About That Night (FBI/US Attorney #3)(39)

“Remember Kid ‘n Play?”

Before Dex could respond, Kyle’s cell phone rang. He pulled the phone out of his pocket and checked to see who was calling.

Rylann Pierce.

How intriguing.

“I should probably take this in private,” he told Dex. He stepped out of the VIP room and then answered. “Counselor. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Rylann spoke above the sounds of car horns and a jackhammer in the background. “We’re all set. Thursday at two o’clock. Just you, me, a court reporter, and a grand jury of twenty-three of your peers.”

“Where are you?” Kyle asked. Her voice sounded a little breathless.

“Outside the courthouse, trying to catch a cab. I’ve got a meeting at the FBI building in twenty minutes.”

He could picture her in her trench coat and heels, trusty briefcase at her side, all fired up and ready to throw around a few subpoena threats.

The image was strangely hot.

“Thursday, two o’clock,” he confirmed. “Where do I go?”

“Room 511. For confidentiality purposes, there’s nothing but a room number outside the door. You should wait in the witness room closest to the door until I come get you,” she said. “Although you’ve refrained from retaining counsel on this matter, I’m obligated to say that you can still choose to bring a lawyer, but he or she would have to wait out in the hall. No one is allowed inside except for the witnesses, the jurors, the court reporter, and me. Think of it like Vegas—what happens in the grand jury room stays in the grand jury room.”

Unable to resist, Kyle lowered his voice, teasing her. “I didn’t think good-girl prosecutors knew about the types of things that happen in Vegas.”

“There are probably a lot of things bad-boy ex-cons don’t know about good-girl prosecutors.”

Kyle raised an eyebrow. That actually sounded flirtatious.

But then her tone changed, back to all business. “I’ll see you Thursday, then. Two o’clock.”

“It’s a date.”

“No, it’s a grand jury proceeding,” she said firmly.

“You say tomato, I say—”

“Good-bye, Kyle.” She hung up on him before he could finish.

Chuckling, Kyle tucked his cell phone into the pocket of his jeans and walked back into the VIP room.

Dex looked him over. “Whoever that was, she sure put a smile on your face.”

Kyle waved this off. “Just this project I’m working on.”

“Does this ‘project’ have a name?”

Sure. Rylann Pierce, aka Burr Up My Ass. “It’s not what you think. That was someone from the U.S. Attorney’s Office. I’m sort of…helping them in an investigation.”

Understandably, that took Dex by surprise. “Wow. She must be smoking hot to have talked you into that.” Then he cocked his head. “Hold on…is it that assistant U.S. attorney you were in court with the other day? The dark-haired one whose rack you’re checking out in that photograph?”

Kyle stood against the onyx bar, waving this off. “We were in the middle of a courtroom—I wasn’t checking out her rack. My eyes were on hers the entire time.”

“Must be some eyes.”

Kyle opened his mouth to protest, then stopped.

Well, actually, yes.

Fifteen

“I HAVE NO further questions, Agent Wilkins.”

Rylann looked over her shoulder at the twenty-one people sitting behind her in three-tiered rows. Everyone was still awake, which was always a good sign. “Does the grand jury have any questions for this witness?”

There was a pause. Up front, next to the witness stand, sat the jury foreman and the recording secretary. The foreman shook his head no.

Rylann nodded at Sam. “You may step down, Agent Wilkins. Thank you.” She turned and watched him leave the room, stealing another peek at the jurors. She could tell from their expressions that they’d liked him, and they had every reason to. He’d been engaging, professional, and prepared, not once needing to look at his investigative reports while testifying. If the case against Quinn went to trial—which, in reality, was unlikely—she had no doubt that Sam would make an excellent witness.

Her job today, simply, was to tell a story. Granted, because this was a grand jury proceeding and not a trial, she could eliminate many of the details of that story, but through her witnesses she needed to convey the who, what, where, when, why, and how of the crime. This particular story had three acts: Agent Wilkins, Kyle Rhodes, and Manuel Gutierrez. At the conclusion of the witnesses’ testimony, she would hand the jury a proposed indictment that laid out the charges against Quinn. Then the rest was in their hands.

Today she would be asking them to indict Quinn on two counts: second-degree murder and conspiracy to violate the civil rights of a federal prisoner. Since she had no direct proof that Quinn had instigated Watts’s attack on Brown, she was asking the grand jury to infer that connection based on circumstantial evidence. It was not a perfect case, but it was one she believed in regardless. And all she needed was sixteen of the twenty-three men and women sitting in that room to believe in it, too.

When the door shut behind Agent Wilkins, Rylann looked over at the jury members. Since there was no judge in the room, the assistant U.S. attorney ran the show. “Why don’t we take a ten-minute break before our next witness?”