“No.”
“That’s all you get.”
The elevator opened again.
Two federal agents entered with a Chicago detective.
Julian saw Leo notice them.
For the first time since the robbery began, she moved quickly.
Not toward the exit.
Toward the bar.
She picked up a tray and began gathering intact glasses as though the most important thing in the world was cleaning table 8.
Julian almost admired the absurdity of it.
One of the agents saw her.
He stopped walking.
His colleague bumped his shoulder.
The first agent stared at Leo for a second too long.
Then his eyes went to Julian.
Then to the folder in Julian’s hand.
The color left his face.
That reaction told Julian more than every redacted line Marcus had found.
The agent approached.
“Mr.
Moretti.”
Julian smiled politely.
“Agent.”
“We need another statement.”
“Of course.”
The agent glanced toward Leo again.
“Your staff should leave the room.”
Julian followed his gaze.
“My staff?”
“All nonessential personnel.”
Leo continued collecting glasses.
Julian lowered his voice.
“You know her.”
The agent’s expression hardened.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t need to.”
The second agent stepped forward.
“Mr.
Moretti, this is an active investigation.”
Julian held up the folder.
“And apparently so is my waitress.”
Leo stopped moving.
The first agent looked at the folder again.
“Where did you get that?”
There it was.
Not denial.
Alarm.
Julian felt the room change around him.
Leo placed the final glass on her tray.
“Give it to them, Julian.”
It was the first time she had used his first name.
The agent looked sharply at her.
Julian noticed that too.
“You want it?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
