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“What? That’s crazy.”

“That’s what the agent said yesterday.”

“We both need to talk to them then.”

“I just wanted to make sure you knew what he said about you first…”

“You don’t believe I’m involved, do you?” I asked, feeling myself getting mildly upset.

“No…I mean, I don’t think so. Can I finish my coffee before we get into an argument?”

“I don’t want to argue.”

“Good. Neither do I.”

As we both sipped at our coffee, I stole glances at him, wondering what it was about him that had made me fall so hard and so fast.

* * *

I sat next to him in a plain unassuming waiting room in the FBI building downtown. After dropping the man’s name who had talked to him in the alley, the security guard downstairs had shown us to the right floor.

Warren turned his head to look at me. “If something happens, I’ve got your back.”

“I can’t wait to talk to this guy and see what he thinks he knows about me.”

“They might have been lying. We shouldn’t be talking. The waiting room might be bugged.”

I nodded and then turned to face the only door in the tiny room. A few minutes later, the door opened and a man in a black suit walked in. Warren and I both got to our feet as he stared at me curiously.

“This is the female journalist who has nothing to do with it,” Warren said.

“Come with me,” the man said.

“Can we get your name?” I asked.

“Mr. Sully. This way, please.”

He held the door open for us, and then the three of us walked down two different hallways. By the time we stopped at a door, I wasn’t sure what part of the building we were in.

“Take a seat,” Mr. Sully said while adjusting the oval wire-frame glasses on his face.

Something was off about him, but I couldn’t put my finger on what. As I sat next to Warren, I watched the man’s face for any signs of lying.

“Thanks for coming in,” he said, opening a folder on his desk. “As I said, if you give us information on what happened before, we’ll make sure you’re not charged with anything.”

“Hold on a minute,” I said.

“I thought you were a journalist, not a lawyer,” Mr. Sully said with a chuckle. “Although they’re both kind of hated the same these days.”

“People hate the media more. Trust me, I’m—”

“We know who you are,” he interrupted. “And we’re glad you came in too. When we saw you asking questions about Melvin Stevenson renting office space, we thought you might not be involved after all.”

“You know she’s not, right?” Warren said, sitting on the edge of his seat.

I rubbed his back with my hand, more to support me than him.

“We’ve been listening to phone calls and reading emails, so yes, we know she’s not involved.”