Free Bait by Karen Robards Page A

waiter looked at Maddie.
    â€œWould you like some coffee, Miss?”
    â€œBe a devil,” McCabe said, his cup already at his mouth.
    The waiter grinned. Maddie shot McCabe a look, but now that an actual caffeine fix was so close at hand the prospect was too tempting to turn down.
    â€œThank you,” she said to the waiter, setting her briefcase down and accepting a cup, complete with the packet of sugar she’d requested stirred in. She would have asked for more than one—a sugar rush was second only to a jolt of caffeine on her list of preferred stimulants—but considering her present company, she decided against it.
    â€œDanish?” the waiter asked, proffering the tray.
    McCabe took one. Maddie shook her head and downed a swallow of coffee. It wasn’t particularly hot and it wasn’t particularly good, but she badly needed the lift she hoped it would give her.
    In about twelve minutes, she had to make the sales pitch of a lifetime. On almost no sleep. After being terrorized and nearly murdered just a few hours before. With the FBI sniffing at her heels. And maybe, if her life had really gone down the toilet, with the killer still somewhere around. Looking for her.
    Life just didn’t get much better than that.
    â€œI’ll leave some in case you change your mind,” the waiter said with a quick smile, and deposited a dessert plate crammed with goodies on the table before leaving. Taking another swallow of coffee, Maddie averted her gaze—her stomach was in such a state that just looking at the gooey confections made her feel unwell—then frowned as McCabe, having disposed of his first small pastry in two quick bites, reached for another one.
    â€œJust so you know, your five minutes are up,” Maddie said as the second pastry went the way of the first. She set her still-half-full coffee cup down on the table. “I’m out of here. Enjoy your breakfast.”
    â€œHang on one more minute.” He drained his cup and set it down.
    â€œWhat?” She was already picking up her briefcase.
    He wiped his fingers on a napkin. “I want you to tell me everything that happened in your hotel room last night. A blow-by-blow account.”
    As if his words had conjured it up, the memory of the attack flashed at warp speed through her mind. It was all she could do to repress a shudder.
    â€œSorry, no can do,” she said, straightening with her briefcase once again in hand. “I have to go.”
    He smiled at her, a slow and distinctly un-charming smile that succeeded in raising her hackles before he ever said a word.
    â€œI could take you into custody.” His tone was almost idle. “If that’s what it takes to get you to answer my questions.”
    Her brows snapped together. “Don’t mess with me. You have to charge somebody with something to take them into custody. What are you planning to charge me with, being a victim?”
    â€œHow about obstructing an investigation?”
    Maddie’s stomach clenched. She pressed her lips together as her heart skipped a beat, then managed to get hold of herself enough to meet his gaze. His expression was bland. Was he bluffing? Maybe, but she didn’t want to find out.
    â€œOkay,” she said, hating him. “I’ll go over what happened in my hotel room again. Then that’s it, understand? I have to go.” She clasped her suddenly cold hands in front of her and glared at him. At least the surge of antipathy she was experiencing toward him was a strong enough emotion to override the shivery terror she felt when she recalled the attack. “I was in bed. Something woke me up. I realized someone was in my room. I slipped out of bed. Two shots—I think it was two, and I think they were shots—were fired into the bed, which thankfully I was no longer in. I ran for the door. He—it was a man—caught me. He ... he slammed me up against the wall, held me there