“Sure we are. For now.” Special Agent Soltan overruled him. “The main thing is that we get Miss Kennedy to talk. Bring her in, Inspector Rizzo.”
TRACY’S HEART RACED AS she approached the interview room. She’d dressed carefully when she left the hotel, in a black cashmere turtleneck and figure-hugging bottle-green corduroy pants tucked into flat boots. She hoped the look conveyed casual confidence, but the very obvious leers of the FBI agents when she walked into the building made her second-guess herself.
Why the hell am I feeling nervous? She’s the one going to jail, not me. I hold all the cards here.
The last time Tracy had seen Elizabeth face-to-face had been in L.A., in the alleyway behind the Brooksteins’ mansion. That had been a triumphant moment. This should have been too. So why were her palms sweating?
Of course, it could have had something to do with the venue. The FBI’s New York headquarters did not exactly qualify as one of Tracy’s “happy places.”
“You’re perfectly safe,” Jean Rizzo told her. “I’m on the other side of the glass, along with Agents Buck, Soltan.”
“Surrounded by the FBI. That’s very reassuring,” quipped Tracy. “Do I need my lawyer, Jean?”
“No. Nothing’s off-limits.”
Special Agent Soltan nodded his agreement. “We appreciate you being here, Miss Whitney. You say whatever you need to in there to get Kennedy to talk. You have complete immunity, so you won’t incriminate yourself.”
Tracy glanced at the short, good-looking agent next to Jean. He looked as if he’d just swallowed a handful of jalapeños.
Jean Rizzo patted her on the shoulder. “Good luck.”
ELIZABETH LOOKED UP WHEN the door opened, an expression of profound boredom etched on her face. Then she saw who it was and smiled broadly.
“Tracy!” She leaned back in her chair. If she were nervous, she was doing an excellent job of hiding it. “Well, well, well. Playing for the other team now, are we? I must say I’m surprised. Especially after our last run-in. Out of curiosity, how much did you get for Sheila Brookstein’s rubies?”
“One-point-seven million,” Tracy said coolly. “You’re so sweet to ask.”
On the other side of the mirrored glass, Milton Buck’s jaw hit the floor.
“Tracy Whitney pulled the Brookstein job?”
“Shhh.” Jean Rizzo waved a hand dismissively, his eyes glued to the two women. Tracy was talking.
“I donated the money to charity.”
“Of course you did.” Elizabeth’s upper lip curled slightly. “You always were quite the saint.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Tracy smiled. “Then again, it’s all relative.”
Milton Buck hissed in Jean Rizzo’s ear.
“You knew about this! You knew Whitney did the Brookstein job! Why the hell didn’t you say anything?”
“And compromise my source? Why should I?” said Jean. “Besides, you weren’t exactly falling over yourself to help me with my investigation. Remember?”
“Be quiet, both of you,” Special Agent Soltan snapped.
Tracy had sat down now, face-to-face with Elizabeth.
“It hasn’t been your year, has it?” she said mockingly. “First you screw up the Brookstein job and now you manage to get arrested by not one but two law enforcement agencies on the same night. Not very impressive. Especially when you consider that a monkey could have outsmarted Bianca Berkeley.”
“Bianca took the bait hook, line and sinker,” Elizabeth shot back. “I executed the job perfectly.”
“Hmm. That must be why you’re here.”
Tracy’s confidence was returning now. She was starting to enjoy herself. Elizabeth radiated the same cold beauty Tracy remembered. Her features were perfect, but she was as dead inside as a marble statue. Running her eyes up and down her slender figure, Tracy said, “They’re going to love you in prison. Trust me. I’ve been there.”
Elizabeth looked at her curiously.