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Alice raised her brows. ‘Should I start humming “Glory Hallelujah”?’
‘I wish you wouldn’t,’ he said mildly. ‘Your voice is like a rusty gate.’
‘Oh pardon me, please.’ She shot him a smiling look that instantaneously changed her from evil and rotten to the happy, caring young woman who’d visited him in the hospital. She was taunting him, showing him that she could wear her sweet face anytime she wanted to. ‘I didn’t mean to offend. You singers have such sensitive ears.’
Marcus went still. He’d never told her about his music when she’d visited him in the hospital. He’d been too raw when Mikhail died to think about singing, and he couldn’t imagine where else she might have heard him sing. His first thought was that she had been stalking him even in the park, and that was entirely possible. Except that she probably would have gone after Tala earlier had she seen her. Especially if she was the woman who, along with Demetrius, had brought the Bautistas to Chip Anders.
Since Alice hadn’t eliminated Tala in the park, it was more likely that she had heard him singing through the girl’s ankle tracker. It was another link in the chain co
Behind him, Agent Coppola’s phone buzzed. ‘Yes,’ she hissed.
She’d finally received what she’d been waiting for. Thank God. Marcus rocked back in the chair he straddled, still not taking his eyes off Alice. ‘You want her to hum “Glory Hallelujah”, Agent Coppola?’
Coppola’s chuckle was delightfully happy and confident. ‘No, Mr O’Ba
Alice’s ‘pretty face’ had slid away, leaving her hard and grim.
Coppola flicked to the fourth photo. ‘And here you are with Demetrius Russell and Ke
‘Are you sure you don’t want to start talking to me?’ Coppola asked soberly. ‘Attempted murder for hire would have gotten you a lengthy sentence on its own. Now I can co
‘Immunity,’ Alice snapped. ‘You have nothing that isn’t circumstantial.’
‘Not yet,’ Coppola said quietly. ‘We’ve got records from Woody McCord’s computer that we haven’t even started going through. Mr O’Ba
Marcus pushed off the chair, watching Alice as he backed toward the door. ‘A lot of circumstantial can add up for a jury. She knew I sang, Agent Coppola. She had to have had access to the audio feed coming through Tala Bautista’s ankle tracker. You’ll want to make sure you find those recordings when you search her office and residence.’
Coppola’s mouth curved, even though she didn’t look at him, her gaze also fastened to Alice. ‘Again, my thanks, Mr O’Ba
Marcus paused in the hallway outside the interview room to draw a breath, steadying his nerves. He didn’t want to let Scarlett see him so rattled. It would worry her and distract her. Given that they didn’t know how many assassins this organization had at its disposal, he couldn’t afford for her to be distracted. It was only a matter of time before Alice’s colleagues realized that Scarlett was important to him, painting a target on her back.
Once he felt steadier, he entered the observation room, but stopped short. Scarlett stood watching him, her arm around the waist of an older man in a starched uniform. Her father, he thought. Even in the semi-darkness he could see that they had the same eyes – and that her father’s eyes were giving him a very thorough study. Marcus wondered how long the man had been watching him, then realized he must have been there since he and Scarlett had arrived.
She slipped away from her father, stopping in front of Marcus, not quite close enough to touch him. But she wanted to. And that was enough for now. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked.
Marcus forced himself to nod, feeling her father’s scrutiny. ‘Yes.’ There was so much more he wanted to say, but it would have to keep. But he couldn’t ignore her puffy eyes. Not caring who was watching, he cupped her face, brushing his thumb over her cheekbone. ‘You’ve been crying. Are you all right?’
She leaned her face into his palm. ‘Yes.’ Then she smiled at him and he knew she spoke the truth. ‘I’m even better now that you’re not sitting next to . . . that. Come.’ She half turned, placing her hand at the small of his back. Just a small touch, but here, in the bowels of CPD headquarters, a big deal. ‘Marcus, this is my dad, Lieutenant Jonas Bishop. Dad, Marcus.’
Marcus stretched out his hand. ‘Lieutenant. It’s good to meet you. Scarlett has told me good things.’
The man didn’t hesitate, shaking Marcus’s hand with a firm grip that didn’t try to intimidate. Marcus appreciated that.
‘Likewise,’ Bishop said gruffly.
Marcus knew this was an important moment, the first impression that would shape her father’s opinion for the years to come. He did not want that impression to be one of a man too weak to hold his own. ‘Likewise it’s good to meet me or likewise that Scarlett said good things?’
Bishop’s lips twitched. ‘Yes.’
‘All right then.’ Marcus released the man’s hand. ‘What do I call you? Lieutenant? Mr Bishop? Jonas? And please don’t say “Yes”.’
Bishop shot his daughter an amused look. ‘Jonas will do. I think he’ll be okay, Scarlett. I have to get home. Your mother has a pot roast in the oven. You’re welcome to join us if you’d like. Both of you. I’m sure your mom would like to see you. Both of you.’
Scarlett shook her head. ‘I’ve got some files to review. But maybe after I’m done we’ll stop by for coffee, if it’s not too late. I’ll probably need to . . . vent.’
She meant the McCord files, Marcus knew. That wasn’t going to be easy. That she’d go to her father for support afterward . . . This was good.
‘It’s never too late, Scarlett,’ Jonas said, his voice gone gruff once again. ‘Day or night. You call me.’
‘I will.’ Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around her father’s neck and hugged him. ‘Thank you.’
Jonas’s arms locked tightly around her, as if he was afraid she’d run away. ‘Don’t you dare thank me, Scarlett A
Marcus didn’t know what had passed between the two, but his throat thickened. He stepped back, grateful for the sudden buzzing of his cell phone that gave him an excuse to give them some privacy.
He breathed a small sigh of relief when he saw Diesel’s caller ID. No one had heard from him since he’d taken off ru
‘Marcus.’ Diesel’s voice was shaking. Thick.
He was crying. Oh God. Marcus’s knees wobbled as all the blood rushed from his face. He sank into a chair. ‘What’s wrong?’
Scarlett abruptly turned at the panic in his voice. Pulling from her father’s embrace, she sank to her knees next to Marcus’s chair, her hand gripping his thigh. ‘What is it?’
‘I don’t know.’ All he could hear was the rasping sound of Diesel’s sobs. ‘Diesel, what happened. You gotta talk to me, man. Where are you?’
‘At the Ledger. They’re gone, Marcus. All gone.’
Marcus’s heart dropped to his gut like lead. ‘I’m going to put you on speaker. Scarlett’s here with me. Take a breath. What do you mean, they’re gone?’