The last forty-five minutes have been interesting to say the least. As I’ve sat here on Megan’s super comfortable sofa, there’s been a flurry of activity around the house.
In addition to the original group of big guys dressed in black, a second wave of plain clothed officials with badges and guns on their belts have breezed through. Everyone’s wearing plastic gloves and searching through everything. And I mean everything. Seeing as the FBI and ATF are present, I can only assume this is something big on the scales of bad, which freaks me way the hell out. Although Megan and I aren’t super close, we are friends and I would never in all my life guess her to be involved in something illegal. That shit happens to people on the news, not my people.
I hear Megan throwing a fit from the other room and I’ve offered up many prayers of thanks in the last forty-five minutes that the big guys decided to separate us. Listening to her go on about calling Trevor, trying to find Pam the babysitter to tell her to keep the kids away, trying to figure out who her attorney is so she can call him—yadda, yadda, yadda—was wearing on my last nerve. Needless to say, I’m grateful we’ve been separated.
The housecleaners have been questioned and after foregoing attorneys, have been released. They hightailed it out of here as fast as they could, looking relieved to say the least. I heard them whispering to one other while waiting and it’s safe to say Megan’s not going to get the chance to fire them because I’m pretty sure they’re never coming back. They seemed pretty resolute on this, can’t say I blame them.
From what I gather, Salt and Pepper, Agent Ortiz and one person in plain clothes are running this party. They’re hanging out here in the living room, answering questions, directing everyone else, and watching over me. They talk low and look over from time to time. I hope they don’t think I’m going to bolt. I am in heels, a tight pencil skirt, plus they have my purse, keys, phone, and I’d really like to have my gun back.
I did take this quiet moment while no one was talking to me to take in Agent Ortiz. He did feel me up—I mean, pat me down—so I figure I should at least get to check him out, right? Apparently bullets flying were no longer a threat, he’s since lost the bullet proof vest. He’s wearing a black t-shirt with big FBI lettering across the front, fitting snug across the chest and biceps. He’s broad and thick across the shoulders, standing tall with long muscular legs.
He glanced over at me twice as I was inventorying all that was him, caught and held my eyes for long moments before looking away. It was a tad bit embarrassing, but really, this is an intense situation and I’m trying to ward off my freak out over a search for who knows what’s going on around me. I’m doing everything I can to distract myself from my thoughts and he’s very distracting, to say the least.
Needless to say, seeing Tony stalk into Megan’s house, whatever he’s pissed about, is a sight for my sore eyes. I immediately relax, not realizing how tense I really am. Tony’s eyes scan the room, find me, moving directly toward my sofa.
Agent Ortiz steps in front of him. “Excuse me, who are you?”
“Anthony Carpino, representing Gabrielle Carpino.” Tony reaches into his pocket withdrawing a business card and handing it to Agent Ortiz. “And you are?”
“Special Agent Jude Ortiz, FBI. I’m the case agent on this operation.”
“And would you like to describe your operation and what my client has to do with it?” Tony bites back.
“No. I don’t have to tell you anything about this operation, but your client was here when we served the warrant and neutralized the premises. She was armed, we disarmed her. She probably could’ve been gone by now but she refused to speak to us without you. So now that you’re here, maybe we can move this along.”
“My client has a Conceal and Carry. She’s been given the right to be armed by the state, hopefully you know that by now,” Tony replies. Agent Ortiz jerks his head once in agreement. Tony looks over at me and scowls. “Gabby, let’s get this done.”
Hmm, maybe he is pissed at me. I get up, walk over to stand next to Tony and find I was right. Tony’s six-two, Jude Ortiz has to be six-three or four.
“Ask away.” I decide to try again for haughty.
Jude’s eyes move between Tony and me, then he slowly takes me in from tip to toe, his eyes finally returning to mine. I look away quickly as he moves to the dining room table. Tony shakes his head, putting his hand on the small of my back and gives me a nudge. We all take a seat, Tony to my side.
“Ms. Carpino, how do you know Trevor Harper?” Jude’s voice is deep and raspy.
Well, this seems easy enough. “Trevor’s married to my friend Megan. They’ve been married for about five years, give or take. I guess I knew him about a year before. Megan’s my friend, but I try and not have anything to do with Trevor.”
“What do you mean, try?” he asked.
Oh shit.
“Well…” How do I explain this? My eyes widen and they instantly move to Tony.
“Gabby,” Tony grunts with frustration and now I’m almost sure he’s pissed at me.
“What? You know I don’t like him. He’s weird and always trying to set me up with his friends or business associates. I’ve told you before I don’t get a good vibe. I go to Megan’s parties, make an appearance for her sake, but he always looks at me like he shouldn’t even though he’s married to my friend, not to mention all the creepier guys he tries to introduce me to.”
I turn to Jude and keep going. “I’m only here because I renovated the laundry room.” Jude’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, so I carry on. “I’m an interior decorator, the laundry room was one of the only rooms left to be redone in the house. I know, it’s a little over the top, but Megan insisted on spending all that money. What was I supposed to do? I redecorated her powder bath last year, the sink was especially amazing—hammered copper in an oval that sits on top of an antique vanity. It took me forever to find the right piece, not to mention my plumber had one hell of a time getting the faucet plumbed out of the wall, what with the house being some thirty-odd years old.”
Jude has leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest, stretching his t-shirt to its limits, with his head cocked to the side staring at me. I look over at Tony and say quietly, “What? That sink is a showstopper.”
“Gabby,” Tony impatiently replies. “Tell him everything you know about Trevor. That’s it.”
“I don’t know anything about Trevor.” I shake my head. “And why are you investigating Trevor? I knew there was something not right about him. Megan never says what he does for a living. Is she going to be okay? The kids?” I turn to look at Tony again. “They’re little hoodlums because no one ever says no to them, but they’re just little kids. Timothy is only six months old and hasn’t even learned how to be a hoodlum yet. They can’t help it that their dad’s a jerk.”
Jude leans forward, putting his forearms on the table and clears his throat. “Can we get back to you, Ms. Carpino? So, you’re an interior designer--”
“Decorator.” I interrupt and correct him at the same time. “Interior decorator. I’m not licensed, I don’t have a degree and I know nothing about architecture. I’m an accountant.”