Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 163209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 816(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 816(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
When it was obvious he wasn’t going to start, Jean said, “I didn’t do this.”
“Figured that much out,” Browning returned, unimpressed. “We’ve already pulled call logs and the security footage. I know exactly where you were when the fire started, and I already know who started it. The good news is it wasn’t an inside job; these morons have no connections to the Moreau or Wesninski businesses.” Browning sighed at the look on his face. “I don’t know why you look so surprised. Try to remember you’re a material witness in the biggest case of my career.”
“You’ve mistaken me for Neil,” Jean said.
“This time it was fanatics,” Owens said. “Next time it might not be. Our office wants to offer you a spot in Witness Protection. You’d have to leave Los Angeles and start over somewhere else, but in exchange I promise we’ll get you to the other side of the trial in two or fewer pieces.”
“Leave,” Jean echoed. “We are only two games into the season.”
“I hate this sport,” Browning said to his partner. “Explain to me why they’re all like this.”
Owens only shrugged. “You’ve got me, boss. I’m a Knicks fan.”
“I cannot stop playing. I—” Jean caught himself at the last second, but the near-miss had his heart pounding in his temples. These people knew Nathaniel Wesninski and Jean-Yves Moreau; that familiarity had almost led him to admitting promises that were not their business. He swallowed hard and forcibly changed what he was trying to say. “—promised I would see the Trojans to finals. It is important.”
“So is not ending up like this.” Browning waggled one of the crumpled DVD cases at him. When Jean refused to look at it, Browning tossed it back to the pile. “Can’t say we didn’t try, but maybe you’ll be more valuable as bait.” He motioned for Owens to approach. Jean eyed the proffered file warily until Browning said, “Sometime today. My team already translated it into French for you.”
Jean accepted the folder and flipped it open. There were stapled packets tucked into each of the two inside pockets. He started with the one on the left. Jean wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but a writeup on a nearby apartment was not anywhere near the top of his list. The first page was a snapshot of the floorplan, and each successive page outlined details of the immediate surrounding area. The next packet was the same for a second property. Jean looked from one to the other before turning a blank stare on Browning.
“I don’t understand.”
“I need you alive for a few more months, and obviously we need a more hands-on approach going forward,” Browning said. “It doesn’t matter to me which address you choose so long as it is one of these two. My office will offset your rent to match what you were paying here, and we will handle your security from now until the trial pro bono. That’s all you see of us; your day-to-day life continues unchanged outside of the route you take to class.”
“There is a catch,” Jean said. “I do not have the information you want. I’ve told you everything I know about my parents, and what little I know about his. I have nothing left that is worth this.”
Browning’s gaze was calm. “I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”
It felt very much like a trap, but Jean wasn’t sure either man would tolerate refusal. “This was not my house. It is not my decision alone.”
“Go on, then.” Browning got to his feet and waved him toward the door.
Owens followed Jean out of the room and down the hall. His friends were standing against the back wall of his and Jeremy’s bedroom, a line of crossed arms and tense expressions. Owens waited in the doorway, like he honestly thought they’d make a break for it if he turned his back, while Jean went to set the folder on the remains of his bed. His friends came up on the other side to see what new problem he’d brought them, and Jean laid it out as succinctly as possible. To their credit, they said nothing until Jean was done.
“I want more details on this supposed security system,” Laila said, looking past Jean at the agent. “I refuse to have your cameras and bugs in my apartment. I’d rather find my own place and pay full price than let you spy on my private life.”
“Nothing past the front door,” he said. When Laila stared him down, he shrugged off her concerns and said, “Miss Dermott, I know who your father is, and I know who Wilshire’s grandfather is. We are not trying to start a fight with either of your families when we have so much else on the line. We want only to keep our asset safe and our case intact.”