James Grippando - Blood Money

“They convinced a judge to issue a gag order before we even filed our lawsuit? What kind of system is this?”

Jack considered the question, which strangely echoed public sentiment since the Sydney Bennett verdict.

“This can work to our advantage,” said Jack.

“How?”

“Right out of the blocks, BNN’s lawyers have overplayed their hand. And I intend to make them pay.”

Laramore’s cell rang a second time. Again, Jack got a one-sided perspective on the conversation, but this time he could tell who was on the line: Celeste’s mother.

Laramore ended the call and put his phone away. “I need to go back upstairs,” he told Jack. “Virginia could use some company.”

“I understand. I’ll call you in the morning,” said Jack.

They shook hands. Laramore went to the elevators, and Jack stopped in the men’s room. He was actually hungry enough to eat hospital food, had the cafeteria been open. On the way out, he stopped at the vending machines for a granola bar.

“Hey, stranger.”

Jack turned at the familiar voice. Rene had popped into the vending room after him.

“Hi,” said Jack. “You working tonight?”

She dropped a few coins into the soda machine. “Yup. You?”

“No. Well, I was. Working. Not for the hospital. Law stuff. You know.”

She grabbed her diet soda and smiled. “You’re cute when you’re tongue-tied. I’m off at midnight.”

“Rene, I told you, I’m enga-”

She laughed. “Got ya. You are such an easy target. Stefan is picking me up in an hour. I’d ask you to join us, but you look really tired. Plus, Stefan’s not really into that stuff.”

Jack was a half beat behind her.

“Got ya again, Swyteck. This is way too easy.” She popped open her soda and gave him a wink. “I’ll see you around.”

As she headed out, a folded yellow Post-it fell from her pocket to the floor. Jack was about to say something, but he quickly realized that the drop had been intentional. He opened it and read.

Can’t talk here. There’s more. 2 P.M. tomorrow. Same place.

“More” obviously meant about Celeste Laramore. “Same place” was the coffee shop in Little Havana. Jack tucked the note away and headed for the exit.

Things had been quiet outside the hospital when he’d arrived, but the eleven o’clock news had since started, and “coma watch” had returned for the obligatory live update. The media presence was nothing compared to what it had been earlier in the week. Tonight it was down to a handful of news vans. Tomorrow was sure to bring an uptick in coverage with the filing of the lawsuit against BNN-or not, with a gag order in place. Jack hurried out the door and down the sidewalk before anyone could recognize him. He chose the long route through the parking lot, trying not to walk so fast that he might draw attention to himself. He took a modicum of satisfaction in getting all the way to his car without having a single microphone thrust in his face. He found his key and was aiming in the dark at the ignition when his phone rang. It was an unknown number, but he answered anyway.

“I heard your conversation with Sydney,” the caller said.

It was that thick, disguised voice again-Jack’s attacker, the man with cotton in his mouth. “You’re eavesdropping on my cell?”

“Does that really surprise you? How else would I have known that I could find you walking down Main Highway to Cy’s Place Monday night? Remember that text to your buddy Theo?”

Need a ride tonight. Walking over now.

“Nothing surprises me anymore,” said Jack. “What do you want?”

“There’s been a change in our arrangement.”

Jack massaged between the eyes, staving off a massive headache. “There is no arrangement.”

“Relax and listen. This is all good. See, now that I heard you and the party slut talk, I believe you. You really don’t know where she is.”

“That’s what I told you from the beginning.”

“No worries. Just a little glitch. We can work around this.”

“I’m not interested in working anything out.”

“Sydney won’t just walk away from a book and movie deal. She’ll call you again. Especially after that lawsuit is filed tomorrow against BNN.”

“How do you know about-”

“I know these things, Jack. When she calls, I want you to insist on meeting her face-to-face.”

“No.”

“Don’t tell me no . You know what happens if you don’t do your part.”

Jack said nothing, but he remembered the threat well: Someone you love will get what Sydney deserves.

“We’re a team, Jack. We’ll find her.”

The call ended, and the light from Jack’s keypad faded, leaving him alone in the dark.

Jack met Andie the following morning in Miami Gardens, a short ride away from the FBI’s Miami field office. Andie didn’t want a meeting at the office. Over the years, Jack had done legal work for the St. Thomas University Center for Justice and Peace, and he’d spent enough time on campus to remember that the coffee at the book center was drinkable. They each grabbed a cup and a bagel and walked across the parking lot to the baseball diamond, where a travel team was practicing. Alone in the bleachers behind home plate, they could talk freely.

Jack had left a message for Andie immediately after the call from his attacker. It had taken another phone call and two text messages to get a callback, which told him either that she was really mad at him, or that something big was in the works.

“I’m going undercover again,” she said.

Something big-which explained her hypersensitivity about the publicity over the Sydney Bennett case. But it didn’t rule out the possibility that she was also mad.

“When?” he asked.

“You know I can’t tell you that. But soon.”

The ping of an aluminum bat sounded on the other side of the batting cage. The baseball team was fielding ground balls. Jack watched, working on a chewy bagel. He was reluctant to ask, but he needed to know.

“Is this in response to the threat?”

Andie seemed put off by the insinuation. “Are you asking if I’m going undercover to run away from the man who attacked you?”

Hearing Andie rephrase it made the question sound insulting. “Sorry,” said Jack. “I asked only because you were the one who immediately thought that the threat against ‘someone you love’ meant you.”

“It has nothing to do with that. This assignment has been in the works for months.”

Jack’s attention turned briefly to the infielders, then back to Andie. “So. . where does this leave us?”

“We’ll be fine,” she said.

He smiled a little. “Does that mean I’m off the FBI’s ten most unwanted list?”

She returned the smile, more with her eyes. “You’re such a goofball. Yes, you’re off the list. Or at least out of the top ten.”

“So you still love me?”

She gave him a little kiss. “Yes, I love you. Even though I was right.”

Jack knew it wouldn’t be simple. “Right about what?”

“That photograph of us walking out of the emergency room. It took less than eight hours for it to show up on the Internet.”

“True. But you’re barely recognizable. Obviously, the bureau doesn’t think it’s an issue if they’re sending you back undercover.”

“We got lucky. This time.”

Jack drank his coffee, watched the infielders turn a double play. There was more to sort out. “Who will be my contact at the FBI when you go undercover? It’s clear I haven’t heard the last from this guy.”

“Until I’m reassigned, the contact is still me. Then it will be up to the assistant special agent in charge. Depending on how this plays out in the short term, it’s possible that the bureau will defer to local police. In that case, you would follow up with Detective Rivera.”