The Trouble With Temptation (Second Service Book 3)
Adrienne Bell
Chapter One
“This is bullshit, man.”
Ty Brannigan ignored the curse as he walked through the glass door of the interrogation room. He waited until the door closed then turned and pulled the cord dangling against the frame. The blinds snapped shut.
“I ain’t done shit.”
Ty walked over to the large window that looked out into the San Francisco Field Office floor and did the same. After that he went to the outward facing windows. One by one, he shut out the outside light until the only illumination came from the two long flickering fluorescent tubes above the table.
“You have no right to keep me here.”
Ty turned around and fixed his gaze on the scrawny punk sitting across the table. The kid stared back at him defiantly. It seemed the little brat wasn’t smart enough for fear…yet. That was fine. Ty was more than happy to teach him the error of his ways.
He put his mug and an over-stuffed manila file folder down on the table, drew back the empty metal chair, and took a seat.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Johnny. I have every right. It seems that you have quite a few speeding tickets that you never got around to paying,” Ty said. “Enough that the Honorable Judge Lindsey saw fit to put a warrant out for your arrest. Which means that you get to be my guest for the next forty-eight hours…at least.”
“Screw you,” Johnny said, puffing out his chest. “My father will have me out of here in less than an hour.”
“I don’t think so. You’ve been in this room for three hours already, and I haven’t seen or heard from your father.” Ty leaned back in his chair. “Of course, that doesn’t mean much. He might be downstairs right now, trying to pull whatever strings he has as mayor of your hick hometown, but that doesn’t mean we’re going to let him into the elevator.”
“You can’t do that. You have to let me see him.”
“The only person I have to let you see is a lawyer.” Ty crossed his arms in front of his chest. “You see, Johnny, this isn’t like the time daddy wrote a check to the local sheriff’s re-election campaign and your DUI charges magically disappeared. This is real trouble.”
Ty leaned forward and grasped his coffee cup. It felt good in his hands. He made a show of blowing the steam rising off the top before taking a sip.
The coffee machine set into the corner of the FBI office break room had to be twenty years past needing replacement. The stale beans that the Bureau supplied them with had to be twice as old. But the piece of junk did make a hot cup of coffee, and, in a cinderblock interrogation room that was always kept just a few degrees below comfortable, hot was one hell of a redeeming quality.
Ty let silence fill up the room. He watched as Johnny’s eyes narrowed, showing the first flicker of real concern.
Turned out the kid could be taught after all.
“Why does the FBI care about a couple of speeding tickets?”
“We don’t.” Ty took another sip. And another.
Johnny’s handcuffs started to rattle against the table leg. “Then what the hell do you want with me?”
“Think about it real hard, Johnny.”
Ty did his best not to smile as the poor bastard tried. Johnny’s brows pulled together as his eyes focused on a spot on the far wall. Ty could practically see the smoke coming out of his ears from the wheels turning inside his head.
And then came the moment that Ty was waiting for. Johnny’s gaze snapped back to Ty’s face. His teeth bit deep into his bottom lip.
Bingo. Pretty boy had just realized why he was chained to an FBI interrogation table.
Ty leaned back into his chair and waited. He didn’t expect the kid to give up the goods right away. No one ever did. That was okay. Ty had plenty of time.
Not that he thought Johnny was going to take the full forty-eight hours to crack. The kid was a half day case…at most. Right now, his face was screwed up tight as his pathetic excuse for a brain worked overtime, trying to figure a way out of this mess.
Ty’s gut told him that silence would go a long way with this one. Johnny was a club kid and a bartender when he needed money. He was used to loud dance floors overflowing with action. He obviously needed a lot of sensory input to fill up the hollow spot between his ears. An empty, quiet room and an unfriendly face was probably hell to him.
After five minutes, sweat beads had broken out on Johnny’s brow. After ten, they dotted his upper lip as well. Thirteen and he could no longer sit still in his seat.
“This is about what’s going on down at Kincaid’s, isn’t it?”
Ty leaned forward, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. It looked like he’d seriously overestimated the kid. He hadn’t lasted half a day. Hell, he hadn’t lasted half an hour.
“What is going on at Kincaid’s?”
Johnny shook his head, then pulled back in his seat. “I can’t tell you.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
Johnny’s face drained of color. “Can’t. You don’t know the guys that have been hanging out there.”
“You’re wrong, Johnny. I know exactly who they are.”
“Obviously, you don’t. Those are some seriously bad dudes. Russian Mafia, man. They’d probably kill me if they knew I was here.”