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“You’re your father’s daughter after all.”
“If I were my father’s daughter, you’d be paying for the tux and thanking me for it.”
As soon as she ended the call with Joe, she placed one to Tony, her father’s longtime tailor, and gave him the heads-up on Joe. Then she returned to her laptop, flexing her fingers before launching her email. She didn’t need any more surprises this morning.
Sucking in her bottom lip, she scrolled through the new messages. When she reached the end, she slumped against the sofa cushion. No more torture videos.
She picked out the message from last night and wrinkled her nose. The little paper clip indicating an attachment had disappeared from the email icon.
With a sweaty palm, she grasped the mouse and double clicked on the message—nothing in the body and no attachment.
Had she deleted it by accident? Her pulse racing, she searched her deleted items and then all the videos on her laptop. Not that she wanted to see Andrew’s battered face again, but she needed some evidence to show the FBI.
She pushed the computer from her lap and jumped up from the couch. How had they done that? How had they gotten into her computer and removed a file?
She jerked as her phone rang, and then she lunged for it. When she saw the FBI’s number on the display, she blew out a breath.
“Ms. Duvall? This is Agent Porter returning your call.”
Hailey’s gaze shifted to the laptop abandoned on the couch. “I need to meet with you—today.”
“Is this regarding the incident at the refugee camp?”
Hailey squeezed her eyes closed for a second. “I think so. Did you hear about the man who fell off the Alcatraz ferry last night?”
Porter paused for two heartbeats. “Let’s not discuss this on the phone. We’ll meet you this afternoon.”
“Now. We need to meet now.”
“Name a place close to the Financial District and we’ll be there.”
“Do you know Caffé Luce on Columbus?”
“We’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
Hailey placed a call to Joe and put her phone on speaker as she scrambled around the room, stuffing her laptop in its case and her feet into a pair of boots.
Joe answered after several rings. “Are you checking up on me? I’ll be heading out to Tony the tailor’s in a few hours.”
“It’s not that. The video from last night showing Andrew is gone. Someone deleted it from my computer remotely—at least I hope it was remotely—and I’m on my way to a meeting with the FBI.”
Joe whistled. “At their offices downtown?”
“No, we’re meeting at Caffé Luce in Little Italy.”
“You won’t have anything to show them.”
“No, but I’ll have plenty to tell them.”
“I don’t have to ask you not to say anything about me, do I?”
“Don’t worry, but I am going to tell them about Marten last night and the video. I mean, they have to be connected, right? Why would anyone care about what happened in Syria? It happened. The terrorists were successful. Why revisit it now?”
“Because there are elements about that incident that someone doesn’t want revealed.”
“I know. I know. Major Denver’s involvement—or rather, noninvolvement.”
“Get to your meeting. I’ll get fitted for my tux.”
“I’m going to tell them everything—except about your presence here.”
“You should. Keep me posted.”
“Lunch later?”
“Yeah, a debriefing.”
Debriefing? Joe was determined to keep their...relationship on neutral territory. “Yeah, whatever. And, Joe?”
“Yes?”
“No velvet on the tux.”
She ended the call and strapped a purse across her body. She didn’t have enough time to catch public transportation, and she had no intention of driving and trying to find a place to park, so she called up a car on her phone.
Fifteen minutes later, she stepped out of the car and jogged across the street to Caffé Luce. One look around the half-empty coffeehouse, crowded with small tables, told her she was a little early.
She ordered a cappuccino and cupped the big mug in her hands as she carried it to a table outside. She set it down and dragged a wrought-iron chair from another table to hers. Agent Porter had mentioned that they were going to meet her. FBI agents usually traveled in pairs, so he must be bringing his sidekick, Agent Winston.
