But my relief was soon replaced with an even worse feeling – yeah, maybe Caleb didn’t want to hurt me, but he was with the FBI? And he was investigating Colt’s club? I opened my mouth to ask Caleb what the hell he was talking about, but then I immediately clamped it shut. If there was one thing I’d learned while navigating my way through the tangled system of DCF and foster care, it was that the less you said, the better off you were. “Olivia,” Caleb said, and he was holding his badge out toward me, wanting me to look at it, wanting to prove he was who he said he was. I stared down at it, my heart pounding. Federal Bureau Of Investigation it said, the words carved ominously into the metal. “I just want to talk.” “Right.” No one ever just wanted to talk. When someone said that, what they really meant was that they just wanted information or to catch you in a lie. Caleb straightened up and peered into the restaurant.
