“I’m not the one playing games.”

He shakes his head, the ugly smile lingering. “How’s your uncle doing? Getting used to hospital food yet?”

I start to chuckle, then laugh out loud. But I keep it in check, just as I keep my eyes trained on Scott. “That’s your angle? Try to shake me up again by talking about my uncle? That played yesterday, which, to be honest, was a poor reflection on me. It was too early in the morning, I hadn’t had coffee yet. But now you think you can just push that button and get me all upset? I’m not wired that way, Agent Scott.” Still chuckling, I take a sip from my latté. “So,” I say, putting my cup down, “when Tane got snatched right out of your hands at that motel, before that happened, how’d you sabotage the air conditioning unit?”

Scott’s smile flickers and for a moment his eyes register shock, but he recovers quickly. “I don’t know what—”

“I was thinking maybe you just snipped a wire so it died completely,” I continue. “That’d be the easiest thing to do. But it would be kind of suspicious, especially if one of the other agents saw you messing with the unit right before it croaked. So I’m thinking you cut the coolant line when no one was looking. The fan would still keep running, but in a few minutes everyone would figure out it wasn’t blowing cold air anymore. Hot summer day in a crappy motel room, and real quick someone would suggest calling the front desk.”

The look on Scott’s face could scorch paint off a wall. Special Agent Rondeau looks from me to Scott, then back to me. “What are you talking about?”

“She’s just bullshitting,” Scott says, practically spitting. “Trying to—”

“No wonder you were so pissed when D came in with his boys,” I say. “You weren’t expecting that. You thought it would be the Sureños.”

Scott stands, his chair scraping the bricks.

“You and the standing,” I say. “Sit down.” I wave my hand beneath the mesh table so both agents can see I’m now holding the CZ. It’s pointed at Scott. “And keep your hands very visible and away from your waist.”

Rondeau stares at me. “This is a very bad idea, Ms. Faulkner.”

“Call me Suzie, please.” I wave the CZ again. “Agent Scott, sit down. Now.”

For the third time, Scott sits. “Pulling a gun on a federal agent?” he says, his voice choked with fury. “You’re fucked, Suzie.”

“Not as much as you,” I say. “D spilled. You were going to turn Tane over to Bala.”

“Who is D?” Rondeau says.