A Murder in Time(16)

She doubted that. Other than Leeds and the top brass, she hadn’t had any visitors from the Bureau. They’d sent her a bouquet, wilting on the built-in dresser, and a card. For the first time, Kendra was struck by how solitary her life had become. She’d always been an outsider (a freak). But ambition to prove herself, to make a life beyond her parents’ prepackaged, narrow expectations had left her with few friends.

She moved to the small bag that had come with her street clothes, and stuffed her few personal items into it. Five books. Three magazines. She left the newspapers.

“You know that you’ll have to talk to someone.”

She glanced up at Leeds, not pretending to misunderstand. “You mean a shrink.”

“I don’t think they like that term.”

“Then we’re even. I don’t like shrinks.”

“Agent Donovan . . .”

“I’m fine.” She closed the bag and was grateful when Annie arrived, pushing the wheelchair through the door.

She gave Kendra a wink and patted the back of the wheelchair. “Hop on, Agent Donovan.”

Gingerly, Kendra sat down in the wheelchair, putting her bag on her lap. She summoned a smile for Leeds. “I’m fine. And you didn’t have to come all this way to escort me home. I could’ve managed.”

“That I have no doubt about. But I think I already told you that you’re a valuable member of our team, Special Agent Donovan.” Deliberately, he kept his tone light. He was grateful when the nurse chimed in, either urging or ordering Kendra to keep on her diet and exercise program, and teasing her about somebody called the Terminator.

Dr. Campbell was waiting on the first floor and added his own encouragement, reminding Kendra about her physical therapy schedule as well as follow-up exams.

Kendra was relieved when she was finally able to get out of the wheelchair. Waving at the doctor and nurse, she walked over to Leeds’s BMW. She still felt sore from that morning, but no longer shaky. And God, it felt good to be outside again. The sun lightened the sky to a brilliant blue, and the temperature, if she wasn’t mistaken, was on the plus side of seventy. Not bad for early May.

She’d gone into the hospital in mid-March. More than two months of her life gone, vanished like a puff of smoke. That depressed her. But it could be worse, she supposed.

She could be dead.

Sighing, she slid into the passenger’s seat. Her finger itched to buzz down the window. But that could wait. When she got back to her apartment, she’d sit out on her tiny balcony, with her face turned up to the sun. God knew she could use some color.

Right now, though, she had more important issues at hand. She waited until after Leeds had steered the car onto the I-495 before she turned to look at him. “So . . . what happened to Sir Jeremy Greene?”

Leeds’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. As far as tells went, it wasn’t much—but then Leeds had always been good at Texas Hold ’em, Kendra thought.

“I don’t think it would be appropriate to have this conversation now,” he finally said, glancing over at her.

“I see. Then when?” She kept her tone cool and calm, but her heart began to accelerate. “When we get to my apartment? Tomorrow? Next week? Never?”

“Agent Donovan—”

But she was already shaking her head. “You know that you can’t keep it a secret. You’ve done a good job keeping me isolated, but you know that as soon as I walk in my front door, I’ll get on the Internet and I can find out any damn thing I want to about Jeremy Greene. It doesn’t matter how deep it’s buried, I’ll find it.”

Leeds sighed. She would, too. She was the reason the FBI—hell, the U.S. government, not to mention MI5—had finally managed to get their hooks into the bastard.

“It wouldn’t require much digging. You’re not going to like it,” he warned.

“No shit.” It was her turn to sigh. “Sorry. I’m a little . . . wound up.”

Leeds only nodded, a frown settling on his face as he maneuvered the BMW through traffic. Kendra wondered if he was stalling, and again felt an uneasy sensation, like static electricity, pop along the surface of her skin. If she were more superstitious, she’d have called it a premonition.

“Sir Jeremy was shot . . . in the arm. Barely a scratch, really.”

“How . . . unfortunate.”

“They patched him up quickly, and brought him to Washington. Very few people know about it. Only top officials . . . and now you.”

Kendra stared at him. “How’s that possible? Everyone who was involved in the operation knows that he was there that day. They’d know we got him.”

“Not necessarily. They know we picked him up. But Sir Jeremy immediately got word to his lawyers. The U.S. government didn’t want the political firestorm. He’s a British national. He’s a billionaire. It’s plausible.”

“Plausible,” Kendra said slowly. “But not true.”

“No. We had him a little longer than anyone realizes. And he agreed to flip.”

“Flip . . .” Her mouth tightened. She’d known that was their original intention. Hell, she’d argued for it. But that was before. “I see. We’re working with the goddamn bastard who’s responsible for members of my team being killed?” Despite her best efforts, her voice rose. She wanted to strike out at something, but ended up curling her fingers into her palms.