Page 121 of You Know Why

“Just sign it, Theresa,” Drake warns.

“Don’t think you’re getting away scot-free, Agent Sheehan. This is above your pay grade, too.” Another clipboard is handed over. Drake frowns but signs. Theresa follows suit.

They hand them back to Baldwin, who opens the door to the conference room.

A man is sitting with his back to them. He turns at the sound of the door, and Theresa sucks in a breath. He’s been beaten badly. He sports a black eye, a cast on his left arm, and a bandage around his right thigh.

“What the hell . . . Andrew?”

Undercover Brother

“Hello, Detective,” Andrew says. He seems resigned to see her. “Please, I go by Trey now.”

Andrew fucking Locke is sitting at the conference table. Busted up, yes, but uncuffed, in civvies, a laptop and notebook in front of him. Like he’s working on the case, not the suspect she knows him to be.

Theresa has rarely been incandescent with rage, but here she is, practically shaking, trying to keep her temper under control. Being kept out of the conversation because she didn’t have clearance was bad enough. But the fact that the FBI had Andrew in custody and didn’t tell her or Drake immediately is unconscionable.

“What are you doing here?” she demands. “You look like you should be in the hospital.”

“Yeah. Got sideways with a dude who’s been tracking me for a few days.”

“Let me guess. Blond? Curly hair? Forced you to leave the Atlanta airport?”

“That’s the one. His name is Alex Durov. Total bastard.”

Theresa takes a menacing step toward Baldwin. She can hear the wild fury in her own voice. “Aleksey Ivanovich Durov, to be exact. I had to dig that information from a stone. You had an ID this whole time and didn’t share it?”

“You didn’t come to me with the ID, either, Detective. Now, let’s all sit down.” He shuts the door, ushering them in. It locks behind them, a clunk that screams secure. Theresa realizes the walls are covered in photographs and groupings of people. This is an operation of some sort.

She scratches her head, just under her temple, as if she can make it all make sense somehow. Drake’s jaw is twitching; he’s grinding his teeth. Andrew—no, Trey—looks miserable and exhausted.

“Have you seen Brooklyn?” he asks.

“Of course I have. I’ve been interrogating her for days, as much as one can a woman with a head injury. Why did you try to kill your wife?”

“Wasn’t me,” he says with finality.

“I don’t believe you,” she snarls. “She’s hurt, she almost died right in front of me. And she thinks you’re dead. How could you do that? Again? We all know you got away with it last time.”

Andrew shifts, and Theresa tenses, ready for him if he lunges at her. But Baldwin grabs her by the collar like she’s a cat who needs to be scruffed.

“Hey, hey, take it down a notch, Detective. We’ll explain everything.”

He practically shoves her into a chair.

Drake is glowering. “Take your hands off her, SAC, or we’ll be having more than words.”

Baldwin raises both hands in mock surrender. “Can’t have her attacking my asset before we have a chance to explain.”

“He’s your CI?” Theresa asks, incredulous.

“Not exactly,” Baldwin says. “Coffee?”

At her Gorgon stare, he sighs and dives in.

“I remind you of your NDA. You’re being read in because I don’t see any other options at this point. I can’t have you wrecking this case just as we’re about to wrap it up.”

“Yes, okay. I am bound by the NDA. So is Agent Drake. We acknowledge that, obviously, on the record. Now . . . talk.”