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kidnapped. Follow that story and you’ll be fine. Be smart.”
    The driver and the guy in the front passenger seat followed Dad to the helicopter. A big gust of wind swirled around and blew dirt into the SUV as they flew off.
    I shuddered.
    What in the hell was going on? Wasn’t it enough that Mom was dead?
    I walked toward the highway, sobbing. Within a few minutes, a black SUV that looked exactly like the one Dad and his friends were driving and several police cars surrounded me.

Chapter 6
    Two of the vehicles slowed and some men in suits and FBI vests jumped out, followed by a woman. Tires screeched as the line of cars sped off in the direction I’d just come from, leaving those three agents with me.
    â€œBeatrice Malcolm?” a man asked.
    I wiped the tears off of my cheeks and nodded.
    â€œAre you hurt?” the woman said as she approached.
    The two men moved to the side, scanning the area, just like the men who protect the president do.
    Snot ran down my face and my lips blubbered when I inhaled. The woman handed me a tissue. She put her hand on my shoulder. “Did they touch you?”
    â€œNo,” I said.
    My joints ached. I was hanging on to that tape recorder so tightly that when she pried it from my hands, I felt my shoulders relax.
    One of the men said something into his sleeve and suddenly the SUV was by our side. The female agent led me to the backseat and we were whisked away.
    â€œMy name is Special Agent Carter,” she said.
    I dabbed at my nose and snickered.
    â€œWhat’s so funny, Bea?”
    â€œâ€˜Special.’ It’s a weird first name.”
    She scowled and then said, “Sherilynn.”
    I looked out the window and tried to ignore her.
    â€œHow old are you, Bea?”
    â€œIf you know I go by Bea, than I’m sure you know how old I am.” I couldn’t help myself—the words flew out of my mouth. I didn’t like this woman. At the moment, I didn’t like anyone or anything.
    She didn’t respond. We drove back past the diner and eventually got into a part of town that looked familiar to me, and stopped. Above the post office in Wavecrest Beach was a series of suites that I never knew existed. I was escorted up the stairs.
    I was put in a room with two chairs and a table, but no window. The agents asked me the same types of questions over and over, but in a different way.
    Agent Carter: “What were you doing in the diner? How many times have you seen your dad in the last year?”
    Agent Ramsey: “Where was your uncle when the men came in the back door? Prior to today, when was the last time you saw your dad?”
    Agent Carter: “Why were you at the diner? Who was driving the stolen car? What did your uncle order? When the men kidnapped you, where was your uncle?”
    I told them the same story more than a hundred times. Well over two hours passed. I was exhausted. My head was spinning so badly, my thoughts were mush—but not the kind of mush I had with Luke.
    Agent Carter tried to be nice to me, but she lost her patience. “I’d like to release you to your aunt,” she snapped. “But we don’t know your exact involvement in the stolen FBI vehicle.”
    I bit my lower lip and told her again. “Like I said, I was kidnapped from the diner. The two guys who took me also held my dad. We talked for a few minutes—it’s all on the tape—and they left in a helicopter.”
    The woman tapped a pen on a note pad, and then she stood up and walked toward the door. “I don’t believe you’re sharing everything,” she said.
    â€œWhy don’t you tell me something that I don’t know? Like what exactly did my dad do that is causing the FBI to be so fired up about him?” I said.
    Agent Carter froze; then, with a slanted grin across her face, she said, “Your father’s a traitor. He’s wanted for treason.”
    â€œSherilynn, you still