I turned my head. And stared.
Because there, standing in front of a black four-door sedan—clearly an unmarked law-enforcement vehicle—stood a tall man I had never seen before. The man, who was wearing a hat and a trench coat even though it was like seventy degrees outside, said, "Miss Mastriani, I am Cyrus Krantz, director of Special Operations with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I happen to be Special Agent Johnson and Smith's immediate supervisor."
I glanced at the car behind him. It had tinted windows, so I couldn't tell if anyone else was inside of it.
"Yeah," I said. "So?"
Which probably sounded pretty rude and all, but I had way better things to do than hang around outside the county hospital talking to the FBI.
"So," Cyrus Krantz said, seemingly unmoved by my rudeness, "I'd like a word with you."
"Everything I've got to say," I told him, pulling Rob's spare helmet over my head, "I already told Jill and Allan." I swung a leg over Rob's bike and settled in behind him. "Ask them about it. They'll tell you."
"I have asked Special Agents Johnson and Smith about it," Cyrus Krantz replied, enunciating their proper titles, which I had neglected to use, with care. "I found their answers to my questions unsatisfactory, which is why I've had them removed from your case, Miss Mastriani. You will now be dealing with me, and me alone. So—"
I lifted up the visor to my helmet and stared at him in shock. "You what?"
"I've removed them from your case," Cyrus Krantz repeated. "Their handling of you has, in my opinion, been amateurish and entirely unfocused. What is clearly needed in your case, Miss Mastriani, is not kid gloves, but an iron fist."
I could only stare. "You fired Allan and Jill?"
"I removed them from your case." Cyrus Krantz, director of Special Operations, turned around and opened the rear passenger door of the car behind him. "Now, get into this car, Miss Mastriani, so that you can be taken to our regional headquarters for questioning about your involvement in the Mark Leskowski case."
I tightened my grip around Rob's waist. My mouth had gone dry.
"Am I under arrest?" I managed to croak.
"No," Cyrus Krantz said. "But you are a material witness in possession of vital—"
"Good," I said, snapping my helmet's visor back into place. "Go, Rob."
Rob did as I asked. We left Cyrus Krantz in our dust.
The only problem, of course, is that I'm pretty sure he knows where I live.