Franklin and I quickly exchange baffled glances. He’s watching the news? I lace my fingers together in my lap. All we can do is wait. All he can do is fire us. Susannah can choose my replacement.
Kevin holds up his remote again, killing the audio.
“We’ll deal with your hidden-camera escapade later,” Kevin says. He spins the remote on the flat surface of his desk. And spins it again. When it stops, he picks it up and points it at me. “But for now, you just bring me that tape. And any copies you have. We’re giving it to the police. I’m calling Detective Yens. And you’re calling your pals at the FBI.”
I don’t know what to say. And apparently Franklin doesn’t, either.
Kevin shakes his head, and suddenly, just for an instant, it looks like he’s attempting to hide a smile.
“You two are too much,” he says. “But you were right about the story, I must admit. So I’ll work on the staties. You work on the feds. Today. As in, instantly. And then we’ll get this thing on television. Now-get out of here.”
“Happy Anniversary to you, too,” I say. Anyone who walks by me as I’m on my cell phone with Josh probably thinks I won the lottery or something. I know my smile must be amped to jackpot level. At least.
“I’m out in the hall, by the elevator. We’re on the way to the FBI and Franklin will be here any minute. But I’m so glad I didn’t miss your call, sweetheart. Like I said in the message, the roses are perfect. You’re perfect.”
I look around. The coast is clear. “And I can’t wait to make you just as happy as you make me,” I whisper.
“That sounds like a possibility,” Josh replies. His voice is guarded. Ultra-business. In the background, I hear the unmistakable sounds of silverware and children’s voices. He’s got cafeteria duty. “Let me ask you though, do you provide in-home delivery? And would I be able to set up a specific appointment if I ordered your top-of-the-line full-service package?”
“Ah, the full-service package is extremely elaborate and quite special,” I reply, playing along. I tuck myself into a corner for more privacy and lean my forehead against the wall. “In fact, sir, I can’t remember a situation where we have actually provided that level of accommodations. But I’m sure, in this particular case, you will be able to have whatever you’d like.”
“Then I think we have a deal,” Josh says. “Could you hold for one moment?” I hear Josh discussing something with whoever is with him in the cafeteria, hear him say the words “cable television installation,” and “appointment.”
“Sir?” I interrupt. “If you’d like to sign up for what we call our super-deluxe package, which includes extra personal features never before offered, you’ll have to make an appointment right now. I think I could fit you in…” I hesitate, and a tiny blush begins as I hear my unintended double meaning. But on the other hand, it actually is exactly what I mean. “I think I could fit you in later this evening.”
“Charlotte? You ready? What the heck are you doing?”
Franklin’s tapping me on the shoulder.
“Oh, hello, Franklin,” I say into the phone, reentering the real world. “Hang on, it’s Josh. Josh? You there? Call me later, okay? I think I can help you hook up, just the way you’d hoped, sir. And it will be tonight.”
Franklin looks perplexed as I click the phone closed. “Huh?” he says.
“Josh is getting cable,” I say. “The total package. Apparently he just can’t wait any longer.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Special Agent Marren Lattimer’s office is now a combination art gallery and gadget shop. All of the framed photos he had leaning against the wall are now arrayed ceiling to floor behind him and beside him. His government-issue block of a wooden desk is strewn with stainless steel, leather and plastic gizmos. What looks like a row of toy guns. A cigarette box? One of those games with the clacking metal balls. A Rubik’s Cube. A couple of cell phones in different sizes.
“Are you a collector?” I ask, as Franklin and I take our places in the brown vinyl leather chairs across from the FBI Chief. I see Franklin eyeing the Cube. “Or are those high-tech secret weapons, like in James Bond?”
I feel Franklin shift in his chair and even attempt to give me a surreptitious kick to shut me up. I know he thinks I’m not being deferential enough. After all, this guy’s the honcho of the FBI. But I don’t like turning over our research and our results to law enforcement. I know Kevin insisted, but I still think it’s crossing the line. And moreover, Mr. FBI should be grateful we’re here. We’ve accomplished what his team couldn’t.
Luckily Keresey arrives, interrupting my nervous chatter. Today she’s Ralph Lauren chic in jeans and a black turtleneck.
“Guess you got the clothing memo, Charlie,” she says, eyeing my duplicate getup. She perches on a wooden sideboard against the wall, showing her sleek black boots under her narrow jeans. “You and I could be, what, sisters? If you had a badge. So, what’s up? Hey, Franklin. Hey, Chief.”
“Agent Stone.” Lattimer’s all business. Not interested in girl talk. He looks at his watch. “Miss McNally? You asked to meet with us?”
“I know you’re busy,” I say, to acknowledge I’ve noticed his patronizing watch move. “But at our initial meeting you said you were interested in cracking the distribution system. For counterfeit purses.”
Lattimer nods. “Correct.”
“And you said, at that time, at least, you hadn’t made any progress.”
“What’s your point, Miss McNally?” Lattimer says. His computer beeps, and he turns to look at his monitor, clicking his mouse. “Keep talking. I’m listening.”
Well. That’s rude.
“My point, Agent Lattimer, is that Franklin and I have made progress.”
“Progress in what?” Lattimer doesn’t take his eyes off his monitor.
I mentally count to ten, quickly. And get to about five. “Progress. In cracking the distribution system.”
Keresey stands, and walks to a spot behind Lattimer. He looks up at her, then, slowly, swivels his chair back toward me.
“Say again?”
“I said. We know how the phony bags are transported and disseminated.”
“We think we know,” Franklin puts in. “It’s our theory.”
Lattimer and Keresey exchange another look. Keresey looks distressed. And I realize-maybe she’s worried I’ve accomplished what she couldn’t. Which might not be good for her career. Lattimer looks skeptical.
“Well, that certainly takes a load off my mind,” he says, finally looking at me. His voice is bitterly dismissive. “If you’ll just outline your findings, I’m sure my agents will be grateful.”
What a jerk. I stand up, ready to bolt. Then sit down again. This isn’t my play. Nevertheless, I don’t have to be sneered at, even by the FBI.
“I’m not here because I want to be,” I say. I keep my tone chilly. “I’m here because our news director asked us to talk with you. Believe me, sir, I’d be just as happy to leave this investigation in your very capable hands. And we’ll just put our story on the air. You can hear about it then.”
I’m pushing this, I know. So I wait. He wants our info, he can ask for it. No matter what Kevin says.
Lattimer picks up his Rubik’s Cube, twisting the multicolored squares. “I assume, Ms. McNally,” he says, staring at his toy, “you didn’t come to my office to turn over your notes to the feds. So…what are we talking about here?” With each phrase he snaps another color into place.
“My news director has instructed me to tell you what we found,” I say. “But only if you’ll agree to give us an exclusive on the story. Exclusive on the takedown. Exclusive on the aftermath. Exclusive on the arrests.”