Agent Michelson said. “Read a book.”Marjorie tossed a nasty look in the female FBI agent’s direction and kept pacing. In forty- eight hours she had to testify against the one man she knew wanted to kill her. Even thinking about it had her head pounding, her pulse racing. She felt as if she’d drunk three gallons of coffee.“I’ve read everything you have here. I don’t think I can handle reading another Field and Stream, thanks. I’m not allowed to pick anything to watch,” she said, glancing pointedly at the other FBI agent, John Brown. He’d deemed himself king of the remote the moment they’d gotten there.Michelson smiled. Marjorie had actually liked the FBI agent. She was the first woman agent she’d dealt with after going into hiding. Just over forty, Michelson had grown up in the Bronx from the sound of her accent. It was about the only thing they had in common. Michelson wore her hair super short, was in desperate need of an eyebrow plucking, and wore some ugly- ass clothes— not to mention the fugly shoes.
