O’Doul glances at Tabby. She’s got her back to me so I can’t see her expression, but whatever he sees on her face makes him shake his head.
“Sorry, Ms. Lawson. We really need to—”
“This is my studio. This person Killgaard threatened me, stole from me, is attempting extortion from me. I have a very personal investment in the outcome of this investigation. I’ve assisted in any way I can—”
“It’s not about you,” interrupts Tabby, still staring at the whiteboard. She turns her head and looks at Miranda. In profile, her face is lovely. But her expression…let’s just say I’m really glad I’m not on the receiving end of that.
“It most certainly is!” protests Miranda, her voice shrill.
In contrast to Miranda’s flustered heat, Tabby is cool as ice. In fact, it seems to me that the longer this investigation continues, the more Miranda’s famous control unravels and the more Tabby’s fire burns arctic cold.
With chilling calmness, Tabby says, “It’s never been about you, Miranda. But if you don’t get out of my face in two seconds, it will be.”
Ryan chuckles. “Girl fight. Cool.”
O’Doul intercedes before any punches can get thrown. “This might be your studio, Ms. Lawson, but this is my investigation.” He jerks his thumb in the direction of the door.
Face flaming, Miranda looks to me for help. “Connor.”
I spread my hands in a helpless gesture. “Sorry, Miranda. You heard the man. He’s in charge.”
Her exhalation sounds like a cobra hiss. Nostrils flaring, she turns on her heel and storms from the room.
Ryan says, “Maybe she needs a neck massage.” He winks at me and then, with a swagger, follows her out.
O’Doul sighs heavily and scrubs a hand over his face. “Chan.”
“Yes, sir, we’re all ready. Miss West, all we need from you is the number we’ll be calling, and then we can begin.”
Tabby looks at him. “Walk me through it. Tell me about the software, the tracking, how you record it, everything.”
Chan shakes his head. “I can’t. Sorry.” When her look sours, he hurries to add, “But trust me, the technology is state-of-the-art. Untraceable.”
She looks dubious, most likely because he uttered the dreaded word “trust.”
“Let’s do a trial run. Why don’t you call me on my cell first to see if I can detect anything unusual?”
O’Doul says flatly, “No. And don’t bother asking again.”
When I walk closer, it distracts her from the argument I can see coming. As if we’re magnets repelling each other, she moves to the other side of Chan’s desk. “Suit yourself.”
I take up position directly across from her, the desk a buffer between us. O’Doul comes to stand beside me as Chan logs into his computer, navigates through a maze of prompts and pop-up windows, and then comes to a box with the words “Enter destination” beside it.
“Before we begin,” says O’Doul, “a few words of warning.”
Tabby cuts him a look.
“Obviously, you know that everything said will be recorded.”
He doesn’t have to explain the subtext: Don’t try anything funny, because we’ll have it all on tape. Also: Prison.
Tabby says drily, “Obviously.”
“The object is simply to keep him on the line for sixty seconds. Keep him engaged, keep him talking. But if at any time I feel that the conversation is veering toward something that will compromise the investigation, I’ll have Chan disconnect the call. Which will mean our agreement is null and void.”
Again unsaid: Prison.
With her icy calm still intact, Tabby replies, “You don’t have to paint the pictures on the walls for me, O’Doul. I get it.”
“Good. One final thing.” O’Doul turns his gaze to me. “No noise whatsoever from the peanut gallery. I want total silence in this room while they’re speaking. If I get anything less than total silence, if you even clear your fucking throat, I’ll consider it sabotage.”
More prison.
I feel vaguely insulted and want to tell him so, but decide to bite my tongue so I don’t get thrown out before we even start. I’d chew off my own arm to be in the room during this phone call. So I swallow my pride and nod.
He turns his attention back to Tabby. “The origin of the signal will be digitally cloaked, so if he asks why—”
“He won’t ask why.”
When O’Doul raises his brows, she explains. “I’ve been cloaking all my digital signals since forever. In fact, he’s the one who taught me how. He’ll expect not to be able to trace my location.” Her voice darker, she adds, “Which is why he’ll try to, so you better hope your shit is tight, or this whole thing will blow up in our faces.”
Unthinking, Chan starts to give her an explanation of just how good the FBI software is, but O’Doul barks at him to shut up before he can get half a dozen words in. Chan turns red and mutters an apology.
O’Doul drags a chair next to Chan’s desk and points to it. “Sit,” he instructs Tabby. Uncharacteristically obedient, she sinks into it without a word.