Wicked Sexy (Wicked Games #2)(61)

O’Doul’s tone is brusque. “The location file was corrupted. Whatever data your program extracted was useless in determining S?ren’s whereabouts. On that front, we’re back at square one.” A loaded pause follows. “So about that phone number you have.”

Tabby says innocently, “Oh, so you need my help with your case again?”

I can already tell where this is going, but O’Doul doesn’t know her as well as I do, so he just nods as if he’s not about to get his balls handed to him on a platter.

“Obviously we’ll take every technical precaution so the call can’t be traced from his end. On ours, you only need to keep him on the line for—”

“And what do I get out of it?”

After beat of silence, a flush of color crawls up O’Doul’s neck. “You get to stay out of prison.”

With perfect indifference, Tabby yawns and then inspects her manicure.

Ryan hides his chuckle by coughing into his fist. For my part, I don’t think this is funny at all, but she’s made it crystal clear how much help she wants from me, so I clench my teeth and keep my mouth shut.

O’Doul steps slowly forward. A flush rises from his neck to his face. Against the starched white of his shirt collar, his skin is the color of a boiled beet. He says, “There’s this fun thing called ‘obstruction of justice.’ I’m sure you’ve heard of it?”

Tabby tosses her hair over her shoulder and looks at him down her nose. “There are also these other fun things called ‘coercion,’ ‘undue influence,’ ‘duress,’ ‘illegal compulsion,’ ‘oppressive exaction,’ ‘extortion’—”

“What do you want?” he interrupts, exasperated.

“I want,” she replies with the air of a duchess, “my computer, all my equipment, and a written statement from you that whatever happens from this point forward, I’ll be immune from prosecution for any and all assistance I may give on this case.” She bats her lashes. “Since I obviously can’t trust you to keep your word.”

I hope O’Doul doesn’t have any undiagnosed heart problems, because he looks as if he’s about to have some kind of major cardiac event.

“That’s blackmail,” he says, seething.

“No, that’s negotiating. Blackmail is when you threaten to send someone to jail unless they do what you want.” She gives him a bland smile. “I forgot to mention that one in my ‘fun things’ list.”

While everyone else in the room watches this interaction as if it’s the best reality TV episode ever, Tabby and O’Doul stare at each other like pistoleros in a Mexican standoff.

Me? I’m wishing I had an Alka-Seltzer. This shit is hell on my stomach.

O’Doul takes a short, stiff walk around the office with his hands on his hips, shooting Tabby the occasional glare. Finally, he lets out an aggravated sigh and relents.

“Fine. Since we’re ‘negotiating,’ how about this. If you successfully make contact with Killgaard, and if we successfully determine his location from that contact, and if we’re able to apprehend him as a direct result of your assistance, then you can have all your equipment back—after we’ve extracted all relevant evidence to this case—and I’ll write you a letter. But if your phone call produces nothing, I’m under no obligation to uphold my end of the deal.”

Tabby considers his words for a moment. “That’s a hell of a lot of ifs.”

“Life is full of uncertainty. Take it or leave it.”

Tabby purses her lips. She glances at me, and I incline my head. Take it.

“All right,” she says breezily. “Deal.” Like a boss, she struts over to him and sticks out her hand.

He shakes it.

Tabby adds, “But we should wait until after Miranda’s press conference. That will give me a legitimate excuse that might not tip him off that I’m involved in the investigation.”

“How so?”

“Because I saw it on TV, obviously.” She shrugs. “Miranda can drop some obscure fact about the hacker’s methods that I’d be familiar with, and I can say I decided to reach out to him.”

“But why now?” My voice is a little too loud. Everyone except Tabby looks at me. I get the distinct feeling they’re all thinking the same thing: That dude is losing it.

I clear my throat, try to act casual. Normal. Like I’m not out on a f*cking ledge.

“You’ve known how to contact him for years. If I were him, I’d want to know why you waited so long to call.”

Just to twist the knife a little deeper, she throws my words from our elevator ride back at me. “But you’re not him, remember?”

She doesn’t even bother to look at me when she says it.

O’Doul ignores our back and forth and accepts Tabby’s suggestion. “Fine, we’ll do it right after the press conference. Be back here at five p.m. sharp tomorrow. And in the meantime,” he glances meaningfully at me, “stay out of trouble.”

Oh, great. Here’s the part where I’m supposed to get Tabby to let me babysit her again. No problemo. I might as well just castrate myself first and get it over with.

“I’m staying right here,” she says to O’Doul. To Special Agent Chan, she says, “No offense, but there’s no way I’m not here to watch while you extract data from my baby.”