the table. “Unless—although I’m sure this is an unbearable thought for you to consider—I’m telling the truth!”
“Do you know that this room is equipped with video and audio recording equipment, Ms. Jeffries? It automatically starts digitally recording whenever someone is in here.”
“So?” She continued to glare at him from across the table.
“So? It will certainly show any time you left this room or anyone who came to see you while we were gone. And anything that was said.”
Conner wasn’t sure exactly what he expected Adrienne to do with this information. Change her story maybe. Start crying. Try to make up some excuse for the information she had.
He definitely didn’t expect how she actually responded.
“Well, I guess I know how you’ll be spending your next three hours, Special Agent Jackass. But I’m leaving.”
She reached down to get her purse—he saw her wince when her burned arm scraped the chair—then stormed out of the room, slamming the door.
Conner stared at the closed door for a long time. Beside him, he heard Seth begin to chuckle. Conner muttered something unrepeatable under his breath and headed out the door to look at the recorded footage of Adrienne. But he suddenly didn’t feel as sure as he had just a few minutes before.
Chapter Eight
The great thing about San Francisco was all the parks, Adrienne thought as she walked around in one of them. You couldn’t walk half a block without running into some little grassy area or square. And the weather hovered around sixty degrees all year long in San Fran. Gorgeous.
The bad thing about San Francisco? All the jerky FBI agents who made her want to tear her hair out. Either that or jump across the table and kiss him until neither of them could breathe.
Adrienne smiled. At least if she kissed Conner, she wouldn’t have to listen to any of the asinine statements that seemed to pour endlessly from his mouth.
Adrienne sat down on a bench. The buzzing was back. She wasn’t sure exactly when it had started up again, but it was there. And a headache was coming on—pressure surrounding the back of her skull. Annoying but bearable.
This was the headache she was used to having when she was around people. The constant distant buzzing. Nothing bad; nothing to see or hear. Just light static. She had found over the years that most people were not evil. They may be tired or cranky or just plain mean. But most did not walk around with sinister intentions, so Adrienne never had any clear idea of their thoughts. Just low static.
Usually being outside helped a bit—fewer people than were cooped up in buildings—but now it seemed worse than when she had been in the FBI field office.
Maybe being annoyed at Conner Perigo had helped her forget about her headache. But when she thought about it, she realized, no, she hadn’t really had any sort of headache—or any pain at all—since she had taken the trash out of the interrogation room. That was so unusual.
But the pain was making its way back now, that was for sure. Adrienne reached into her purse and got out aspirin from the bottle she always kept with her. This would help keep the headache in check, to a degree.
Adrienne sat in the sun for a little while then decided to take a walk down to the Embarcadero—San Francisco’s waterfront area. It had a beautiful view—the Golden Gate Bridge and Alcatraz—but Adrienne barely noticed it.
Why was she so angry at Conner Perigo? It wasn’t as if she hadn’t had to prove herself before. Nobody believed what she could do at first. She had always accepted that as reasonable. What sane person would believe her without proof?
And her gift had been so sketchy over the past couple of days. Why should she expect Conner to just believe what she could do out of hand? And more than that, Adrienne had never cared who had believed her in the past. Why was she starting to now?
There was something about Conner Perigo that was different. Adrienne
“Do you know that this room is equipped with video and audio recording equipment, Ms. Jeffries? It automatically starts digitally recording whenever someone is in here.”
“So?” She continued to glare at him from across the table.
“So? It will certainly show any time you left this room or anyone who came to see you while we were gone. And anything that was said.”
Conner wasn’t sure exactly what he expected Adrienne to do with this information. Change her story maybe. Start crying. Try to make up some excuse for the information she had.
He definitely didn’t expect how she actually responded.
“Well, I guess I know how you’ll be spending your next three hours, Special Agent Jackass. But I’m leaving.”
She reached down to get her purse—he saw her wince when her burned arm scraped the chair—then stormed out of the room, slamming the door.
Conner stared at the closed door for a long time. Beside him, he heard Seth begin to chuckle. Conner muttered something unrepeatable under his breath and headed out the door to look at the recorded footage of Adrienne. But he suddenly didn’t feel as sure as he had just a few minutes before.
Chapter Eight
The great thing about San Francisco was all the parks, Adrienne thought as she walked around in one of them. You couldn’t walk half a block without running into some little grassy area or square. And the weather hovered around sixty degrees all year long in San Fran. Gorgeous.
The bad thing about San Francisco? All the jerky FBI agents who made her want to tear her hair out. Either that or jump across the table and kiss him until neither of them could breathe.
Adrienne smiled. At least if she kissed Conner, she wouldn’t have to listen to any of the asinine statements that seemed to pour endlessly from his mouth.
Adrienne sat down on a bench. The buzzing was back. She wasn’t sure exactly when it had started up again, but it was there. And a headache was coming on—pressure surrounding the back of her skull. Annoying but bearable.
This was the headache she was used to having when she was around people. The constant distant buzzing. Nothing bad; nothing to see or hear. Just light static. She had found over the years that most people were not evil. They may be tired or cranky or just plain mean. But most did not walk around with sinister intentions, so Adrienne never had any clear idea of their thoughts. Just low static.
Usually being outside helped a bit—fewer people than were cooped up in buildings—but now it seemed worse than when she had been in the FBI field office.
Maybe being annoyed at Conner Perigo had helped her forget about her headache. But when she thought about it, she realized, no, she hadn’t really had any sort of headache—or any pain at all—since she had taken the trash out of the interrogation room. That was so unusual.
But the pain was making its way back now, that was for sure. Adrienne reached into her purse and got out aspirin from the bottle she always kept with her. This would help keep the headache in check, to a degree.
Adrienne sat in the sun for a little while then decided to take a walk down to the Embarcadero—San Francisco’s waterfront area. It had a beautiful view—the Golden Gate Bridge and Alcatraz—but Adrienne barely noticed it.
Why was she so angry at Conner Perigo? It wasn’t as if she hadn’t had to prove herself before. Nobody believed what she could do at first. She had always accepted that as reasonable. What sane person would believe her without proof?
And her gift had been so sketchy over the past couple of days. Why should she expect Conner to just believe what she could do out of hand? And more than that, Adrienne had never cared who had believed her in the past. Why was she starting to now?
There was something about Conner Perigo that was different. Adrienne
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