Page 98 of Sinful Bride

The FBI agent sees himself into the office, a smug smile on his face. “You said you have information on Sidney Ewing’s disappearance? Please tell me this is a confession.”

“Have a seat.”

And slow your roll, asshole.

Smithson plops himself down in a chair like he owns the place. I don’t know what he thinks is about to happen.

I’m almost giddy with knowing what really is about to go down instead.

“I have to thank you, Mr. Smithson. You inspired me to take a look at things from a different perspective.”

He sighs. “Agent Smithson?—”

“We’ll see.”

I’m so tempted to snap a photo of the look on his face. It’s fucking priceless.

“Just tell me what you have,” he snaps. “I don’t have all day to play games.”

“Oh, but you love games. Don’t you? That’s what I keep discovering, the more I dig.”

Smithson freezes.

I smile. “See, I’ve been wracking my brain over why the hell you’re so dedicated to helping the Hamishes. Stewart, specifically, but we both know Ophelia has an iron grip on his balls. How did you become friends? What did he do for you, or you for him? This loyalty… it’s different.”

“Just get to the point, Chekhov.”

“It’s new.” I pull out a manila folder and slap it on the desk so his colleagues can hear it on their end of the microphone. “Your relationship with the Hamishes. It’s brand fucking new and that really made me scratch my head. I mean, I don’t see that kind of loyalty for at least the first few years from employees… unless I have something they want.”

I look him dead in the eyes.

“Or, better yet: something they’re afraid of.”

Smithson adjusts his sleeves. “Do you or do you not have information pertaining to?—”

“Don’t rush me. You have plenty of time.” I flip the folder open. “See, I’ve been looking at it all wrong. It’s not about anything he’s done for you or vice versa, is it? It’s about what he has on you.”

Blood drains from his face. “Let me see that file.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure your supervisors receive everything.” I flip through the pages just for show. I’ve already memorized the important details. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I do try to hire like-minded people. My father was the same way. Which means that as much as I’m loath to admit it, Stewart Hamish and I have a lot in common. At least, in the way we think. And the way we control people, situations… you get the gist.”

“Just—”

“So when I realized there’s got to be a different angle, I also realized I’ve been avoiding that simple truth. That Hamish and I are like-minded people. So I had to ask myself: what’s the best and easiest way for me to secure the loyalty of someone on the inside of the Federal Bureau of Investigation?”

No more interruptions from him.

He’s too busy trying not to piss himself.

“Go digging, Mr. Smithson. Dig through closets. Dig behind doors. Find those proverbial skeletons and make sure the owner of the house knows I’ve found them. Or, in your case, get a bit more literal and dig up the actual skeletons of a man who’s been missing for… how many years has it been?”

“Shut up.” Smithson is barely able to wheeze the command. “Shut the hell up, Chekhov.”

“I don’t think I will. The irony is, I have zero reason to help out in this cold case. It would have never crossed my path, let alone my mind… if you weren’t so goddamn annoying.”

I pull out the flask I keep in the bottom drawer for special occasions. This definitely warrants a shot.

“Here, see for yourself.” I slide the folder across the desk so he can look at all the nails in his own coffin. “I’ll send you the invoice for the private investigation firm. Cost me a pretty penny to find the remains.”

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