After disappearing from the FBI’s radar for a few hours, Ninon showed up at a dark bar at Chick’s Beach. She had a feeling that the agents would be annoyed, especially when they appeared to be trying to establish her routines and her contacts. She wouldn’t make that easy. Though she rarely went to bars, she thought it might make her look like an ordinary person, so she had her reasons. She forced herself to do her hair and make-up, including a more daring lipstick. This evening, she chose mauve, which made her more striking. Instead of her usual dark clothes, she chose something a little more flirty and fun. Deep down, she wished she could blend in with the crowd and seek out love. Cupid didn’t come calling. It was unfortunately just an agent. They found her. Of course, they did.
Wearing slacks and a green blouse, Jan sat down beside her. Ninon tensed, though wanted to smile, having her premonition proved right. Not acknowledging her, she took a swig of her beer and scanned the dance floor.
“You look like you can use a friend.”
“Let me know when one comes in.”
“Kind of harsh. But I get it. You don’t trust me,” Jan sighed, “Give me a chance. I’m willing to earn it.”
It didn’t come across as sincere. Gulping down the last of her glass, Ninon stared ahead at nothing. She had no plans on making things easy for her.
“Just so you know, stalking me kind of has the opposite effect.”
“Well, you won’t give us answers. You’re the victim of a crime, but you don’t report it. Why? Are you guiltier of something worse? What are you hiding? Who are you hiding from?”
“Wow. A friend tries to understand a friend, not judge them. You put your invisible FBI hat back on or had never taken it off.”
Jan bit her lip, changed her tactic and continued, “Tell me something. Aren’t you tired of trying to fill the void inside of you with alcohol or other self-destructive tendencies?”
“No, I know I’m still alive as long as I’m fighting myself or someone else.”
“So you are going to keep fighting me too?”
“You aren’t any different,” Ninon told her with a shrug, before rising from the stool to join a lanky man on the dance floor. Though the twenty-something guy widely grinned, the woman in boots barely even looked at him and didn’t care much for who he was. At least on the dance floor, she wouldn’t be questioned.
Jan stared at her, but Ninon closed her eyes. Dejected at her failure with reaching this woman, Jan worried that the woman in the loose floral dress was drowning further in her pain and looking to anyone to give her a moment’s respite, including that of a stranger’s fleeting attention. Maybe a profiler could help her find a way to develop a rapport. Usually victims found her to be someone who would take their side and fight for them. She provided support and took them seriously even when others did not. Her gut told her that Ninon was hiding something and she didn’t trust her.
“Do you want to try?” Jan asked Ballard through the mic, who listened from a vehicle out front.
“I don’t think I’d have any better luck. Maybe we can do the good cop, bad cop thing.”
“I was hoping to avoid that. We need to get something on her.”
“What? Kompromat? If that doesn’t work, we can throw her in the gulag.”
“Very funny. I’m not in the mood, Robert. I think we should put some pressure on her or we’ll get nowhere.”
“Scott wasn’t too keen on breaking her.”