While Justice Sleeps(88)
“Protective custody. We have shaky grounds to touch her, but the FBI has already established a relationship and jurisdiction. As long as she’s out and roaming around, there’s no telling who’s got their sights on her.”
The same thought had occurred to Lee, but he doubted that Avery Keene would agree to his protection. Protective custody, however, had a good angle. Still, he chafed at a suggestion coming from DHS. Turf wars weren’t his thing, but Major Vance didn’t give him the warm fuzzies. “So you want me to arrest her for her own good?”
“I want a key asset protected. If you can’t, I will.”
“I’ll take it under advisement.” Agent Lee pushed back lightly. “I’m on my way to see Ms. Keene now. If I’m not satisfied, I’ll give you a call. Let you know if I’m going to bring her in.”
“We’re responsible for her,” Vance reminded him. “We’ve got to keep her safe.” And silent.
Agent Lee gathered his binder and stood at his desk. “I’ll be in touch.”
THIRTY-FIVE
After her cell shrilled through the apartment for the sixth time in less than five minutes, Jared stalked over to where she’d spread out the newspaper on the worktable.
“Why don’t you let me answer that? Or, if you won’t let me answer the phone, turn it off.”
“I can’t.” Avery spun the phone in a dizzying circle on the table’s surface. “The hospital could call.”
“Caller ID.” Jared leaned in and picked up the phone to flip off the ringer. When she glared at him, his eyes and tone were equally sober. “I’m worried about you.”
Her lips curved. “Why? Because I didn’t break into hysterics this morning?”
“For starters.”
“After twenty-six years, I’ve learned to handle bad news. The first time I bailed Rita out of jail, I was thirteen. Had to pawn her wedding ring. At some point, I bought and sold most of the appliances in our house.” She gave a careless shrug. “Obviously, your father finally noticed a worthwhile talent in me.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about your mother?” he asked kindly.
“It wasn’t relevant….Rita is a fact of life. Usually, she stays away until she crashes. We’ve worked out a routine.”
“What about your father?”
“Dead.” When he simply stared, she continued reluctantly: “He was the love of her life. They met in college and railed against apartheid and nuclear energy and environmental racism. They were in a bus crash when I was six. He died. She didn’t.”
“Is that when she started using?”
“She had some lingering injuries after the crash—she was prescribed painkillers, and it went from there. But she could still feel.” Avery twisted her fingers together but kept her voice even. “By the time I was in fifth grade, she’d graduated to the hard-core, and we started moving.”
Jared inched the newspaper toward them. “When did you see her last?”
“The day I met you.” She traced the grainy photograph. “Rita had a bender that weekend, and she needed cash to soften the landing. But that’s not when this photo was taken. She had on a different dress.”
“Why do you still take care of her?”
“She’s my mother.” A threatening harridan one day and a fragile champion the next. Such was life with Rita Keene. What would she be today? Avery wondered, staring at the photo. A wasted harlot willing to service a dealer for a fix? Or, maybe, she’d call the Gazette to yell at them for abusing her daughter.
She stood so abruptly, her chair toppled behind her. “I’ve got to go,” she hissed out as her breath hitched in realization. “They know where she is. I’ve got to find her. Before they hurt her.”
Jared rose too. “Where would we look?”
She pressed the heels of her hands against her brows. “Earlier this week, she was in Adams Morgan. But I don’t know how to find her.” Turning, she took a step toward Jared and gripped a fistful of his T-shirt. “If they could take pictures of her, they can hurt her.”
Jared wrapped an arm around Avery and pulled her against him. She let him. “We’ll go look for her. Get your things, and I’ll clear it with the agent.”
Avery nodded and raced into her bedroom. Jared yanked open the front door, only to find a new man standing on the threshold, his hand lifted to knock.
“Mr. Wynn, I’m Special Agent Robert Lee.” He nodded to the agent on duty, and the woman headed for the stairwell. “I’m here to talk to you, Ms. Keene, and Dr. Yin.”
“Avery and I have to run an errand,” Jared said, blocking his entry. He braced his forearms on the doorjamb to reinforce the do-not-enter message. Glaring down at the agent, he explained, “She’ll be free to answer your questions in a couple of hours.”
Though Jared Wynn had him by at least four inches, Agent Lee held his ground, not bothering to finger the gun that would guarantee him passage. He recognized the attempt at chivalry and respected Jared for the bravado. But time was slipping away. “This isn’t a request, Mr. Wynn. You and Ms. Keene are material witnesses to at least one crime I am aware of. I’ll talk to you both now.”