gentle. She would’ve expected them to be rough.
All of their movements were unhurried, natural, as though they had done
this thousands of times over the course of a long, happy marriage,
seeking just the right spots to work, to please the other.
They slid under the covers. Ten minutes later Lee slumped down,
breathing heavy. Faith was under him, gasping for air as well. She
kissed his face, his chest, his arms. Their sweat mingled, their limbs
intertwined, they lay there talking and slowly kissing for another two
hours, falling in and out of sleep as they did so. About three in the
morning they made love again. And then both collapsed into deep,
exhausted sleep.
CHAPTER 36
REYNOLDS WAS SITTING AT HER DESK when the phone call came. It was
Joyce Bennett, the lawyer representing Reynolds in her divorce.
“We have a problem, Brooke. Your husband’s attorney just called,
ranting and raving about you hiding assets.”
Brooke’s face collapsed in disbelief. “Are you serious? Well, tell
him to let me in on it. I could use the extra money.”
“This isn’t a joke. He faxed me some account statements he says he
just discovered. Under the children’s names.”
“For God’s sake, Joyce, those are the kids’ college accounts. Steve
knew about those. That’s why I didn’t list them with my assets.
Besides, they only have a few hundred dollars in them.”
“Actually, the statements I’m looking at show a balance of fifty
thousand dollars in each.”
Reynolds’s mouth went dry. “That’s not possible. There must be some
mistake.”
“The other troubling thing is that the accounts are set up as Uniform
Transfer to Minor’s Act accounts. That means they’re revocable at the
discretion of the donor and trustee. You’re the listed trustee, and
I’m assuming you would be the donor of the funds as well. In essence,
it’s your money. You should have told me about these, Brooke.”
“Joyce, there was nothing to tell. I have no idea where that money
came from. What do the statements show as the origin of funds?”
“Several wire transfers of roughly equal amounts. It doesn’t show
where they came from. Steve’s attorney is threatening to go to court
and claim fraud. Brooke, he also says he’s called the Bureau.”
Reynolds squeezed the phone and sat rigidly. “The Bureau?”
“You’re sure you don’t know where the money came from? How about your
parents?”
“They don’t have that kind of money. Can we trace the funds?”
“It’s your account. I think you better do something. Keep me posted.”
Reynolds hung up the phone and stared blankly at the papers on her
desk, her mind reeling from this latest development. When the phone
rang again a few minutes later, she almost didn’t answer it. She knew
who it was.
Paul Fisher spoke more coldly than ever to her. She was to come to the
Hoover Building immediately. That was all he would tell her. As she
walked down the stairs to the parking garage, her legs threatened to
collapse under her several times. Every instinct she had told her she
had just been summoned to her own professional execution.
The conference room at the Hoover Building was small and windowless.
Paul Fisher was there, along with the ADIC, Fred Massey. Massey sat at
the head of the table, twirling a pen between his fingers, his gaze
locked on her. She recognized the two other people in the room: a
Bureau lawyer and a senior investigator from OPR.
“Sit down, Agent Reynolds,” Massey said firmly.
Reynolds sat. She wasn’t guilty of anything, so why did she feel like
Charlie Manson with a bloody knife in his sock?
“We have some things to discuss with you.” He glanced at the Bureau
lawyer. “I have to advise you, however, that you have the right to
have counsel present, if you so wish.”
She tried to act surprised, but couldn’t really, not after the phone
call from Joyce Bennett. Her forced reaction certainly increased her
guilt in their eyes, she felt sure. She wondered about the timing of
that phone call from Bennett. Not a big believer in conspiracies,
Reynolds suddenly began to reconsider that stance.
“And why would I need counsel?”