Page 6 of Off the Grid
Leo glanced around the hall, taking note of the marble trim around the doorways, the smooth tile along the floor, the gilded sconces. There’d been a doorman, this was the Upper East Side, and Central Park was less than a football field away. This was a posh building, in a posh neighborhood, with a posh occupant. If there was one thing he’d learned about rich people in his limited time spent with them, it was that they didn’t have time for anyone deemed lesser. Right now, to her, he had the sense he was just an unnamed Hispanic guy in a hallway where he didn’t belong. Out of place and unworthy. The very thought made his blood boil.
Typical. Fucking typical.
Leo pounded—ahem, knocked—on the door again.
I could be on my way to Hawaii right now. I could be getting drunk for the first time in months with my free business-class booze. I could be tearing up to a sappy drama in the privacy of my overly large, expensive seat with my team none the wiser. I could be—
“If you don’t leave, I’m calling the cops.”
I am the cops, he wanted to snarl, but he took a deep breath and pulled out his badge instead, then held it up to the peephole indignantly. “There are half a dozen NYPD in the foyer of the building. I’m sure one of them would be happy to assist you.”
The door swung open.
That crystalline gaze flicked from his face, to the badge in his hand, back to his face. Her lips pursed and she closed the door behind her, presenting him with her back as she clicked the lock into place. She jiggled the knob three times, as though out of a force of habit, before brushing by him on her way toward the elevator.
“Miss Harper,” he said again, tone a little sharper than intended.
“You have the wrong person.”
“Are you McKenzie Harper?”
She continued marching down the hall. The rubber soles of her loafers squeaked against the tile floor. The gold bands around her wrist jingled with each step. Her lips, however, were silent.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said and chased after, not used to so much hostility from someone he was trying to protect. A suspect, sure, they gave attitude for days. But everyone else usually treated the Feds with awe and respect.With a little common freaking decency.
Not McKenzie Harper.
She lifted her hand with the elegance of a ballet dancer and pressed the button down. Then, and only then, did she finally grace him with her attention and release a heavy sigh. “Is this about my father?”
“What?” The word blurted out before Leo could stop it.Her father? What does he have to do with anything?He made a mental note to look into that later, but cleared the question from his mind. “No. As I was trying to explain before, my name is Agent Leo Alvarez and I work in the Organized Crime Division of the FBI. We have reason to believe you’ve become a person of interest to some very dangerous people, and I’ve been assigned to your protection for the next few days, until the threat has passed.”
She blinked twice, expression still as stone, and then shook her head curtly. “No, I’m sorry. You must have the wrong person.”
Leo sighed, but the sound was covered as the elevatordinged. She stepped on, then turned, extending her hand. For a moment, Leo thought her tune had changed a bit and that maybe, just maybe, she was going to hold the door for him. But no, her fingers turned to the side and pressed a button he couldn’t see five times in quick succession. The elevator door started sliding closed.
For God’s sake, he silently growled and jumped forward, catching the metal as it passed the halfway mark. He forced his way inside. McKenzie lifted her hand to her shoulder and clutched her purse strap, using her elbow to clamp the leather bag against her side. Leo had seen the move plenty of times before.Relax, lady. I’m not going to rob you.
She kept her eyes glued to the little screen above the door as the fingers of her other hand went to her bracelets and rubbed them in a way that seemed habitual. Her lips moved. It took him a moment to realized she was quietly murmuring the floor numbers as they made their descent.
“Miss Harper,” Leo said again, softening his tone, trying a new tactic. “I know this must be a lot for you to take in. You must be overwhelmed—I know I would be. But you are the person I’m looking for, and you need to listen to me. Do you know a woman by the name Jolene Carter?”
McKenzie’s head turned sharply and her acute gaze latched onto his, alight for the first time with a flicker of interest. “Jo?”
“Jo, whom I believe you know only as an at-home baker, is in reality an internationally renowned hacker and art thief—”
“Wait—Jo?” McKenzie interrupted.
“Jo.”
“My Jo?”
“Your Jo.”
“Is a…criminal?”
“Was,” Leo corrected. “She’s reformed. Two weeks ago she handed herself over to the FBI in exchange for an immunity deal, and she’s been helping us ever since. Are you aware of the situation that’s been in the news recently? The mafia roundups? And a man named Thaddeus Ryder who is on the run from police?”
“I…” She trailed off, blinking slowly, then shook her head. “I watch the news every morning after I run. I know exactly what you’re talking about, but Jo? She bakes cookies. And she’s a slob. And she was talking to me about code browns an hour and a half ago. There’s no way your Jo is my Jo. I’m sorry, there’s just not.”
