Reckoning and Ruin by Tina Whittle Page A

lesson.”
    â€œSo no outside contact with known criminals?”
    â€œNone.”
    â€œNo illegal activities or intent to commit illegal activities?”
    â€œNone.”
    He hesitated. Something she’d said was tripping his switch. I knew that look. Technically true but deliberately evasive. She really was hiding something.
    Her face was a defiant mask. “You think I’m lying, don’t you?”
    â€œI think there’s something you’re not telling me.”
    She shook her head. “Nope.”
    He narrowed his eyes. I knew that look too. The rest of what she said might have been wishy-washy half-truth, but that “nope” was a big fat lie.
    He kept his voice non-threatening. “It would be in your best interest—”
    â€œFuck you.” She folded her arms. “You’re not a cop. I don’t have to tell you anything.”
    He didn’t reply for a good thirty seconds. When he spoke, his voice was composed. “You are correct that I’m not a sworn officer anymore. I am, however, a consultant with the Atlanta Metro Major Offenders Task Force, which is a joint effort between the APD and the FBI. And while you have the right to remain silent, lying to a federal agent in a material investigation is a felony. Section 1001, Title 18 of the federal code. So let me ask you again, as clearly and concisely as I can—what is it that you aren’t telling me?”
    I tried not to let my astonishment show on my face. He was lying. Well, not lying as much as sticking two pieces of truth together and letting them imply something that wasn’t true. It was the oldest trick in my book, one he’d obviously picked up on since even though he was a consultant with AMMO, that did not qualify him as a federal agent, not even close. And quizzing Hope in a gun shop did not count as a material investigation. Even I knew that.
    But Hope looked conflicted. She was weighing her options, considering the pros and cons. She didn’t trust us, but she damn sure needed us, both of us, and information was a commodity at such times.
    She looked up at Trey. “Are you saying I’m a liar?”
    â€œI’m saying that you’re lying.”
    She reached in her pocket and threw him her keys. “There. You don’t believe me, search the damn car. Tear it apart. I got nothing to hide. You think I’d still be sitting here, knowing you were on the way, if I did?”
    Trey didn’t reply, but he pocketed the keys. I could sense the various impulses warring in his brain—kick Hope out and fortify the shop against whatever trouble she’d brought to town, call the authorities to haul her away, interrogate her until she coughed up the details herself—and I knew he couldn’t sift through them easily.
    He turned and headed for the door. I watched him go, then grabbed a chair, dropped it in front of Hope, and straddled it backwards. “Nice try. Now spill it.”
    â€œSpill what?”
    â€œWhatever it is you’re keeping from him.”
    She let a smile flicker at the corner of her mouth. “He’ll run after any bone you toss, won’t he? So damn predictable. How do you stand it?”
    In my peripheral vision, I saw Trey approach the car, a dark blue two-door, dull in the amber streetlight. Even though he had the keys, he didn’t touch it. Instead, he pulled a slim penlight from his pocket and ran it along every inch of the vehicle, starting with the driver’s side door.
    I shook my head at Hope. “He risked his life to save you once. He did it because he is incapable of anything else. You came in here because you had no place else to go and that hasn’t changed, so unless you want me dialing up 911 my own sweet self, you will spit out whatever it is you’re still hiding.”
    She looked like she wanted to argue. I saw defiance in her, but I also saw weariness and a landsliding grief. She was at