Sidney Sheldon's Chasing Tomorrow (Tracy Whitney #2)(70)

“Except she didn’t complete this job,” Special Agent Soltan reminded him. “She got caught.”

“For all we know, that may make him even more desperate.”

“For all we know, there may be no connection between the two cases whatsoever!” Agent Buck failed to conceal his exasperation. “With respect, sir, Inspector Rizzo’s wasting our time.”

“Enough, Agent Buck.” Special Agent Soltan raised a weary hand. “He’s going in.”

MILTON BUCK NEEDN’T HAVE WORRIED.

Jean Rizzo was no more successful in getting Elizabeth Kennedy to speak than he had been. After half an hour, Special Agent Soltan asked a few senior agents to join Buck, Rizzo and him in conference.

“I have an idea.” Jean Rizzo addressed himself to the group. “Let’s get Tracy Whitney in there. She may be able to get Elizabeth to open up.”

Milton Buck threw his hands in the air in frustration. “My God. Tracy Whitney? Are you still on that?”

“Last time we spoke, Agent Buck, if you remember, you assured me Miss Whitney was either dead or untraceable. Well, guess what? Not only was she very much alive, but I found her within forty-eight hours of our conversation.”

Milton Buck grunted gracelessly. “So? She’s still not relevant to this case.”

Jean longed to tell the arrogant Buck that it was Tracy who’d stolen the Brookstein rubies. Not only was she relevant to his case, she was his case. But he bit his tongue, for Tracy’s sake as well as his own. Let Buck keep chasing his own tail.

Special Agent Soltan raised a hand.

“Hold up a second. We aren’t talking about the Tracy Whitney? The lady who took down Joe Romano?”

“Allegedly,” said Jean.

“The con artist?”

“She’s been living quietly in Colorado for the last decade. She agreed to help me with my investigation, as long as I promised her immunity from prosecution.”

Milton Buck exploded. “My God! The arrogance! In what alternate universe can an Interpol operative promise immunity to a U.S. citizen on U.S. soil?”

“Cool it, Buck. Has Ms. Whitney been helpful in your investigation, Inspector Rizzo?”

“As a consultant, she’s been invaluable. She understands the mind-set of the professional jewel thief. Plus she has a personal connection with Elizabeth Kennedy going back years. They were both romantically involved with Jeff Stevens.”

“Isn’t he one of your suspects?” Soltan asked Milton Buck, whose face was now livid, from anger or embarrassment or both.

Jean Rizzo answered for him. “Stevens is a person of interest in my investigation and Agent Buck’s. Tracy Whitney is convinced he has nothing to do with the murders. But he’s here in New York right now and he’s had contact with Elizabeth Kennedy within the last twenty-four hours.”

An uneasy silence descended.

“Is she still insanely hot?” One of the older agents was talking to Jean Rizzo. “Tracy Whitney, I mean.”

“She’s attractive,” Jean conceded.

“Is she single?”

Barry Soltan frowned. “Okay, Frank. This ain’t a dating service.” He turned to Jean. “Where is Miss Whitney right now?”


“She’s here. In New York.”

“Where exactly?” Milton Buck demanded.

“Somewhere safe.”

Barry Soltan said, “Can you convince her to come down here?”

“I can try. You’d have to guarantee she won’t be arrested.”

“We’re not guaranteeing anything!” Milton Buck snapped.

“Sure we are. For now.” Special Agent Soltan overruled him. “The main thing is that we get Miss Kennedy to talk. Bring her in, Inspector Rizzo.”

TRACY’S HEART RACED AS she approached the interview room. She’d dressed carefully when she left the hotel, in a black cashmere turtleneck and figure-hugging bottle-green corduroy pants tucked into flat boots. She hoped the look conveyed casual confidence, but the very obvious leers of the FBI agents when she walked into the building made her second-guess herself.

Why the hell am I feeling nervous? She’s the one going to jail, not me. I hold all the cards here.

The last time Tracy had seen Elizabeth face-to-face had been in L.A., in the alleyway behind the Brooksteins’ mansion. That had been a triumphant moment. This should have been too. So why were her palms sweating?

Of course, it could have had something to do with the venue. The FBI’s New York headquarters did not exactly qualify as one of Tracy’s “happy places.”

“You’re perfectly safe,” Jean Rizzo told her. “I’m on the other side of the glass, along with Agents Buck, Soltan.”

“Surrounded by the FBI. That’s very reassuring,” quipped Tracy. “Do I need my lawyer, Jean?”

“No. Nothing’s off-limits.”

Special Agent Soltan nodded his agreement. “We appreciate you being here, Miss Whitney. You say whatever you need to in there to get Kennedy to talk. You have complete immunity, so you won’t incriminate yourself.”

Tracy glanced at the short, good-looking agent next to Jean. He looked as if he’d just swallowed a handful of jalape?os.

Jean Rizzo patted her on the shoulder. “Good luck.”