that hit-and-run,” she said. “If the correct person was brought to justice, it would shed a new light on everything I’ve done. But since I’m in jail, I can’t take any action to bring that person to justice.”
“Fabron,” Viggo said grimly. “I can do it. I have your file here. I have all the evidence. And we have what we learned last night at the club. All I have to do is find him, and—”
He broke off.
“Any kind of forced altercation would result in new charges,” Francesca said carefully. It was as close as she dared come to don’t beat him up and drag him in with Stevens listening.
“I’ll be careful,” Viggo said.
“All right,” the police officer said, tapping Francesca on the shoulder. “Time’s up.”
“I have to go,” Francesca said, feeling slightly panicky. “Be safe. I—” She swallowed hard, forcing down the words that had threatened to come out. This was no time for a confession of love.
“I won’t let you down,” Viggo said, his voice thick with emotion.
The police officer took the phone from Francesca. She let it go, feeling as it slipped from her hands that her freedom was slipping away as well.
The officer took her by the arm. His grip wasn’t rough, but it was firm. He walked her down a cold concrete hall to an empty cell and steered her inside.
“Be back in a few hours with your lunch,” he said, a hint of sympathy in his voice. Then he closed the cell door, locking Francesca inside.
She looked around. The space was bare except for a low cot against one wall, and she went over to it and sat down, thinking about the breakfast she had been about to make when Voles had called. She hadn’t eaten, and the thought of food was almost insanely good right now.
But she couldn’t imagine lunch would be anything too appetizing.
She lay back on her cot and stared at the ceiling pensively
Whatever Viggo had in mind to do, she was just going to have to hope that it would work. She would have to hope that he knew what he was doing, that he would be able to prove his own innocence and Fabron’s guilt somehow without getting himself into any further trouble.
Because the FBI knew he was in the country now. They knew what his disguise looked like.
And if he wasn’t careful, he was going to end up in the cell right next to hers.
Francesca closed her eyes. In spite of herself, a few tears leaked down her face.
It will be a miracle if we find our way out of this.
Chapter 20
“Bellucci.”
Francesca wasn’t sure whether she had been asleep or not, but at the sound of her name, she sat up. The police officer was standing at the door to her cell.
“You’ve got visitors,” he said, pulling a ring of keys from his belt.
“I do?” She frowned. “What time is it?”
“Three in the afternoon.”
She had missed lunch. She got slowly to her feet and saw that there was a tray on the floor with what looked like a baloney sandwich on white bread. Her stomach growled, but she didn’t want to touch it. She didn’t know how long it had been sitting there.
She followed the officer out of the cell and down the hall to a room with a windowless door. He opened it and showed her in.
Voles, Chuck Stevens, and Viggo were sitting around a circular table.
Francesca inhaled sharply, not knowing what to say. What was Viggo doing here? With them? Had they arrested him?
Voles apparently saw her confusion. “He turned himself in to us,” he said. “Less than an hour ago.”
Her heart sank. If Viggo had turned himself in, it must mean he had decided he couldn’t get the evidence he needed against Fabron. He must have worked out some kind of deal for Francesca’s freedom.
“Sit down, Bellucci,” Voles said. He looked deeply annoyed.
Francesca took the empty seat at the table, looking from one face to the next, her gaze lingering on Viggo. If only the two of them could take five minutes alone together, just to talk. Just to get on the same page.
“Apparently, Lindström has some evidence for us,” Voles said. “And he’s only willing to give it up if we allow you to listen to it too.”
“Listen to it?” Francesca repeated.
“A recording,” Voles explained. “But I take it you were unaware of this?”
“I don’t know what recording he’s talking about,” Francesca said honestly, hoping that she wasn’t throwing a wrench in whatever Viggo’s plan