Debra Webb - Agent Cowboy

But there were other ways that could slip under the radar of anyone looking for questionable activities.

Kelly knew most of the individual account holders. She’d met them or at least spoken on the phone with them. But being polite and cordial didn’t make them innocent. There was simply no way for her to know who could be trusted and who couldn’t. Whatever the case, someone Ray had come into contact with had grown dissatisfied with his work and had decided his services were no longer needed. Either that or Ray had figured out that a client he represented was not what he seemed and that knowledge had proved fatal.

She turned up the volume on the television as she padded through the living room. Keeping tabs on the investigation was necessary, she reminded herself as she rummaged through Ann’s kitchen in search of something to eat. Her appetite was still AWOL but eating was essential to survival.

The news anchor’s voice snared her attention with one simple statement: “Now, for an update on the multiple homicide at a Houston investment firm.”

Kelly dismissed thoughts of food and hurried to the living room to watch the report. She settled on the sofa as a reporter standing in front of Ray’s office filled the screen. She could see the yellow crime-scene tape fluttering in the breeze where it was strung across the front entrance. Her gut clenched with dread.

Ray was dead.

Ann was dead.

“The Houston Police Department,” the reporter droned solemnly, “has just released the name of the third victim in the still unsolved multiple homicide. Special Agent Norton Davis of the Dallas Federal Bureau of Investigations was murdered in the private office of Raymond Jarvis. We don’t know yet whether Agent Davis was a client of Jarvis’s or conducting an investigation into the firm’s activities, both seem unlikely given the geography and jurisdiction. However, sources close to the investigations say—”

Kelly muted the sound and sat in stunned silence for a long while. An FBI agent. No wonder Ray had been nervous. She blinked. She should have gone to the police already. Should have told them what she knew.

But then news that she had survived would leak to the press.

Her gaze focused on the crime-scene tape flailing behind the reporter. If the killer hadn’t hesitated to kill an FBI agent, what hope did she have of surviving once he realized his mistake?

None.

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