Page 90 of Seven
"Why impossible?"
"My mother doesn't drink," she snapped. "And medication she takes is cleared by the doctor. It's not a maybe. I lived with her. I know her."
"What do you want from me?"
Kimmy's voice softened, almost pleading. "I have a feeling someone set her up. I also have proof from her bank statement that we paid for the policy. I don't know why the insurance company is saying they never received the payment. It's all very fishy."
I didn't reply right away. The answer I was supposed to give her was on the tip of my tongue. But I hesitated. I didn't want to hear her disappointment.
She filled the silence. "She's terrified, Seven. She keeps calling me and crying about how she's going to lose the house, the car, everything. Just to cover the damages. It's not even about the money. Even though she doesn't want to bother my foster siblings, we can cover the expenses. I just don't want to get them involved yet. I have a strange feeling about this. The other driver is threatening to take her to court. We received the letter from his attorney a few days after the incident. Aren't those things that take weeks if not months?"
From what I'd just heard, it did sound strange. "Get me all the information, the documents, the statements, photos if you have them. Copy of the letter from the attorney."Why the fuck are you doing this? Why are you helping her? It's not even within your scope of expertise."Send them to this number using the link I'll forward you in a second. Don't talk to anyone about this. Especially your siblings."
"I know. I won't."
"We'll get to the bottom of it." This was the wrong thing to say. Against the protocol. But I hadn't cared about the Bureau’s rules for a while. Probably since the moment I saw her in the hallway, pinned to the wall by the first target.
She exhaled. "Thank you." Then a second of hesitation. "How's your… How are you? Is the wound getting better?"
"Yes," I said, sending her a secure transfer link via text.
"You're a terrible liar."
"So are you," I blurted out. Why did I do that? Maybe to hear the spike in her voice as she argued back. Or maybe to continue this conversation. I had no fucking clue.
"Oh, I just got the link. I'll upload everything in a second."
"Hey…are you liking your new couch?" Fuck. Letting her go was harder than I thought.
"Yes. Thank you. And for the carpet. You really didn't have to do that."
"Well, you had my DNA all over your place. I don't like taking risks."
"Right," she drawled, sounding a little better now, less stressed. "You think I'm going to try and find out your real identity by doing some genetic testing in my kitchen."
I felt my lips spread into a smile. Oh, no. I clamped my mouth shut. She was doing funny things to my mind and body.
"Anyway, I'm not going to hold you up. Thanks again. Bye."
She hung up before I could answer, which was strange. Usually, I ended the calls first. I felt empty on the inside as if a favorite high-end tech gadget had just been confiscated from me.
I waited, breath tight, then turned my attention back to the scope.
Valmont was still at the window, still sipping his drink, eyes scanning the city below. He didn't know it, but for the first time in a while, he was only my second priority.
The spare burner buzzed. I looked at the files sent by Kimmy—bank statements, the policy notice, a blurry shot of the accident scene, police reports.
I memorized every detail.
Then I clicked back to the earpiece. "Viper. Need a bit of help."
He was ready, always. "Go."
"I'm sending you some files. Check every chain—from the bank, the insurer, the cops, the other driver. Quietly. Look for the hand that pulled the string."
"Sure thing, boss."
"Do it fast. And off the record."
