The Witness

behind her, rubbing her shoulders, as she worked what he thought of as strange magic with the keyboard.
    “Now he could call the bluff. He could let this go past the deadline, wait it out.”
    “No, he won’t.” Brooks leaned down, kissed the top of her head. “He’s shifted from using the law as a lever to using the Volkovs. He’s sweating. His next response will demand a guarantee. How can he be sure we won’t come back for more?”
    “That’s irrational.” Once the message was routed, she turned in the chair to look up at Brooks. “It’s all dishonest, it’s extortion. Asking for a guarantee’s not logical, and would cost another twenty-five thousand. He should either agree to the payment or ignore any other communications.”
    “Side bet, ten bucks.”
    “I’m sorry?”
    “I have ten dollars that says he’ll come back whining for a guarantee.”
    Her brows drew together. “You want to wager on his response? That doesn’t seem appropriate.”
    He grinned at her. “Afraid to put your money where your mouth is?”
    “That’s a ridiculous expression, and no, I’m not. Ten dollars.”
    He drew her to her feet, into his arms. Swayed into a dance.
    “What are you doing?”
    “Making sure we’ll make a nice picture dancing at our wedding.”
    “I’m a very good dancer.”
    “Yes, you are.”
    She laid her head on his shoulder, closed her eyes. “It should feel strange, dancing with no music, making wagers, while we’re orchestrating something so important.”
    “Does it?”
    “No, it really doesn’t.” She opened her eyes in surprise when her computer signaled another incoming e-mail. “So quick.”
    “He’s on the edge. Squeeze play.”
    “I don’t understand what that means.”
    “Baseball. I’ll explain later. Let’s see what he has to say.”
    How do I know you’re not going to come back for more later? Let’s work out a deal.
     
    “That’s a very foolish response,” Abigail complained.
    “It cost you ten dollars. Keep it short. Say: ‘You don’t. No deals. You’re up to $125,000, clock ticking down.’”
    She studied him a moment: that slightly crooked nose, the hazel eyes—a wash of green over amber now—the shaggy black hair in need of a trim. “I think you’re very good at extortion.”
    “Thanks, honey.”
    “I’ll put the pasta on while he considers. That’s what he’s doing now? Considering?”
    “Sweating, pouring a drink, trying to figure out who’s screwing with him.” Oh, yeah, Brooks thought, he could picture it. “He’s probably thinking about running. Not enough time to make running plans, so he’ll pay, and start making them.”
    At the counter, he popped an olive from the tray into his mouth, then topped off her wine. And when her back was turned, tossed a slice of pepperoni to Bert.
    By the time she’d boiled the pasta, drained it, the signal came through.
    Onetime payment. Come after more, I’ll take my chances with the Volkovs. Spend it fast, because I’m coming after you.
     
    “Big talk.”
    “You understand him very well,” Abigail noted.
    “Part of the job. You have to understand bad guys to catch bad guys. Where were you figuring to have him wire the money?”
    “I have an account set up. Once he’s transferred the funds, I’ll distribute it to a charity for children of fallen police officers.”
    “That’s commendable, and I don’t like denying kids, but …”
    “You have another recipient in mind?”
    “Keegan. Can you transfer Cosgrove’s payment to Keegan’s account?”
    “Oh.” Her face lit up as a woman’s might when given rubies. “Oh, that’s
brilliant.
”
    “I have my moments.”
    “More than moments. It implicates both of them. It gives the FBI cause to bring them both in for questioning.”
    “Honey, it fucks them both inside out.”
    “Yes. It really does. And yes, I can do it. It’ll take me a few minutes.”
    “Take your time. Bert and I will go for a little walk while you work.”
    He snagged a couple more slices of pepperoni on the way out—one for him, one for the dog. A nice evening for a stroll around, he thought, with time to check out the progress of the garden, think about what he might do around the place on his next day off.
    “This is our place,” he said to the dog. “She was meant to come here, and I was meant to find her here. I know what she’d say to that.” He laid a hand on Bert’s head, rubbed lightly. “But she’s wrong.”
    When Bert leaned against