said. “We appreciate you taking the time from your busy schedule.”

Agent Rogers responded with similar professional chitchat.

They didn’t have time for pleasantries. The inconsistencies surrounding Isabel had been rolling around in Dutch’s head like a pinball, ringing warning bells and raising red flags. He needed answers. To hell with the rest.

“The file we were given on Isabel Vargas was incomplete,” Dutch said. “Why?”

Frowning, Draper threw him an irritated glance. “You have to excuse Deputy Marshal Haas. He can be overly direct.”