“So I should help them?”
“Let me work out your deal before you give them more, but my gut is to say yes. If you can help them without incriminating yourself, you should.”
“But I really don’t know anything else. I only worked there for two weeks.”
She cracks the first real smile I’ve seen from her. “That’s almost funny.” But then her expression clears. “They seemed pretty interested in the man you indicated. If there’s anything else you can remember . . .”
“No. He came in and Ben asked me to leave.”
She taps her fingernail on her pad. “I’ll see what I can do with that.”
I’M DRAGGING A McDonald’s french fry through a puddle of catsup five hours later when Cooper lets Yvonne into my holding cell. Her expression is a mix of hopeful and grave, and my heart speeds up.
“Is this what they’re feeding you?” she asks, frowning at my McChicken sandwich.
“So far,” I say, setting it aside and standing from my cot.
She indicates with the wave of her hand that I should sit again, so I do. She sits next to me. “There’s been a development.”
My stomach knots, and all of a sudden the greasy fries I ate feel like a really bad idea. “What happened?”
“The man you pointed out? His name is Richard Weber. For the last few months he’s been under investigation by the FBI, and he turned up dead in a Dumpster in the Tenderloin twelve days ago.”
All the blood drains from my head and I feel suddenly dizzy. I rest my elbows on the table and prop my head in my hands, trying to steady it. “Oh, Jesus.”
“You’re sure you saw him in Benjamin Arroyo’s club on Friday the twenty-sixth?”
I can’t think at all at the moment, but I dig deep and try to remember. “I started at Benny’s two weeks ago Thursday, so . . .” It was the next night; Blake’s second private, that I let him closer than three feet. “Yes. It was definitely the twenty-sixth.”
Her lips purse and she nods once. “They’re going to ask you to place Richard Weber in Benjamin Arroyo’s office that night. They’ll want any details you can remember, and a time, as close as you can estimate. And, for that, they’ll drop your charges.”
What if I’m wrong? I like Ben, and they’re asking me to help them prove that he killed someone? “Can I see the picture again?”
She nods and clicks open her briefcase. She pulls out a file and spreads three new pictures on the cot, different than the one Cooper keeps shoving in my face. And it’s definitely him. I feel suddenly sick. “What if I don’t want to testify against Ben?”
“I still think we can get you off on entrapment, but it will mean going to trial.”
And it will be in the newspapers, and Mom and Greg will see it and say, Yep, we always knew she’d go bad. Good thing we threw her out before she ruined the golden boys.
My stomach twists harder, sending a sharp pain through my insides. I hang my head between my shoulders. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
“I think it’s the right decision, Sam. From what I can tell about your former boss, he’s not an upstanding guy.”
I take a deep breath and bob a nod. Deep inside I know that. I’ve always known it. But I wanted him to be the guy he seemed to be when he told me I was family.
She lays her hand on my knee. “I’m sorry they’re putting you through all this. But the good news is, if you agree to their offer, I think they’ll send you home tonight.”
I smile, but it’s forced. More than anything, I want to go back to my life, but all of a sudden I’m not really sure what that is or where I belong. Lexie, Trent, Mom, Dad, Blake, Ben: they’ve all either given up on me or let me down. No one is turning out to be who I thought they were. “Thanks.”
Chapter Fourteen
“RED?”
At first I wonder what Jonathan’s doing in the VIP room with Harrison and me. It takes me a minute to shake off the remnants of the dream, then I rub my eyes and push the blanket aside. The lights flip on in the dark room, and I sit up and look at Jonathan through bleary eyes, standing in the door of my holding cell, a backpack slung over his shoulder.
Cooper took Jonathan’s number and told me he’d call him after he milked my brain for every insignificant thing I could remember about that night, from what the dead guy was wearing to every word he said in my presence, which was none. Apparently, Cooper made good on that promise, because here Jonathan is.
He steps into the room and I spring off the cot into his arms. Anything I think I want to say is choked off by the lump pulsing in my throat.
“Fuck, Red,” he says low in my ear, his fingers stroking my hair. “I can’t believe this shit happened to you.”
I swallow hard and pull back from his shoulder. “Did you talk to Ben? How pissed is he?”
He cringes a little. “They’ve got him. He might even be here somewhere,” he adds, his eyes flicking to the door, where Special Agent Nichols stands, arms folded over her bulging stomach. He unloops the backpack from his shoulder and hands it to me. “The guy who called said you needed some stuff.”
I take it from his hand. “Thanks. What time is it?”
“Like, nine.”
“Christ, it’s been a long day.” I look past him at Agent Nichols. “Can I use the washroom?”
She nods and I grab my towel and move to the door. “Don’t go anywhere,” I tell Jonathan. “I’ll be right back.”
I throw some water on my face, then slip on the clothes Jonathan brought: some of my sexiest underwear, a snug Victoria’s Secret Pink T-shirt, and my most comfortable jeans. He also remembered socks and my green Chuck Taylors.
He really is a good friend.
When I knock, Nichols opens the door, and I find Cooper waiting with her. Nichols hands me a white plastic sack. “This is everything you came in with.”
I peak inside and find my shoulder bag and my Benny’s costume, complete with boots. I pull my bag out and sling it over my shoulder, then dig for my phone . . . which is totally dead. “You don’t happen to have a charger . . . ?”
Cooper gives me a look, then turns and starts walking me back to my holding cell, Nichols trailing behind. “We recommend that you don’t talk to anyone about the case,” he tells me. “And don’t leave the Bay Area without talking to us first. We’ll need you to come in next week and give a sworn statement. We’ll set it up through our attorneys.”
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll leave the country?”
“No.”
He says it so matter-of-factly that it makes me want to prove him wrong. I start plotting where I could go. Cancun? Paris? Mars, maybe?
I hoof it up the hall toward where I hear Jonathan’s amazing voice wafting up the corridor as he sings. When I step through the door, he’s lying on my cot, his earbuds in and his eyes closed. His fingers are laced behind his head and one ankle is propped on a bent knee, his legs rocking to the beat of whatever’s playing on his iPod. I know he’s spent a few nights in jail here and there, but he’s looking way too comfortable.
“Jonathan,” I say, nudging his elbow with my knee.
He opens his eyes and sits up. “Oh, Red,” he says, a Cheshire grin lighting up his entire face as he scans my outfit. “I chose well. You look hot.”
I roll my eyes. “Can we try to stay a little focused here, Jonathan? I’ve been arrested.”
He rubs a forearm over his face and stands. “But you’re good now, right? They’re letting you go?”
I look a question at Cooper, who’s propped on the door frame.