Catherine Coulter – FBI 3 The Target

Detective Mecklin was chewing on an oatmeal cookie from the Brown Palace kitchen.

“As I told you,” Molly said, “I had a neighbor coming in to water my plants. Everything was fine three days ago. One of your people is speaking to her, right?”

“Yeah, right. But I doubt she saw anything, or we’d have gotten a call by now. Whoever did it, had guts. We didn’t clear out of there until about five days ago.”

The hotel doorbell rang.

An officer who’d accompanied Detective Mecklin answered it. He walked into the living room, a stoic look on his young face. Behind him stood FBI Special Agent Anchor, decked out in his dark suit, white shirt, dark thin tie, and wing tips.

Molly wanted to groan. Mecklin was enough. Now the both of them?

“Hello, Mrs. Santera. I’m still considering whether or not to arrest you.”

“That’s nice, Agent Anchor,” Molly said, feeling the tension in her replaced by anger. It felt good, that wave of rage. She sat back in her chair and smiled at him. She realized she’d seen her father do this. She’d wanted to fry this guy since he’d first walked into her house after Emma had been kidnapped. He was arrogant and overbearing. “Hey, have you decided on the charge? Was it saving my daughter from a kidnapper? Was it perhaps escaping to avoid getting murdered? Or maybe it was keeping my child out of your incompetent hands? No, I’ve got it. You’re going to arrest me for doing your job.”

She’d got him. His face was red and his hands were stiff at his sides. He looked ready to explode. She loved it. “Oh, how about this-you want to arrest me because I trashed my own house?”

Agent Anchor managed to control himself. He even managed a very stiff smile at Molly. Ramsey was surprised and hopeful that perhaps the man would stop being a jerk. Agent Anchor said finally, “Your attitude isn’t helping your case, Mrs. Santera.” He then looked at Ramsey, a dark eyebrow raised. The raised eyebrow was met with silence.

Agent Anchor said finally, “You look familiar.”

“He should,” Detective Mecklin said between chews on ‘ another oatmeal cookie. “He’s Judge Ramsey Hunt, you know the guy we’ve been hearing about from San Francisco and Chicago.”

Agent Anchor froze. He was used to being in charge and then Molly Santera and this guy Hunt had treated him like he was a Keystone Kop. “What are you doing here?”

Ramsey just smiled at him. “Well, you know, my house in San Francisco was trashed just like Mrs. Santera’s. We were thinking that there just might be some parallels. What do you think? Just maybe Mr. Shaker is a very thorough man?”

“I don’t appreciate your humor,” Agent Anchor said. “I know all this. But she shouldn’t have taken off to look for her daughter. She shouldn’t have refused to return to Denver after she’d found her. She shouldn’t have hindered my investigation.” He stared at Molly, his thin nostrils flared wide with dislike. “And she shouldn’t have insulted me when I walked in just now. Maybe if she’d done what I told her to, she wouldn’t have ended up with a dead husband. But then, you got a live judge, didn’t you?”

Molly shot a quick look toward Emma, who looked to be glued to the TV cartoon. Then she stood up in one smooth motion and kicked Agent Anchor hard in the shin. He gasped, grabbed his leg, then very slowly, he straightened. “I’m arresting you for assaulting a federal officer,” he said when he could speak again.

“I don’t think so,” Ramsey said. “Actually, she beat me to it. Stop being an ass, Agent Anchor.” He gracefully slid his hand to the man’s elbow. He said close to his ear, “I think you’re laboring under a severe misapprehension here. Listen up: She’s not her father. You’d best get that right away. Now, why don’t you put on your human clothes, sit down, and we can try to work together. If that isn’t to your liking, then I’ll call up your boss and Agents Savich and Sherlock, who worked the case with us in Chicago, and we’ll all have a talk. Your call, Agent.”

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