Don't Tell (Don't 1)

I sniffed. “Yes. His name is Vaughn Hunter.”

He scribbled the name down. “So he’s going by that now.”

I placed the picture on the table. “What is going on? What has happened to him?”

“How long have you known him?”

“A few months,” I answered.

The knot in my stomach tightened.

“Can you be more specific?”

I thought back to my first day at American. To the night Greer and I went out for drinks to celebrate. “Yes, it was my first day in the residency law program at the university.” My voice started to come back to me. “The very end of August.”

“And how did you meet Mr. Hunter?”

“I bumped into him with my chair,” I explained. “What does this have to do with why I’m here. I don’t understand any of this.”

The agent laughed. “He’s done that one before.”

“Done what before?”

“I’m sorry. Let’s continue. How many times has Mr. Hunter been in your apartment?”

I stared blankly. “I haven’t taken count.”

My mind raced. Did I need to protect Vaughn? Was he in trouble? Was I saying too much or did he need me to tell them every detail to keep him safe? I didn’t know. I didn’t know whether to talk or clam up.

“But you are sleeping together?”

My eyes widened. “I don’t think you can ask me that.”

“I can. It’s part of the investigation.”

“What investigation? You said we would talk through this. So far you’ve only asked me questions. I think I should know why I’m here. Why I’m being recorded. Why there is someone on the other side of the glass watching. Why I’m in a building I can’t identify.” I folded my arms. “I think I want to evoke my right to counsel.”

He shook his head. “Wait. Wait. Let’s talk. You’re right.”

It was the one bit of leverage I had over the agent. He wouldn’t want to bring anyone else into the room. As soon as he did, I wouldn’t be any use to him. Another attorney would demand official charges. Require evidence. Insist on a subpoena.

I felt a slice of victory. But it was the briefest of moments. Before my entire world crashed and shattered around me. Before Agent Kenneth pulled my heart from my chest and butchered it on the interrogation table. Yes, it was a tiny, momentary victory.

“This man, Miss Charles. The one who has claimed to be Vaughn Hunter, is in fact a contract operative by the name of Jeremy West. We believe you have colluded with him to steal highly classified documents regarding the sale of weapons to the U.S. government.”

“No. No.” I shook my head, creating a dizzying sensation that spread through

my limbs. I couldn’t feel my body.

“You and Mr. West used your proximity to Greer Britt to obtain documents that are worth billions.”

My palms flattened on the table. “No. That’s not possible.”

“We have already questioned Miss Britt extensively. We are aware you and West had access to work files. She contends that you wouldn’t steal.” He sat back in his chair. “That’s not up to her, but to me to decide. I need to know how far your involvement goes.”

“Greer? Vaughn?” I looked at him as the room spun in circles.

There was no way to hold on to the attorney in me. The woman with the calm rational legal expertise. I couldn’t keep her locked in and absorb the words at the same time. I couldn’t process what he said as part of the law and not as a woman who had learned the unthinkable.