Chapter Thirty-seven

FBI Field Office

Philadelphia

Friday night

Rebel was angry at first, found it hard to believe the FBI actually had a warrant for his arrest. Wire fraud and conspiracy? What could they possibly have to implicate him? He kept his mouth shut as Ethan had told him to, except to ask once what evidence they had to arrest him in the first place. They didn't tell him, only said he'd find out during his interview, if he cooperated.

Tip shoved the last of his sandwich in his mouth, wiped his hand, frowned down at his crossword puzzle, sighed, and took a step toward Rebel. Briggs held up his hand when his cell phone rang. He listened. "Yes, I understand, we'll be there. No, not a word."

Rebel felt hope; Ethan had come through. He remained silent.

Tip gave a rheumy laugh. "I'll live in hope, Lou," and went back to his crossword.

Briggs grabbed Rebel's arm. "Let's go, Navarro."

There was a pause in the big room as one by one the agents looked at him, the perp with his hands zip-tied behind his back. One agent in his shirtsleeves said to another agent near him, loud enough so Rebel could hear him, "That's Rebel Navarro. I wonder if they'll let him write his novels in jail?"

A man's deep voice, smooth as glass, came from the doorway. "Remove the zip ties now, Agent, if you please."

Briggs cut them off.

Rebel rubbed his hands together to get the feeling back. He slowly stood and faced his attorney. Rafael Jordon looked to be in his late thirties, about Ethan's age. He was tall, on the thin side, his onyx-black hair cut close to his scalp, his skin polished ebony. The pale gray pinstripe suit he wore shouted bespoke, no doubt there. What really struck Rebel were his eyes—dark, nearly black behind his dark-rimmed glasses, and sharp with intelligence. He seemed completely relaxed, a man in charge of his world.

Rebel said, "No, Ethan told me not to say a word. Let me say, Mr. Jordan, I'm innocent. So is my brother."

"Very well, but again, I'm here if any of their questions are inappropriate or put you in jeopardy."

Gregson opened the door again, looked from one to the other. "Would you like more time?"

Jordan narrowed his eyes. "Agent Gregson, may I see the arrest warrant?"

She pulled it from a file of papers she was carrying and handed it to him.

Rebel said, "May I have a glass of water?" What he really wanted was a dram of Glenfiddich.

"No, thank you. Maybe later."

Jordan said, "As I told Mr. Navarro, I'm here tonight because I got a call from a good friend of mine, Sheriff Ethan Merriweather of Titusville, Virginia. Ethan told me two of your agents came to Rebel Navarro's house while his family was there having dinner. Sheriff Merriweather assured me Rebel Navarro is being falsely accused and asked me to represent him." Jordan eyed Gregson a moment, turned to Rebel, and smiled. "Let me say first of all that I am pleased he called because both my wife and I read your books, Mr. Navarro. She thinks your name, Rebel, is romantic."

"But they had read you your rights, hadn't they?"

Gregson looked over at Jordan.

Jordan said, "Agent Gregson, this is what Mr. Navarro would prefer and yes, I agree. You can ask your questions afterward. In turn, I trust we'll find out why you arrested him so suddenly and dragged him here to the Philadelphia field office on this fine Friday night. Can we agree on that, Agent Gregson?"

"None."

"And you, Mr. Navarro?"

"No."

Rebel nodded. "I lied my way out of a lot of sticky situations when I was a teenager, Ms. Gregson, but not now. No, not now."