Secret Sniper

Chapter Twelve

CHAPTER TWELVE

She stares at me as I walk toward the table where she is seated, or rather, where we placed her after picking her up off the ground, where she was put originally. Michael does the same, and we both meet, side by side, at the opposite side of where Callie is seated. She looks a little more uncomfortable now that both of us are closer and giving intimidating stares. Her self esteem has certainly dropped tremendously from the moment we recognized her as Callie Parker, not as Courtney Rodriguez. I look at her long enough, and tap twice on the table with my fingernail to secretly indicate to Michael that he should continue what he's doing, which is just staring her down. We've used this tactic before, and I find it funny how I can say I've used this on Adriana before, just with much less intensity. I'd stare at her and she'd stare back at me until she broke into a smile or even a laugh and would turn away, breaking the stare. Afterward, she'd say whatever she was keeping in her head and just blurt everything out in laughter. It's one of those things that I've always loved about her; how she laughs at almost anything with that bubbly personality of hers. It's easy to tell, now, when she's upset or when something's bothering her, because some of that bubbliness goes away. I'm just hoping-slash-praying that some of it is still there, despite the fact that there are six FBI agents outside our house, threatening her life, and I'm not physically there to protect her. Just thinking about her all alone in that house makes my stare into a deadly one, the one that would legitimately describe the phrase, "If looks could kill.." Callie now looks like she wants to just disappear, which is good because that means our method is working, and just as harden my stare a little more, she opens her mouth to speak.

"Okay, FINE. You caught me. So what?" Callie blurts.

"What are you doing here," Michael demands. He makes it sound more like a statement more than a question.

"None of your business," Callie retorts.

"Well we need an answer, and we better get one before we call the real FBI to tell them they have a fake agent," he shoots back.

"The FBI won't believe you if you tell them that. They know I'm working for them," she replies, but by the look on Michael's face, he doesn't believe her for a second. Both of us can tell that she's bluffing.

"Bull crap. You know damn well that they wouldn't hire someone like you, not with those lying flaws," he spits. "Tell us why you're really here Callie." He puts emphasis on her name to highlight that she is no longer hiding behind a fake identity.

"I came because I needed to do something. Something I've been wanting to do for quite some time," Callie answers.

"And what would that be?" I ask.

"Two things actually. One: to see both of you again," she says. Then, slowly turning to look at me, "and two: to see your face when you find out your wife is dead."

I feel like I can't breathe. I'm so stunned that I can't even blink. *Is Adriana really dead? She couldn't be. Callie's lying. She's LYING. There's just no way she..* I suddenly feel nauseous and lean on the table for support. I don't even want to look at her. I clench my fists and just breathe.

"She's not dead," Michael challenges.

"Try me," Callie replies, leaning back a little. Even though I'm not looking, I can feel her and Michael glaring at each other. I close my eyes and focus on what's important: finding out the truth. If Adriana's really dead, then how would she have died? Wouldn't that have meant that the FBI agents shot her? If that was the case, wouldn't people in the neighborhood hear the gunshots? Someone would have called me. So say the FBI agents didn't shoot her, then how would they have killed her? What if they weren't the ones who really killed her? What if they forced her into killing herself? What if they killed her with some type of poisonous gas without her knowing? What if they broke in the house? What if..