Sinclair Justice (Texas Rangers #2)(23)
Righto . . . Disgruntled, he powered on his computer again and sorted through his umpteen e-mails.
Outside in the parking lot, Emm saw Abigail getting into her car after a young man had put several bulky file boxes in her trunk. She could just make out the word “Evidence” in big block letters. She hurried over, releasing the arm of the man who had escorted her out of her own vehicle. “Dr. Doyle!”
Abigail powered down her window. “Abby, remember?”
“Abby, I’m glad you’re here; I was just going to call you. Would you care to have dinner with me and Curt Tupperman? He’s a freelance investigative reporter based in San Antonio, but he’s writing a book on human trafficking in Texas. He has information he wants to share with us.”
Abby opened her door and got out, offering her hand to the tall, fair-haired man who towered over her own considerable height. “Good afternoon.”
He nodded, pumping her hand, his blue eyes twinkling. “Is this Abigail Doyle? Dr. Hermione Abigail Doyle?”
Abby nodded. She pulled away from his tight clasp.
“I’ve been following your exploits since your days at MI6. I’m thrilled to meet you.”
Emm looked sharply at Abby. “MI6?”
“Long ago. Before I emigrated to the US. And I was never a field agent, just an analyst.”
“An analyst so well respected she was assigned to a joint CIA/MI6 task force investigating terrorism after 9/11,” Curt clarified. Abby looked away from his sharp gaze.
Emm clasped his arm lightly before he could say anything else as the subject obviously made Abby uncomfortable. “Anyhoo, will you join us for dinner tonight at my hotel? My treat.”
Abby looked at her hand, comfortable on Curt’s arm.
It was Emm’s turn to be flustered. “I’m sorry, I should have mentioned I met Curt several years ago in Baltimore, while I was working on my doctorate. We ran into one another downtown near my hotel and have a mutual interest in the human trafficking case.”
“MA, Criminal Justice,” Curt offered. “So see? I’m harmless and something of a professional, too. And anything you share will be strictly off the record.”
“I cannot promise the same, Mr. Tupperman.”
He nodded quickly. “I understand. Please, join us. And call me Curt.”
“Very well.” After they arranged a time and location to meet, Abby waved briskly, got back in her car, and drove off.
Comically, Curt shuddered. “Wow, that’s one fearsomely intelligent woman.”
“Is there such a thing as being too intelligent?” Emm walked up the steps and reached out to open the door, but he bolted up and beat her to it. At her jaundiced look, he shrugged sheepishly.
“Guess not.” When they entered the foyer of the Ranger offices, he took a deep breath.
She sensed his unease. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m bracing myself. Sinclair and I are acquaintances. We’ve even played golf together. But my last message from him was, well, rather . . . curt.”
Emm was still digesting that when Sinclair exited his office. She recognized that starched spine and cool gaze, but she wasn’t sure whether his disapproval was aimed at her or Curt. After she explained her connection with Curt, she added, “We thought we might shanghai you for an early glass of wine. Curt has information to share about some evidence he’s collected from South Texas.”
“Not exactly collected,” Curt said hastily when that cool gaze turned on him. “I was included in a press briefing on the Valley papers, but it’s all public knowledge.”
“Then I’ll be informed as well,” Sinclair pointed out.
“Eventually. It might help to have the information now, especially if Dr. Doyle is collating all the data.”
Sinclair frowned. “How do you know that? I literally just retained her.”
“You can blame that on me,” Emm inserted. “We ran across one another outside, and when we saw the boxes, well, they were marked evidence. . . .”
Now that glare turned back on her. “Which you are to stay away from, correct?”
Emm intended to count to ten, but she only made it to five. She lowered her voice to be sure only Sinclair and Curt could hear her, but her tone was no less severe. “Look, Mr. Sinclair, we’ll get much further if we work together. Surely you’ve figured out by now I’m not the type to stand around and do nothing when someone I love has been kidnapped and probably forced into a despicable trade. I am excellent at research.” She rummaged in her capacious bag and pulled out a thick sheaf of papers, holding it up for Sinclair to see. “This is the Texas Human Trafficking Prevention Task Force report from December 2012. The final recommendations are summed up in the words of Attorney General Eric Holder.”
Clearing her throat, Emm read from the first page of the report’s conclusion: “‘Human Trafficking is not just a global problem. It’s a national crisis—one that every parent, every teacher, every policymaker, and every law enforcement official must work to understand—and must help to address.’”
She crammed the report back into her purse and stabbed a thumb into her chest. “Policy maker, that’s me. While protecting historic resources is not strictly speaking being a first responder, we have had cases where we’ve dealt with immigrant and human trafficking victims in abandoned buildings and had to coordinate with other federal agencies.” When she saw the disagreement trembling on Sinclair’s tongue, she took an aggressive step forward and raised her voice. “And the attorney general of the United States, while not my direct superviser, is certainly somewhere in my chain of command . . . and yours.”