Secrets Collide (Bluegrass Brothers)

was pushed through. “Here he is, Warden,” the guard said as he looked curiously around the room. 
    “Parker? What are you doing here?” the senator spat.
    “Thank you, gentlemen. We’ll tap on the door when we’re done here.” Cole ignored Senator Bruce and didn’t say a word until the warden and guard had left.
    Gemma’s heart was pounding as she watched the scene unfold from the corner. Cole and Cy looked calm. Ahmed was so still. How could they stand it? She wanted to fire off question after question as she paced the room.
    “How are you doing in here, Mr. Bruce?” Cole asked as he leaned back in his seat.
    “It’s Senator ,” he growled as he narrowed his eyes at Cole.
    “Not anymore. Now it’s inmate ,” Cy smirked and Gemma’s eyes widened. It wasn’t the same man. Cy’s face was cold and dangerous. Gemma fought the ridiculous feeling of needing to hide from him.
    “Who the hell are you?”
    “The man who has some questions for you.”
    “Sorry, I don’t answer questions. Now get lost. I’m going back to bed.”
    Cy shrugged. “Sure. We can let you go back to bed. While you’re sleeping, I’ll go to the papers and tell them I had a great chat with you all about the man who supplied the women to you at those poker games in New York,” Cy said casually.
    Senator Bruce’s face turned white as he dropped into the empty chair. Cy leaned forward, placed his elbows on the table, and looked Bruce right in the eye.
    “See, we’ve put it all together. We know all about the sex trade, the guns, the drugs, and even Sergei.” Cy paused and then drilled Bruce with his gaze. “And we know that you’ll be dead in a heartbeat if they think you talked.”
    “I’ll be dead either way now. They’ll know you were here. They’ll know I was alone in this room with you and that will be enough. I’ll be dead by the morning, thanks to you.” Gemma almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
    “Then you might as well talk,” Cy responded without a hint of sympathy in his hard voice.
    “To some asshole I don’t even know. No. I want to talk to my daughter. I won’t say a word to you until I talk to Whitney and know that she’s alive and safe.” Bruce crossed his arms over his chest and stared at Cy and Cole who just sat staring back. Gemma could hardy stand still as she watched the standoff.
    “And, if we let you talk to Whitney, you’ll answer all of our questions?” Cole asked.
    “Yes. If you promise she’ll be safe until it’s all over.”
    “Deal,” Cole said as he pulled out his cell phone.
    Ahmed stepped forward and put a quiet hand on Cole’s shoulder and handed him a phone he had in his pocket. “It’s untraceable.”
    “Who is this guy?” Bruce said incredulously as he looked Ahmed over.
    Gemma leaned forward so she wouldn’t miss the answer, but Ahmed simply smiled a thin, terrifying smile before stepping back. Cole went to work calling the U.S. Marshal’s office and organized a patch through to Whitney’s witness protection location through a series of secure lines.
    As Bruce took the phone from Cole, Ahmed leaned back and handed Gemma a pen and a pocket notebook. “Write down everything he says.”
    Gemma started scribbling as she heard Bruce’s voice go soft when he talked to his daughter for the first time in years. She tried not to cry. If Bruce was right, then this could be the last time he ever talked to his daughter. How could everyone stand listening and show no emotion whatsoever?
    Fifteen minutes later, Bruce hung up the phone and handed it back to Cole. “Thank you.”
    “You’re welcome. Look, Bruce. You help us; we’ll help you. We’ll take you with us and change your name, your look, and put you in a prison where no one will find you,” Cole told him. Gemma felt relieved. She knew the former senator was a criminal, but it was different seeing a defeated old man sitting in front of her, completely broken.
    “Sure you will. Or you’ll try. It may even protect me for a couple of weeks, but they’ll find me eventually.” Bruce took a deep breath. “What do you want to know?”
    “Who did you report to?” Cy asked.
    “I didn’t have his name. It was the same man for years and then came Sergei. I only knew his name through my work on the Foreign Affairs Committee. But, my main contact was thin and bookish. He had a goatee.”
    “How did you get in contact with him?”
    “I had a number.” Bruce motioned for a pen and paper and wrote it down