Page 45 of Cruel Kiss

"Mm. I wouldn't think so."

"You've got fourteen days," Mercer says. "Though I'd expect your very expensive attorneys to file something clever before then. They always do."

"I'd imagine they will. That's why they're compensated the way they are."

"And you, ma'am." She looks at me again. "I'll say it to you plainly, because I think you're the type who appreciates that sort of thing. That window I told you about? It's closing. Fast."

"I remember," I say as neutrally as I can.

"Good. As of now, the offer's still on the table. You come in, you tell us what you know, we'll take care of you." She thrusts her chin toward the car seats in the back. "Your kids never have to know their mother was ever anywhere near a thing like this."

"And if I don't?"

"Then you and Mr. Akov here can pick out matching outfits. I hear prison orange is very in this season."

Oh, this bitch.

Before I can tell her exactly what I think of that particular scare tactic, Ronan beats me to it. He leans across me.

"Agent Gia," he says.

Mercer's eyes snap to him.

The tension ratchets up fast. I don't understand why until I watch her face.

"I don't recall giving you my first name," she says.

"You didn't."

"Then how?—"

"I like to know who I'm talking to." His face is placid and emotionless. "Gia Mercer. Fifteen years with the Bureau. Started in white collar, transferred to organized crime six years ago. You had a partner named Santiago Velez who retired to Florida. You take your coffee black and you drink a bit too much of it, according to your doctor. You're good at your job. Truly. Better than the people above you, which is why they keep you doing the interesting parts and give the credit to somebody else."

I stare at him. Is he crazy? Does he know what he's doing? Is he about to get us locked up after all?

Mercer recoils a bit more than I think she intended to. "Be careful now, Mr. Akov."

He simply smiles. "I find it saves time to be 'plain,' as you put it. You appreciate that, don't you?"

"You don't know me," she snarls.

"I'd say I know enough."

They look at each other. It's like watching two alley cats decide whether to rip each other's faces off.

And I'm sitting right in the middle of it, my elbow six inches from a federal subpoena.

I decide to interrupt before the claws really get bared. "Are we done?" I ask. "Is there anything else that needs doing, or can I go back to my life now?"

"Sure are." Mercer straightens up. She pats the roof of the car twice, returning to her default state of nonchalance. "I've said my piece, so now, I'll leave you two lovebirds to your afternoon.Remember my offer, Ms. Meadows. And you, Mr. Akov… Well, I figure we'll talk very soon."

And then she turns and walks back to the gray sedan, unhurried, one hand in her pocket, like she's got all the time in the world and we don't.

She gets in. The red-and-blue lights in the grille die. She pulls out into traffic and is gone.

We sit there for a second. Neither of us moves.

Then I remember.