Page 49 of The Shadow Friends

“Who’s going to be with him?”

“I will.”

Her answer startled both men into silence.

“Now wait a minute, Mags,” said Declan.

“I’ll keep him out of trouble.”

“Why you?”

“Because . . . because . . .” She sighed. The only way to make them understand was to tell them the truth. “Ingrid asked me to,” she finally admitted.

“What? When?”

“Yesterday. A text message, asking me to keep Lloyd out of trouble.”

Ben’s eyes narrowed. “And when were you going to share this with us?”

“It was eyes only. Meant to stay between me and Ingrid. I shouldn’t even be telling you this, but the text said: ‘Keep him safe. Counting on you.’ So it has to be me.”

“I’ll come with you,” said Declan.

“No. You and Ben have your own mission here. Identify Maslov’s killer. That’s a key piece of info we don’t have, and Jo’s not going to be able to do it on her own. In fact, I don’t think she’ll be allowed to, if the alphabet agencies have taken control.”

“We’ll deal with them,” said Ben.

“Yes, but can Jo deal with them? She’s already freaking out about having to tell a few white lies.”

Ben snorted. “That gal needs to learn how to bend the rules.”

“Are you going to teach her that?”

He gave a modest shrug. “She might as well learn from the best.”

“I still don’t like this,” said Declan. “You going off alone with him.”

“Think of it as just a babysitting job. I keep Lloyd out of trouble, we find Ingrid, and then we’ll all come home. Piece of cake.”

Declan sighed. “Famous last words.”

Chapter 20

Jo

A man with rust-colored hair was sitting in the chair by her desk. He was clean cut and wore a blue suit jacket, and his gaze was so fixed on his cell phone that he didn’t seem to notice when Jo walked into the building. That suit jacket put her on guard. It shouted Official business, trouble ahead, and she paused just inside the door, wondering what new problem was about to be dropped in her lap. Before she could approach the visitor, Officer Mike Batchelder snagged her by the arm and pulled her aside.

“I was about to call you,” he whispered.

“Who’s the guy?”

“Special Agent Something or Other. Says he’s trying to locate a few people, and he wants to talk to you about them. Do you know what’s going on?”

Ingrid Slocum was her first thought. It made sense that the FBI would be looking for her too. The Martini Club had snared Jo into doing them a small favor, had made her pledge to remain silent, and now this was the consequence. She had to make a choice. Should she stay silent, as she’d promised Maggie and company, or should she tell this federal agent what she knew—that Ingrid Slocum had suddenly and suspiciously fled aboard a private plane? As she approached the visitor, she was still debating what to say, what to do. Even before she opened her mouth, she was at a disadvantage, wary of making a mistake.

“I understand you want to talk to me,” she said. “I’m Jo Thibodeau. Chief of police.”

He looked up at her with bloodshot eyes. He was in his early forties, with a freckled face typical of redheads. Fatigue had deepened the hollows in his face, and he rose slowly to his feet, as though it took all the effort he could muster just to get up from the chair. “Special Agent Tanner Minnihan,” he said, presenting his ID. They shook hands, and his grip was cool to the touch, lackluster. The handshake of a man who was just going through the motions out of politeness, without any need or desire to establish dominance. This was not the broad-shouldered, intimidating image that came to mind when she heard the words special agent.