Page 56 of The Wanted Prince

We both laughed at the thought of me as a spy, but our laughter soon died. None of this was funny. I waited for Carlo to ask about Laura, but a knock at the door spared me that conversation. Two Treasury officials let themselves in, one of whom had once reported to me. The other was younger, maybe brand new.

“Sanchez,” I said. “Who’s your trainee?”

Sanchez ignored my question. He took out his recorder and set it on a small table. “I’m going to be recording this interview. Do you have any objections?”

I had about a million, but I just shrugged. “Record all you want. I have nothing to tell you.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Sanchez sat down. I could tell he was enjoying having me at his mercy. He’d always resented me when I’d been above him, and taken every opportunity to get on my nerves. Now, he was milking our reversal of fortunes.

“This is a preliminary interview,” he said. He hadn’t sat down, and he stood towering over me. I rubbed my neck, sighed, and pushed a chair his way.

“You might as well sit. You’re not going to scare me.”

His bullish neck reddened, but he sat down. He pulled out a notepad and made a show of leafing through it. I almost laughed — what was this? Interrogation 101? Take your time, don’t rush, give them time to sweat. But I wasn’t sweating. I had nothing to hide.

Sanchez snapped his notepad shut. “So, the night of the ball?—”

I cut him off. “Yeah, let’s talk about that. What have you got? What actual evidence I was in that vault?”

Sanchez glowered at me. “Oh, we’ve got plenty.”

“Other than that video?”

“We have hair, fibers?—”

“None of which you can connect to that night. All my hair proves is I’ve been in the vault. Which, of course I have. I both live and work here.”

Sanchez cleared his throat. I pressed my advantage.

“What about witnesses? Any of those?”

“Yes, in fact.” Sanchez smirked, regaining his footing. “We have your buyer in custody?—”

“Oh, yeah, I heard.” I leaned back and laughed. “Come on. Are you serious? Some crook with a rap sheet as long as your arm? You think I’m so stupid I’d deal with him?”

Sanchez stared me down, deadpan. “I couldn’t comment on how stupid you are. But I’m not here to answer your questions. I’m here to reconstruct the night of the ball, and where you went after that, and where you’ve been hiding. And if this is some kind of Cardona plot.”

I jerked in my seat. “You leave Laura out of this.”

“But you left with her, didn’t you, the night of the ball?” He leaned in, all teeth. “Didn’t think we knew, did you?”

I glanced up at Sanchez’s silent companion. He looked away when our eyes met, and toyed with his cuff.

“Your friend looks nervous,” I said.

“Never mind him,” said Sanchez. “You left with Laura.”

I frowned. “If you know when I left, you know I didn’t do it. You know I was gone by the time on the tape.”

Sanchez pursed his lips, then quickly relaxed. But I’d already seen that hint of frustration. So, he was bluffing. He had no idea when I’d left, or with whom. I could still salvage this, at least for Laura.

“I left alone,” I said.

“But you were with Laura at the Hotel Vila.”

I blinked at him. “Where?”

“A little hotel just across the Spanish border. Laura booked two rooms there. The clerk knew her face.”

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