the
feds.
No surprise there. Charles had the spinal column of a
flatworm, so Bella found herself on a flight to L.A. with instructions to turn
over her notes to this Hashemi guy. Enseguida. Right away.
Already she detested the federal agent and she hadn't even
met him. She hated being ridden roughshod over and despised even more someone
going over her head.
And even though she was duty bound to turn over her files,
she didn't intend to make it easy for this ... Hash – shem – whatever. She
relished the idea of getting into a good scrabble with the feds. She folded the
paper napkins and slapped them on top of the plates.
But right now her mama's eggs and ham sounded really good.
Chapter Ten
Bella pulled her rental car into the parking space near the
Roybal Federal Building. Her luggage was stowed in the trunk, and she'd already
said her goodbyes to her mama and sisters.
The lobby information kiosk indicated that Agent A. Hashemi
occupied space on the second floor and listed an office number. She took the
stairs and entered an opaque glass-windowed door at the far end of the
corridor.
A large, empty waiting room lay behind the door. An older
woman with the face of a saint and the roar of a dragon asked her to state her
business and afterward indicated she should take a seat in the row of plastic
chairs against the wall. Bella eyed the closed office door to her left and sat
down.
After waiting twenty-two minutes, she began tapping her foot
and shuffled in her seat. She looked at the military-issue wall clock over the
receptionist's desk and frowned.
The older woman caught her glance and plastered a reproving
smile on her face. "Agent Hashemi is a very busy man, Ms. Torres. He'll be
with you momentarily."
Bella was sure the illusive Agent Hashemi – and what the
hell kind of name was that anyway – was a busy man, apparently far busier than
she was as a mere assistant district attorney in a much smaller county than Los
Angeles. She drummed her fingers on the hard edge of the briefcase lying on her
lap and debated leaving just for spite. Her already foul mood grew fouler.
Hashemi kept her waiting over a half hour. If he didn't see
her soon, she would miss her flight. And the mountain of work piled on her
desk. She could schedule a later flight, but she had no intention of leaving
behind any of her Vargas files without getting an explicit working agreement
with Hashemi for continued access to their information.
She knew the agent would fight her on this, but she came
prepared for opposition.
The door to the office swung open and the receptionist –
Mrs. Roberts, the name sign indicated – rose from behind her desk in time to
greet the person leaving. A lanky, fair-skinned man with an open, laughing face
– too open to be the DEA agent, Bella surmised – eased past the dragon lady and
caught Bella's eye. He wiggled his brows in a passable Groucho Marx imitation
and swept piercing blue eyes over Bella.
"Sorry you had to wait," he said, a grin splitting
his pleasant face. He shook his head and smiled knowingly as if he were in on a
huge joke. "Hashish will be very surprised."
"Hashish?"
The man tossed the words over his shoulder as he exited
through the reception area door. "Agent Hashemi," he explained with a
wider grin. "What I wouldn't give to see the look on his face."
The door clicked shut behind him as Bella heard Mrs. Roberts
say something about an eleven o'clock appointment. Humph – more like
eleven-thirty.
Then distinctly, her voice amused and motherly at the same
time, the assistant said, "I don't think so, Agent Hashemi." The
older woman turned to Bella and gestured toward the open door. "Don't keep
him waiting, Ms. Torres."
Bella smoothed her suit skirt, adjusted her cuffs, and
clutched the briefcase firmly in her left hand. She spared Mrs. Roberts a brief
look of challenge before she stepped through the office door, her chin tilted
and her eyes snapping.
Not a girl from the
feds.
No surprise there. Charles had the spinal column of a
flatworm, so Bella found herself on a flight to L.A. with instructions to turn
over her notes to this Hashemi guy. Enseguida. Right away.
Already she detested the federal agent and she hadn't even
met him. She hated being ridden roughshod over and despised even more someone
going over her head.
And even though she was duty bound to turn over her files,
she didn't intend to make it easy for this ... Hash – shem – whatever. She
relished the idea of getting into a good scrabble with the feds. She folded the
paper napkins and slapped them on top of the plates.
But right now her mama's eggs and ham sounded really good.
Chapter Ten
Bella pulled her rental car into the parking space near the
Roybal Federal Building. Her luggage was stowed in the trunk, and she'd already
said her goodbyes to her mama and sisters.
The lobby information kiosk indicated that Agent A. Hashemi
occupied space on the second floor and listed an office number. She took the
stairs and entered an opaque glass-windowed door at the far end of the
corridor.
A large, empty waiting room lay behind the door. An older
woman with the face of a saint and the roar of a dragon asked her to state her
business and afterward indicated she should take a seat in the row of plastic
chairs against the wall. Bella eyed the closed office door to her left and sat
down.
After waiting twenty-two minutes, she began tapping her foot
and shuffled in her seat. She looked at the military-issue wall clock over the
receptionist's desk and frowned.
The older woman caught her glance and plastered a reproving
smile on her face. "Agent Hashemi is a very busy man, Ms. Torres. He'll be
with you momentarily."
Bella was sure the illusive Agent Hashemi – and what the
hell kind of name was that anyway – was a busy man, apparently far busier than
she was as a mere assistant district attorney in a much smaller county than Los
Angeles. She drummed her fingers on the hard edge of the briefcase lying on her
lap and debated leaving just for spite. Her already foul mood grew fouler.
Hashemi kept her waiting over a half hour. If he didn't see
her soon, she would miss her flight. And the mountain of work piled on her
desk. She could schedule a later flight, but she had no intention of leaving
behind any of her Vargas files without getting an explicit working agreement
with Hashemi for continued access to their information.
She knew the agent would fight her on this, but she came
prepared for opposition.
The door to the office swung open and the receptionist –
Mrs. Roberts, the name sign indicated – rose from behind her desk in time to
greet the person leaving. A lanky, fair-skinned man with an open, laughing face
– too open to be the DEA agent, Bella surmised – eased past the dragon lady and
caught Bella's eye. He wiggled his brows in a passable Groucho Marx imitation
and swept piercing blue eyes over Bella.
"Sorry you had to wait," he said, a grin splitting
his pleasant face. He shook his head and smiled knowingly as if he were in on a
huge joke. "Hashish will be very surprised."
"Hashish?"
The man tossed the words over his shoulder as he exited
through the reception area door. "Agent Hashemi," he explained with a
wider grin. "What I wouldn't give to see the look on his face."
The door clicked shut behind him as Bella heard Mrs. Roberts
say something about an eleven o'clock appointment. Humph – more like
eleven-thirty.
Then distinctly, her voice amused and motherly at the same
time, the assistant said, "I don't think so, Agent Hashemi." The
older woman turned to Bella and gestured toward the open door. "Don't keep
him waiting, Ms. Torres."
Bella smoothed her suit skirt, adjusted her cuffs, and
clutched the briefcase firmly in her left hand. She spared Mrs. Roberts a brief
look of challenge before she stepped through the office door, her chin tilted
and her eyes snapping.
Not a girl from the
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