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She laughed. “It’s not that bad.”
“It’s not that good either.”
Back in my cube, I closed my eyes. Melinda’s face reappeared, and the newscaster’s voice played over and over in my head.
Act normal, I kept telling myself. If someone was watching, I shouldn’t do anything out of the ordinary. Today was not the day to take Kirby’s advice.
* * *
After spendingthe entire morning working on a spreadsheet that should have taken me a half hour, I couldn’t take it anymore. I stood and walked to the restroom, then to the coffee room for another cup of tea, and back to my desk. All the while I looked around the office. Nothing seemed out of place. I didn’t detect anyone watching me, following me, or paying any attention at all. Only when I noticed the little black spheres at opposite corners of the room did my blood turn cold.
Any of us could be watched by the eyes behind the black plastic. It was impossible to tell which way the camera within pointed, or who was at the monitor on the other end.
As I sat, my skin started to itch. What could I do to keep from being the next victim? Or was it too late?
I pulled the note from my drawer and opened it on my lap, away from prying eyes. Whoever this was wanted me to change the entrance code on the southwest doorway.
Could it just be a prank? Or could this be a test by Protective Services to see if I was trustworthy? If I was being watched and Melinda’s killer was part of OPS, I couldn’t go to them.
Closing my eyes, I shook my head at the impossibility of my position. I didn’t know who to trust. My boss, Mr. Heiden, was a nice enough guy, but very by the book. He’d just refer the matter to OPS.
What if Melinda had taken the note to the wrong person instead of doing what it demanded and that had sealed her fate? My face could be the next one on the evening news if I made the wrong choice.
I needed to talk to someone, and the only people I could trust without reservation were my family. Unfortunately, none of them lived anywhere close. All but me and Vincent were still in California.
If I called my father, or any of my overprotective brothers, I’d be grabbed up, shoved into Daddy’s jet, and on the way back home in a matter of hours. I’d come to DC to get away from LA, and away from Daddy’s control, although I hadn’t put it that way when I talked to him. The last thing I wanted to do was give him a reason to pull me back there.
My sister, Serena, was the clear choice. She’d listen and help me puzzle through who to talk to and what precautions to take. To be safe, I couldn’t call until lunchtime when I could be out of the building.
The note went back into the drawer after I’d taken a picture of it with my phone. I would call Serena when I went out to eat, someplace I wouldn’t be overheard.
I checked the time again—a half hour to lunch.
* * *
Adam
My phone vibratedwith a text message.
HARPER: Be about ten late
Sal Harper was always late. The motto of the FBI didn’t include punctuality, he’d once joked. If it had, he’d no longer be with the Bureau.
I’d gotten stuck with the midnight watch on this stakeout, and not once in the last week had he managed to relieve me on time.
The wordrelievewas not a good one to have go through my head. I’d already filled the bottle I was peeing into in the car, and my bladder was about to burst. Leaving my post for a break at the coffee shop two blocks away was not an option. The last DC agent who’d been caught doing that was now in Anchorage. Our field office was only a few blocks from HQ, so more was always expected of us.
I started to type a text back to Harper.
ME: get here on time for a change
I deleted it without sending. He was not only senior to me, but he played weekly poker with our boss, which is why I’d gotten the overnight duty in the first place, and he got the day shift. Pissing Harper off would likely lead to even worse assignments. Shit ran downhill in the Bureau, and I wasn’t far from the bottom.
Harper finally pulled up behind me in his minivan and waved through the windshield. He’d even been assigned a minivan with enough room to stand up when he had to piss. I had to contort myself to get it in the bottle without dribbling on my pants.
I pulled out my keychain with the big C.
Dad had given it to me as soon as I was old enough to drive—a constant reminder of the one thing that mattered—C for Cartwright.
