“Maybe not, but if I don’t get some answers, you’ll regret it.”
He stared at her, clearly worried about her threat. “You with the cops? Undercover or something?”
She shook her head. “But I have an interest in what happened.”
Jo felt the anger seeping from him like oil. But underneath that was something else. Fear. He picked at the label of his beer, not making eye contact.
“What are you afraid of?” she asked.
“I can’t talk to you. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
He finally looked up. “Who are you with? FBI?”
She shook her head again. “I want to make sure we’re all safe. I don’t trust what went down at the bank.”
“I shouldn’t talk to you.”
“Why?”
He glanced away and bit his lip. It took him a long time to say anything. “The police seem to think I had something to do with the robbery.”
“How do you know that?”
“Some of the questions they asked.”
“Did you?”
“No,” he snapped. He paused as the waiter put a glass of water in front of Jo. “I was as scared as the rest of you. I didn’t know that was going to happen. But I don’t think they believe me.” He glanced toward the door. “I think someone was following me. Do you know what would happen if they suspect me? Just them investigating me could ruin me, and I can’t afford that. I have student loan debt, and other bills. I’m trying to get ahead.”
“Tell me what happened, and maybe I can help.”
“Why do you want to know?”
“I have my reasons,” she said. Her military training kicked in, her thinking methodical, her voice easy. “Tell me what happened after those men took you away.”
“I don’t know if I should talk to you.”
“If you weren’t involved, you have nothing to worry about. We’re just two people commiserating over what happened.”
He let out a huge sigh. “I guess if you’re with some law enforcement agency, you’ll find out I’m telling the truth.” He ran a hand over his face, dejected. But he seemed to sense her persistence, so he took another drink and began.
CHAPTER TEN
“You knew the robbers blindfolded me and tied me up?” Rico asked.
She nodded. “I saw that.”
He subconsciously rubbed his wrists, and even in the dim light, she saw burn marks on his hands from where the ropes had chafed against his skin.
“They took me into the bank lobby, and I heard one of them talking.”
“One of the two who tied you up?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No. It was that tall one. The one who stayed up front.”
“What was he saying?”
His brow furrowed. “He must’ve been talking to the police, or what do you call them—a hostage negotiator. The guy was telling the cops to stay back or . . .” He swallowed, hard. “Or he said they’d shoot me.”
All the while, Jo was studying him carefully. He kept picking at the label on the beer bottle, his fingers shaking. He flicked away some of the label and went on.
“I think that guy was standing at one of the desks, talking on the phone. I couldn’t hear anything on the other end. The guy said they’d be watching, that they would know what the police were doing.”
“Did the other two say anything?”
He shook his head. “They stayed quiet. One of them kept holding me.”
“Which one?”
Rico shrugged. “How would I know?”
“Maybe you noticed how one of them acted while they took you to the vault?” she offered. “Or you smelled an odor from one of them?”
“No. I was too scared to pay attention.”
“Could you see out of the blindfold?” She rested a hand on her cheek, just under her eye. “Sometimes the cloth doesn’t fully press against your skin, and there’s a crack underneath.”
