Emily Locke 01 - Final Approach

hear your story. When we have it sorted, we’ll reorganize resources and follow up your leads.”
    “What’s that mean? A day? A week?”
    Clement cocked his head. “Hard to say at this point. I’m sorry.”
    I made a decision then to tell Clement about everything I knew, but not about everything I had. Right or wrong, I’d keep that sack of money because it was my only path to Annette.

Chapter Thirty-four
    Forty minutes into my exchange with Clement, a doctor entered his room and told me in succinct but polite terms to leave. She was marking on his medical chart before I stood up from my chair.
    “Wait,” Clement said, as I moved toward the door. “This shouldn’t take long.”
    I glanced at his doctor, but she ignored me and paced to a computer monitor, where she studied an ECG trace and some changing numbers.
    “It’s fine,” I told Clement. “I need to get my leg fixed anyway, and you should rest.” I opened the door and turned to say goodbye.
    “Stop,” he said. “You can’t leave.”
    He shifted in his bed to sit up, but his doctor protested with a silent pat on his shoulder.
    “You shot someone last night. You have critical information about a time sensitive investigation.”
    The doctor turned to appraise me.
    Clement continued. “There will be a formal interview, at the very least. Immediately.”
    “That’s fine,” I lied. We had two agendas, and we both knew it. “How about I come back as soon as I’m stitched up?”
    Clement hesitated. “Technically, I’m on medical leave. And the interview should be video recorded anyway. I’ll arrange for you to be taken to the field office. They can handle it there.”
    “Of course.” I checked my watch and frowned. “I’ve been waiting an hour-and-a-half and the E.R. is packed. Would it be easier if I came back when I’m done and waited for the agent here with you? Hate to eat up half his day by making him sit around, waiting.”
    Clement didn’t answer, but he didn’t stop looking at me, either. I wondered how well the FBI might have trained him to read signs of deceit.
    “Miss?” the doctor said, nodding to the door.
    “See you in a while,” I told Clement.
    His distrustful expression was cemented on my brain as I walked down the hall. I didn’t want to lie, but Annette was more important. I’d risk anything to find her.
    I used a pay phone in a waiting room to dial my cell. It was still in the bag I’d given Jeannie. She’d never been one to worry about answering a phone that wasn’t hers.
    “It’s me,” I said. “Is Richard with you?”
    “Yep.”
    “Go somewhere he can’t hear you. Take the bag.”
    “Just a sec,” she said, “I’m in a hospital and we’re not supposed to use cell phones in here. Let me go outside.”
    “You’re good,” I told her. “Tell me when you’re there.”
    A few moments later she said, “Alright, I’m at the drop-off curb. How’d it go with the Fed?”
    “I’ll get to that, but first I need a favor. Dig out Kurt’s phone from that bag and find the number for the call that came in from Trish this morning. Should be two calls back, before the one that came from the apartment.”
    She talked me through her search of the bag and navigation of the phone’s menus. Finally, she found the number. I read it back to her.
    “Fine. That’s done,” she said. “What are you doing?”
    “Baiting Trish.”
    She didn’t say anything.
    “You can’t tell anyone, especially Richard. If he gets involved and my idea doesn’t work, this could be the second career ruined for him.”
    “What should I say if he asks who called?”
    “Tell him it was somebody from work.” An ambulance wailed on Jeannie’s end. “Thanks for the number. I’ll be there as soon as I make this call. Plant the seed in Richard’s head that I need to give my statement to the local FBI field office next. Tell him we could drop him at his office first. Work out a way to borrow his car.”
    “Roger, wilco,” she said. “Good luck.”
    I pressed and released the pay phone’s switch hook. The dial tone sounded ominous. I punched in Trish’s number and waited.
    “I want to make a trade,” I said when she answered. I tried to keep my voice down.
    “I’m listening.”
    “For my daughter and Casey Lyons.”
    “When?” she asked. Her voice sounded tinny and distant. I was surprised by her cooperation.
    “Today.”
    “No. Later.”
    I wondered why.
    “You’ve done more on less notice, Trish. Let’s