Bait by Karen Robards Page A

maybe six-four, six-five, overweight, with a big beer belly that was not flattered by the scarlet hula girl dancing across his middle. Flushed and sweaty, he looked like he’d just run a marathon in the swampy heat outside. A forest of tiny dark gold ringlets sprang up around his head, giving him the appearance of a giant cherub on summer vacation. Anyone who looked less like an FBI agent would be hard to find.
    Except maybe the frowning street bum directly in front of her.
    Still, she didn’t doubt for so much as an instant that they were what he claimed. There was something about him, about the pair of them, that practically screamed feds. She should have realized it from the first. Maybe, somewhere deep inside, she had realized it from the first. Maybe that’s why her eyes had been drawn to them to begin with. Maybe that’s why she had felt such alarm on realizing that they were heading her way.
    â€œWhat do you want?” she asked, her mouth so dry that her voice sounded croaky. Like she had no idea. Like she hadn’t been dreading this day for years. Like she hadn’t expected that sooner or later they would show up ...
    â€œTo talk to you.” The black-haired man took a step toward her so that he was once again close enough to make her feel crowded. She could see the tiny lines around his eyes, the deeper ones bracketing his mouth. Too close. Oh, God, she couldn’t deal with this. She wasn’t ready. She wasn’t ready. Her stomach did its best imitation of a pretzel. Her heart was already pounding so hard that she was surprised he couldn’t see its panicked beating beneath her thin silk shell.
    Things had been going so well, she mourned. At least, they had been going so well until someone had tried to kill her ...
    â€œI’m Special Agent Sam McCabe. This”—McCabe threw a quick glance over his shoulder at the larger man—“is Special Agent E. P. Wynne. You are Madeline Fitzgerald, right?”
    What are my choices here? Maddie asked herself wildly in the split second before she replied. With escape no longer even remotely possible, they were basically down to two: tell the truth—or lie.
    â€œYes,” she said, and to her own surprise her voice sounded perfectly calm. Or maybe it wasn’t so surprising after all. The first hot rush of panic had receded; she was cold now, icy cold, so cold that her lips felt bloodless, her fingers and toes numb. Her pulse raced; her palms were damp; goosebumps prickled her arms. But she looked steadily back at him, meeting his gaze without, she hoped, giving any of her inner turmoil away.
    Play the hand out. She could almost hear her father saying it. It’s not over till it’s over.
    She had to force herself to breathe.
    â€œWe want to ask you a few questions about what happened last night,” McCabe continued. “Do you have a minute?”
    About what happened last night. It was so unexpected that it was disorienting. Maddie blinked once as the words sank in. Her lungs deflated like a punctured balloon as all the air suddenly whooshed out. They wanted to talk to her about last night. Waves of relief washed over her. Of course they wanted to talk to her about last night, she scolded herself. What else could they possibly want to talk to her about?
    What else indeed, she thought, still feeling faintly dizzy. Still, the sooner she got away from them the better. She needed a little time to recover her composure, at the very least.
    As shaken as she was, it would be way too easy to let something slip.
    She got a grip and shook her head.
    â€œActually, I’m late as it is. I have an important meeting in just a few minutes. And you made me miss my elevator.” The faintly accusing note in her voice as she said that last was, she thought, pitch-perfect for the occasion.
    â€œSorry about that,” the big one—Wynne—said with an apologetic grimace.
    â€œCould you come with us,