Brick hid his smile as Darlene coughed subtly into her hand.

“Of course we have great sympathy for Mrs. Vorhees’s...” Brice’s chilly gaze flicked over Camille’s bruised face. “…situation. But our agency isn’t interested in domestic matters.”

“Right, because money is more important than human life,” Remi purred.

Like mother, like daughter.

“Mrs. Vorhees,” White began, “Chief Ford sent us some interesting information regarding your husband and his use of campaign funds. We’re going to need you to elaborate on what you told her.”

Camille nodded, the consummate hostess despite her battered face. “Of course, Agent White,” she said. “Can we offer you two anything to drink while you’re here? Coffee? Tea?”

“A kick in the ass,” Remi muttered under her breath.

“Ms. Ford, is it?” Brice asked, arching an eyebrow. “I presume you two are related.”

“We are,” the chief responded. “Remington is my youngest daughter.”

“How does this situation concern her?” White asked almost flippantly. Brick tensed, ready to take issue with the disrespect, but Special Agent Brice shot her sidekick a cool look that had him shutting up.

“Do you mean besides caring about the violence a man imparted on my friend?”

White was going to get his teeth kicked in if he didn’t watch his mouth. And Brick didn’t mind letting Remi take her shots at him.

“Do you have any other reason for being at this table other than being a hand-holder?” Brice asked.

“Only from the standpoint that I was in the car he ran off the road and plowed through a guardrail, sending us down a cliff in an attempted double homicide. Or the fact that he’s been sending me threats since I came back to the island,” she snapped, coming halfway out of her chair.

Camille laid a hand on Remi’s sleeve.

White jotted down some notes.

“I see,” Special Agent Brice said.

“You bet your ass, you see,” Remi said.

“Remington.” Darlene’s voice was tired.

“This would be the accident on January thirtieth?” Brice asked, shuffling papers in her folder.

“That’s correct,” Camille said. “My husband hacked my phone and discovered that I was planning on leaving him. That Remi was going to help me.”

“The accident that you said occurred because a Ms. Ballard was intoxicated.”

“Remi, my friend and Chief Ford’s daughter, paints under the name Alessandra Ballard. Much like a novelist would use a pen name. Remi was not drunk that night, nor was she driving.”

“But according to the public statement you made—”

Remi stood up fast enough that her chair tumbled over backward. “Now you listen here. I don’t give a shit if you’re special agent of god’s gift to special agents. This man tried to murder us both. He has nothing left to lose. He’s lost his pride, his power, and pretty soon his goddamn seat in the Senate. He skipped out on an arrest this morning. So put your fucking cards on the table, and let’s figure out how to make sure this bastard never sees the outside of a cage again.”