Page 27 of Only the Wicked (The Sinful State #1)
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sydney
The blue field represents justice, as does the miniature shield with an eagle crest holding a sword and scales, and yet, I don’t trust the badge.
There’s something about this pasty white man in a cheap suit that doesn’t sit well with me.
Yes, he just came to my defense, but it all feels a little too convenient in this sparsely populated bar.
He withdraws his ID, a smug yes-I’m-a-badass expression on his freshly shaven face.
“Keep it out,” I say, pulling out my phone.
I snap a photo and smile.
“Later on I’ll call your field office.”
His eyes widen, his head jerks, and his fingers shift, all signs he’s surprised. But he’s not shocked, and there’s no worry.
No, his thin lips spread into a semblance of a smile.
“Why would you call my field office?”
“That’s the only way to verify you’re sporting a real badge, right?”
In reality, I will not waste time calling a field office. I’ll be sending this photo straight to Quinn so she can verify and, if true, determine who else within the government is investigating ARGUS. Because Caroline believes Rhodes MacMillan and his AI surveillance company are above the law.
Although, if I’m honest, our intel always felt shaky. It seemed to me that, at a minimum, the NSA would be all over ARGUS, possibly even serving as an invisible partner.
Ian Gregory’s gaze travels around the bar, over my shoulder and up along the ceiling and the inset lighting. He must’ve clocked the small security camera tucked away near a carbon monoxide detector.
“May I put it away?” he asks.
“Be my guest.”
“And may I sit?”
If you must is on the tip of my tongue, but confrontation isn’t the best approach when I need information.
“Please.”
He sits down and I search the area for the earlier jerk, wanting to see how he reacts to my welcoming a different man to sit.
He’s nowhere to be found within these olive-green walls.
“What do you want from me?”
The FBI agent’s lips press together in such a way that he hides the muted beige-pink lip color and puffs his pale skin. It’s not a flattering look. He rests an elbow on the edge of the bar, and leans, exposing his dress shirt and a sweat ring below his armpit.
With one elbow on the bar, he clasps his hands together at chest level and crosses one leg over the other.
A defensive posture—an odd one—but also one that minimizes any threat I might feel from a stranger.
He relaxes his lips and waves the bartender away, declining to order.
“Rhodes MacMillan is a person of interest. You’re his guest. Yes?
” He doesn’t wait for confirmation. “Now, Sydney Parker, you no longer work for the CIA.”
There’s something about his off-kilter smile that makes my jaw clench.
“Ms. Parker, are you working for anyone right now?”
“At the moment, I’m unemployed.” I look him directly in the eye. I’m not breaking cover for this guy. Not to mention, for all I know, this guy may not be investigating Rhodes, he could be doing Rhodes a favor and verifying me in an off-the-books quid pro quo.
The thought has me straightening, running through what I’ve said, hoping I didn’t slip and expose our operation.
“But you’re…” He pauses and the fingers on my left hand roll into a small fist, “ friends with Rhodes MacMillan.”
“I’m not a hired escort if that’s what you’re implying.”
He coughs, covering his mouth with a balled-up fist.
“I did not mean to imply that,” he says, blinking back his apparent surprise at my directness.
“Look, I think we got off to a bad start. Since you’re a former CIA analyst, I’m going to be frank with you.
We’ve been monitoring MacMillan for months, and when you checked in with him, it piqued our interest. That’s all. ”
I sense he’s telling the truth, but I still don’t trust him.
“We met a few days ago. I’m unemployed. You can check that,” I respond.
“After your dismissal, did you file for unemployment?”
“I wasn’t fired.” Asshole . “And no, I haven’t filed for unemployment.” As I say the words, the ramifications play out in my mind. If I follow Rhodes to San Francisco, I’ll need to find employment somewhat quickly or I’ll look suspect. But why does the FBI care? Is this an open investigation?
“I see. If we were to check, we would confirm you have no salary income but have not yet filed for unemployment. And you’re staying for the weekend?”
This guy’s questions are out of line. “Is being friends with Rhodes MacMillan against the law?”
“No.” He emphasizes his answer with a quick shake of his head.
He reaches inside his jacket and pulls out a business card.
“Ms. Parker, you clearly know that Rhodes MacMillan isn’t average.
As a former CIA officer, you also understand the work we civil servants do to protect our country.
If you find yourself in danger,” I raise an eyebrow at his statement, “or you uncover information that puts our citizens in danger, please call.”
“Is the FBI in the business of cultivating assets now?”
“We’re in the business of protecting United States citizens and upholding the law.”
“I see.” I take his card, read it, and slip it into my bag. “Well thank you for all you do.”
He pushes off the stool.
“I’m a friend, Ms. Parker. An ally.”
I give him a short, cordial nod with a curt smile. My expression should convey that he should leave now, and he does.
I watch him walk away, noting a deep crease in his suit coat that lies over his rear. He’s been sitting for a long time today. In an office? Doubtful. In a car parked on the street? Also doubtful given there’s no parking on the streets near here. Perhaps an inconspicuous armchair in the lobby?
The urge to message Quinn is strong, but there are cameras. I can’t send this via message from my phone. I need to access our portal.
I check my watch, questioning if I have time to do so before Rhodes meets with Evie Thompson. I need to be here when he walks in. She’s not here yet.
Twenty minutes. That’s plenty of time. I’ll head to the room, reach out to Quinn, and be back down before the meeting.
I catch the bartender’s eye and finger my napkin and drink.
“I’ll be back. Don’t remove my drink, okay?”
What the hell is going on? Rhodes went to the Russian Embassy this afternoon, and he’s piqued the interest of the FBI. It appears all those rumors are true, and our intel that he’s above reproach and investigation is cocked.