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“Stop thanking me!” He said it good-naturedly then he leaned over and kissed her lightly, quickly, on the lips. It surprised her and made her feel warm at the same time. “My classes are over at five thirty. Text me if you need me before then.”
He left, making the kiss totally natural and not awkward, and she was grateful.
And she hoped he did it again.
Maybeshewould kisshimnext time.
After Lance left, she locked the door behind him, looked again at her house. The tears burned, but she didnotcry.
She had chores to do—cleaning up the mess that the thieves had made, making sure that they hadn’t taken anything else.
The police said that they suspected teenagers or young adults had grabbed the easy-to-fence valuables, then messed up her house because they were brats. She’d told them that she was worried because she might have information about the murder of a US marshal, but the officer started asking questions. Like if she’d been threatened, followed, had threatening emails or phone messages. And the answer was always no. He promised to add her house on the regular patrol, that the police would drive by every hour or two for the next couple days, but he didn’t seem to be concerned. So maybe it was just a coincidence.
She didn’t think it was a coincidence, but the more she talked, the more like an idiot she sounded because he was right—she hadn’t been threatened. She hadn’t been followed.
Jenna had a Find-Your-Phone feature and last night had logged in to her account on Lance’s computer, but the phone didn’t show up anywhere but her house, and she knew it wasn’t there. Dammit. She erased the phone’s contents remotely, so that when the jerks who stole her phone booted it up again, no one would be able to steal her personal data.
After she checked her jewelry box and determined that nothing had been taken, she breathed easier. The police were probably right—some teenagers taking advantage of the fact that she hadn’t been home.
Jenna grabbed a garbage bag from under the kitchen sink and her tray of cleaning supplies and headed to her den to start cleaning. She worked fast and furious, getting her frustrations out at the thieves as she tossed papers, reorganized books, swept the hardwood floor, polished her bookshelves. Then the living room, which wasn’t as messy, but she vacuumed and dusted and straightened the cushions. An hour later she headed upstairs to change the sheets on her bed and start a load of laundry. Then she would tackle the kitchen. The thieves hadn’t made a mess there, but it needed a good wipe-down.
After she finished making her bed with clean sheets, she gathered the dirties in her laundry basket and heard a car drive up in front of the house. Looking out her bedroom window, Jenna saw two men in suits and sunglasses exit a black Suburban and slowly walk up the steps to her small porch.
FBI agents? They looked the part, she thought, though they also looked totally intimidating. She wished one of them was a female agent; it’d make her feel more comfortable. She also wished Lance was still here for moral support, but he was in the middle of class.
They knocked on the door as she was walking downstairs. Jenna didn’t know why she was nervous.Shehadn’t done anything wrong. She’d phoned the authorities because she thought shemighthave information that could help them find out who killed Deputy Granger. So she shouldn’t feel nervous or worried or scared, right?
She said through the door, “Who is it?”
“Agent Richman from the FBI.”
“Can I see some identification?” She looked out the side window. The men were crowding her door. Her deadbolt was already loose from the break-in yesterday. Why was she so damn freaked out?
One of the agents pulled out his wallet and flipped to a shiny badge that he held at the window for less than two seconds, she couldn’t even read what was on it.
“What about your FBI credentials?” she said.
The men looked at each other.
“Agent Wexford told me to ask for credentials,” she stated.
Neither of them were reaching for their wallets again. Her heart pounded and she willed it to stop thudding, she could hardly hear herself think.
She was pretty certain these two menweren’tFBI agents.
“We’re here to discuss the call you made to the hotline, about US Marshal Thomas Granger and his unauthorized investigation. You wanted to speak to us.”
She said, trying to make her voice light and casual, “I’ll call Agent Wexford, just to check. I’m sure everything’s fine. Hold on.” Jenna was surprised that her voice was so steady.
She walked slowly away from the door, so they couldn’t see her through the narrow glass window in the entry. She grabbed her purse from the dining room table and ran out the back door. Jumped into her car. Thanked God that she had bought a new car two years ago with a keyless fob that she always had in her purse. No fumbling with keys, and her Nissan hatchback started with a push of the button. She released the emergency brake and backed as fast as she dared down the long steep driveway.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw the two men running off her porch, down the stairs, and across the sloping grass. They were both fast and they looked angry. When she reached the end of her driveway and was backing into the street, the shorter, skinnier, faster man jumped on the hood of her car.
Jenna screamed, slammed on the brakes, and he rolled off and hit the pavement with a thud.
She released the brake and backed up again as the second, taller man caught up with her. He had a gun out, and she didn’t even consider stopping or asking herself why. She turned the car around a complete one-eighty while backing up, almost hit a tree, then put it in Drive and floored it. Her car jerked at the sudden shift change, then responded.
In her rearview mirror, the men were getting into their SUV.
