Page 49 of Safeguarding the Witness

He growled and kissed her harder.

“Stop,” she said. “I’m not awake.”

“If you don’t mind,” he growled, “neither am I.”

Playfully, she shoved at his chest and sat up on the bed. “Full disclosure—I’m a morning person. I wake up fully awake, and I don’t like being messed with when I’m still asleep. You’re playing with dynamite, mister.”

“I’ll take my chances.” He leaned back against the pillows. “Sorry you’ve been knocked around so much.”

“Yeah, I’m kind of sore.” She stretched and winced. “What happened to our interview with the undercover agent? Did we get a call from Jamison?”

He checked his phone on the bedside table. “It’s seven twenty-seven. Jamison just called and woke me up. The video call with Kiki the undercover agent will take place at seven forty-five. We’ll use the computer in my bedroom.”

“I should brush my teeth.”

“Kiki can’t smell you through the computer screen.”

She gave him a quick kiss and rolled out of bed. “What about coffee? And clothes?”

He left her to get dressed while he threw on a shirt and pants and went downstairs to the kitchen, where he found Thornton, the newbie whom Mollie had locked in the third-floor room at Bethany’s house. Thornton straightened his shoulders, standing at attention. “Morning, sir. I’m sorry for what happened yesterday. I won’t let you down again.”

Spence felt like he’d stumbled into a flashback of his years in the military. “No need to call me sir. We’re civilians. Babysitting Mollie didn’t seem like a tough assignment, but I knew it was.”

“Yes, sir, Spence.”

“And I fully expect to be let down again. Mistakes happen. All I can ask is for you to do your best.” He removed the eight-cup carafe from the coffee maker, grabbed two mugs and a container of cream from the fridge. “I’m taking this.”

In his bedroom, Mollie had pulled on a pair of jeans and another T-shirt, which she wore under a beat-up beige jacket he recognized from yesterday. She sat at his small desk in front of the blank computer screen. Alert and bright-eyed as she’d promised, Mollie was definitely a morning person. He figured that she’d already brushed her teeth, splashed water on her face and dragged a comb through her choppy, blond-streaked hair. “You look good,” he said.

“I love this jacket. It’s mine from five years ago. See the splotches of paint? Mine.”

He set down the coffee and told her to serve herself while he got ready for the video call from the undercover agent.

“What does Kiki stand for?” she asked. “I know it’s probably not his real name, being as he’s undercover, but I’m curious.”

“I’m guessing Enrique. Or Kinsey. Or it could be short for quickie.”

Spence completed the computer setup and initiated the contact with Jamison. The screen of his laptop showed the interior of Jamison’s kitchen and the agent himself. Unlike Mollie, he wasn’t a morning person. His eyelids drooped at half-mast, and his stubble verged on becoming a spotty beard.

“We’ve got about five minutes before Kiki checks in,” Jamison said. “Last night, I got another piece of info for you. The unidentified third set of fingerprints on Mollie’s note belongs to Raquel Diaz, a young woman who works with Madison in her property broker offices.”

Spence glanced at Mollie. “Does the name sound familiar?”

“Not at all. I didn’t even know Madison had an office.”

Spence turned back to the computer. “Have the guys you took into custody yesterday started talking? Have you found Julio?”

“Not him or any of the other people associated with him. Julio Flores isn’t a high-priority drug dealer. Not anymore. But the FBI, DEA, ATF and Homeland Security are all looking for him.” He lifted something off a plate beside the computer and took a bite before tilting it so Spence could see. “Leftover pizza.”

“Breakfast of champions.”

“When I switch over to video with Kiki and make the connection between you, I won’t be on screen, but I’ll still be watching and recording. Kiki runs the show. He doesn’t have a lot of time and might need to end your session quickly. You and Mollie stay online.”

Mollie squeezed into the screenshot beside Spence. She waved. “Hi, Jamison. Any news about my sister?”

“Nada.” He took another bite of pizza and started fiddling with unseen buttons on his computer, adjusting the volume and background. “Okay, here we go.”

Jamison and his kitchen disappeared and were replaced by a thin-faced man wearing a battered trucker’s hat and a black surgical mask. The pandemic had done a great favor to undercover people who preferred not to show their faces. Spence saw little more than Kiki’s brows and dark eyes—ebony brown.