“Where did you come from?” she finally asked.
“I’m based in Montana, but I travel all over the U.S.”
“Doing what exactly?”
“I mainly look for major drug dealers, the men and women who are killing people with their product and their ‘cutthroat’ business practices. I’m not interested in the small-timers, and not in the people who are hurting only themselves or trying to take care of their cancer. The locals can handle them. I like to make sure the big players are all set up in their new homes for the next twenty-five to life.”
“You’re good at your job, aren’t you?”
“Very good.” This was an area he was sure of — there weren’t any blurred lines. The people were either guilty or not. He’d never found a criminal dealing tons of coc**ne who had a valid excuse for breaking the law.
“Obviously, then, you enjoy your job,” she said, her shoulders loosening up just a bit as she let go of her hold on her knees. She crossed her legs and began to run her fingers through her hair; fiddling with it seemed to calm her.
“I love my job. It doesn’t get much better than stopping the bad guys.”
“I can see you’re also rather humble,” she said, her first hint at a joke. This was progress!
“Yeah, in my line of work, humility is a must,” he said, his lips turning up in a blinding grin.
“I remember when I was so impressed with anyone who worked on the so-called right side of the law,” she told him with a bitter sigh. “That was before I learned how the world really works.”
That knocked him down a peg or two, and his smile faltered. “And how is that, Misty?”
“It isn’t the good guys and the bad. There are only those with power — some with too much power. The more they get, the more they want. The more they need. I used to think that when you put on a uniform, strapped on that gun belt and held that badge, it meant you were someone people should look up to. Now I know that’s not always the case. Don’t get me wrong. There are plenty of men and women who know the sanctity of that uniform, but there are also a lot who use it to get whatever they think they deserve.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more, Misty. There are a lot of rotten men and women out there. That’s why I need your help to keep one of them off the streets. If we lock Jesse up, he can’t hurt you, and he can’t hurt anyone else either, ever again.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“With my entire being.”
“How did you find me?”
Ah. Her question revealed that he was getting somewhere. She wasn’t denying that she was Misty. Finally.
“It wasn’t easy. Took me a long time, but persistence pays off.”
“That wasn’t an answer. I mean, how did you find me? How did you know who I was?”
“I shouldn’t divulge my secrets…” he began, but as the shutters began closing over her eyes, he decided to give her this one. “Another agent came in and had lunch at the place you were employed. You were working the counter. Though your disguise is good, we’re trained to see past the mask of makeup, the makeshift disguises, and see who is behind it all. He had a good feeling it was you. When he snuck a picture and sent it to me, I knew.”
“It was that simple?” Her shoulders slipped, and she stopped combing her hair.
“Hey. It’s been almost a year since you disappeared off the face of the planet. I wouldn’t exactly call that simple. I’ve had your picture on my wall that entire time, so I would hope that I could recognize you.”
She waited. He hadn’t asked her another question. Those green eyes looked somewhere over his shoulder, and he knew she’d rather be any other place than sitting in this room with him. It was time to drop the “good cop” role.
“Are you seeing anyone, Ms. Elton?” Where in the hell had that question come from? It hadn’t been what he’d been expecting to say. Her personal life was none of his business, and it certainly had no impact on the case in any way.
“I… What does that matter?” she asked, but he just looked back at her, his expression impassive as he waited for her answer. “No,” she finally murmured.
Good. He didn’t know why that pleased him — she was a witness, dammit. It would be breaking every sort of ethical rule he knew even to consider asking her out. He’d known the moment he’d asked that question that he was crossing a line. He should have retracted it. But he’d be showing her a chink in his armor, and that wasn’t a wise move at this point in the questioning.
“How long did you date Jesse Marcus?” There. That was a legitimate question. At least he was reining himself in.
“It was a while ago, and I’d rather not discuss him.” She lifted her hands to fiddle with her hair again. The way she tugged at the strands was a good gauge of her feelings, Bryson found. The faster she pulled, the more distressed she was. When she slowed down, she was relaxing.
He was already learning her moves — learning what made her tick, or at least a part of it —and he’d been with her only a few hours.
She had slender hands. They were also the hands of a woman not afraid to work, not afraid to get her nails dirty or broken, but still, her fingers were slim and pretty, and they looked as if they should be adorned with gold and jewels, not rough from scrubbing pots and pans and using industrial cleaners.
This was now past irrational and into the Twilight Zone. He’d never before had such a difficult time focusing on a witness and on keeping an interrogation going in the right direction. Pull yourself together.
“Did you participate in any criminal activities with Mr. Marcus?”
Her head snapped up and fire lit up her eyes. That had certainly pushed a few of her buttons. Good. He didn’t want her to be guilty.
“Do I need a lawyer, Mr. Winchester?” Her tone was strong as she once again met his gaze.
Though it was foolish of him, he felt pride for her strength, pride for her ability to stand strong in the midst of all this terror. This woman would fight — fight to put Jesse behind bars where he belonged. Bryson just had to convince her that the fight wouldn’t kill her, that she could be kept safe.
“You are certainly entitled to one,” he said, reaching into his pocket. He saw that the movement made her tense up. Did she honestly think he’d be reaching for his gun? Maybe. That was the only kind of law she was familiar with right now. He’d have to show her that not all men who carried a gun liked to terrorize others.