Page 15 of Velvet Chains
“A TED speaker?”
“No. A TED Talk,” he replied.
I laughed quietly.
He just reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a pack of gum, offering me a piece like we were back in law school again, cramming for finals and hiding hangovers in fluorescent-lit classrooms.
I took it. Chewed. Swallowed the metallic taste of adrenaline.
Then the curtain rustled again.
Except it wasn’t the nurse.
It was a man dressed in slacks. Someone I had never seen before. He was in his late twenties; dark hair, brown eyes, pale skin. He wore a crisp white shirt, but I could tell this wasn’t an expensive suit.
The man he was with was clearly his senior in every way. Smaller than the young one in stature, but rounder in frame, he peered at me with something that bordered on hostility instead of curiosity.
They were obviously feds.
Alek clocked it at the same time as I did. “What are you doing here?”
“Just asking some questions,” the young one said. “I’m Darren Fitzgerald. This is my partner, Phil Hayes.”
They both flashed us their badges under their jackets.
“How did you get in here?” Alek asked. “This is a patient in triage. What the hell, guys?”
“That’s why we’re here. We didn’t want this to be scandalous,” Hayes said. “Look, I appreciate that you might think this puts you in a precarious position, but I want you to understand that this is a courtesy. We didn’t go to your residence because there are reporters snooping around and we didn’t want to talk to you outside because we realize things might not look good for you if you’re seen talking to a couple of suits. Believe it or not, Ms. Marquez, I voted for you.”
“Endearing,” I said. “And irrelevant. You’ll speak to my counsel and only my counsel, Mr. Ivanov.”
I cocked my head toward Alek.
Hayes smiled, the kind of smile that said he didn’t like being told no. “Of course. Mr. Ivanov, then—maybe you can explain why your client’s house is now a crime scene.”
Shit. How did they know? Who had told them? Kieran had been careful. Everyone had been so careful. We had scrubbed the evidence, he had literally dismembered Mickey Russell. How was it possible that the FBI knew about this?
I swallowed. When talking to the authorities, I always tried to follow my own advice: don’t fucking do it.
“She wasn’t aware it was,” Alek said tightly. “And she has no idea why that would be the case. If you want to question her, you’ll need to go through official channels. This is still a hospital room, not an interrogation room.”
Fitzgerald took a step closer, pulling out a small notepad. “So you’re saying District Attorney Marquez has no information on the whereabouts of Mickey Russell?”
I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe. Alek’s jaw clenched so tight I thought he might crack a molar.
“I’m saying,” Alek said carefully, “that my client is under medical evaluation and will not be answering any questions without proper notice and a formal request. Which you can send to my office, in writing. I’m also saying that she’s the newly elected DA, so I would be very careful about slinging accusations around.You don’t want an inquiry that’s happening due to politically motivated reasons, do you? ”
Hayes tilted his head. “No need to be so hostile. We just wanted to offer her a chance to speak before things escalated.”
Before Alek could reply, the curtain rustled again.
Kieran stepped in, slow and deliberate, hands raised like he was walking into a shootout. “Actually,” he said, “you should be talking to me.”
The room froze.
Alek turned to him, eyes wide. “Kieran—”
But Kieran ignored him. He looked straight at the feds. “My name is Kieran Callahan. I’m the one who killed Mickey Russell.”
