by G. K. Parks
“Fine. I’ll write up the evaluation and let Director Kendall make the call. Then we’ll see what Lucca wants to do.” He jerked his head toward the office door, and I pulled it open. “Hey, Parker, don’t mention any of this to him.”
“My lips are sealed.”
Returning to my desk, I tackled the stack of files for the next several hours, casting furtive glances toward Lucca every once in a while. Granted, losing a partner to a transfer was much better than permanently losing one. I’d experienced that firsthand with the only other man with whom I’d worked, Michael Carver. His death had been devastating. It was the reason I originally left the OIO, how I ended up spending a couple of years in the private sector, and what led me to James Martin. Now that I was receiving a government paycheck again, it seemed that what remained of my civilian life was quickly crumbling away. I always feared it was one or the other, and so far, I hadn’t been proven wrong.
From an entirely selfish standpoint, I had no idea what would become of me if Lucca was reassigned. Perhaps I’d be shifted to another branch or office, or I’d be stuck as the OIO secretary. After everything I’d seen and done, being behind a desk might be the safest thing for everyone, including me.
“What?” Lucca asked, noticing my lingering gaze. “Did I spill teriyaki sauce on my tie?”
“No, I was just thinking about the DEA request.”
“What brilliant fictional fabrication have you come up with this time?”
“They screwed up a bust and are hoping to cover their asses by passing the buck to us and saying we provided them with bogus intel.”
“It could happen. Let’s be honest, interagency politics always work that way.” Having completed the final review, Lucca closed the folder and yawned. “If they call back, tell them to fuck off. I’m going home.” He slipped on his jacket and made sure his computer was powered down. “You should do the same. We can at least get four or five hours of sleep before we start this entire process over again.”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll see you later.”
After he was gone, I leaned back in my chair and looked around the nearly empty office. Mark’s light was on, and two other agents were working on something in the conference room. The forensic experts and tech department were waiting for the results of the raid, but it was quiet. Too quiet.
Opening my bottom drawer, I pulled out a case that I’d been researching privately. It was a murder investigation from across the pond, but I was too scatterbrained to concentrate on chasing down what continued to be unsubstantiated leads and dead ends. I wanted an escape from my internal torment, not a further infliction of additional anguish.
With nothing else to do, I went down a few floors to the gym, changed in the locker room, and went for a long run. By the time I was showered and back in regulation attire, it was six a.m. Obviously, there was no reason to leave now.
Brewing a pot of coffee, I filled two mugs and went to Mark’s office. He never went home, but he was taking a catnap on the sofa. Lucky bastard. I left the mug on his desk and returned to mine. Frankly, I was tired and would have loved to get some sleep, but I didn’t want to go home. It reminded me of Martin and the distance between us. Plus, I’d probably have to wash the sheets to get the smell of his cologne out of them. I used to find that comforting; now it was just a reminder of our dying relationship. Something had to change. Martin had a right to be resentful and keep me at arm’s length, but this couldn’t go on forever. At some point, he’d have to forgive me or let me go. But until he came to a decision, I was determined to find some way to deal with it, like hiding out at work all night.
Using the time difference to my advantage, I made a few overseas phone calls, hoping to find some intel on that murder case to share with Julian Mercer, the man to which I owed a substantial debt. After being told that I would get a call back, I moved on to other ways to waste the early morning hours.
I started my fifty-seventh game of Sudoku when Mark stepped out of his office. He grunted good morning to a few early birds that had just arrived and stumbled to my desk. Pulling a chair over, he sat down with his now cold cup of coffee.
“Did you leave this for me?” he asked.
I looked up from my game, nodding. “No wonder your clothes always look wrinkled. Didn’t you tell me the federal government doesn’t like it when we sleep on the job?”
“It’s too early for this.” He took a long sip. “You never went home last night.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes, I did, but Lucca phoned and said you wanted me back.” I snorted. “So like an obedient dog, I came running when you called.” I glanced at him. “You never bothered to tell me to go home for the night, so I wasn’t sure if I should.”
“Definitely too early,” he muttered. Picking up my empty mug, he topped his off and refilled mine. Then he scooted the chair closer to see what I was doing. “You don’t get paid to play computer games.”
“My reports are finished. Analysis complete. No old cases left to review, at least not that I’ve been handed. DEA didn’t give us enough information to waste my time running through Wilde and every person he’s ever met, so this seemed like a good way to keep my mind active until something pressing crosses my desk.”
“And it never occurred to you to pick a random cold case and solve it?”
“That would have involved choosing a cold case. I thought about going with the whole JFK thing since I’m fairly certain Oswald wasn’t working alone, but the CIA would probably have me disappeared if I actually solved it. So filling in empty squares with numbers seemed much safer.”
“You should have gone home when Lucca did.”
I shrugged. “Martin won’t let me go home, but that’s not your problem.” Picking up the mug, I took a sip. Clearing my throat, I clicked off the game. “So what’s on the agenda today, boss?”
“You tell me.”
“Usual morning memos don’t have us flagging down any new or immediate threats. Lucca and I finished reviewing the last batch of potentially compromised FBI cases. The prosecutor’s office hasn’t sent over anything else to peruse. So that pretty much clears my day. As you know, I haven’t done anything but analysis lately, so I don’t have anywhere to be. Humdrum. That’s my goal, right?”
“Why don’t you get out of here? You sound like you’re about to crack.”
“No. This is me happy. This is me being safe and staying out of trouble.”
“This is you bored out of your mind which is never safe for anyone.” He snorted. “And you are far from happy. How much of this is about Marty, and how much is about what’s been going on around here?”
“Honestly, I can’t separate the two, and I can’t talk to you about it for obvious reasons.”
“So you’re planning on spending the day working on number puzzles?”
“Actually, I’m waiting to receive a file from New Scotland Yard. I promised an acquaintance that I’d look into a homicide from a few years ago. The police didn’t perform their due diligence, so I want to see if there’s anything I can do from here.”
“New Scotland Yard? Where the hell did this murder take place?”
“England.”
Mark nodded. “Makes sense on account of your recent trip.” He gave me a look. “Fine, but don’t piss anyone off. We have field agents and overseas operations that require international cooperation and assistance.” He picked up his mug and pushed the chair back to its former location. “When you get bored with that, see if there’s any work you can do on the raid from last night.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And, Parker, don’t get too comfortable. Obviously, your talents are being wasted inside the office. I’ve heard whispers of several ops in the works. You’ll be out there sooner than you like, so you might want to dust off those cobwebs.”
“I’ll get on that.” I pantomimed writing myself a note.
He threw another glance over his shoulder. “If they don’t want your help cataloging anything from last nigh
t, call it quits early today. Being inside this building for long periods of time never agrees with you.”
“Don’t I know it.”
Pressing my palms into my eyes, I leaned back in the chair and inhaled deeply. After a nice long stretch, I checked my e-mail a final time and surveyed the room. The nearby desks and offices were once again becoming populated. Phones were ringing. The clickety-clack of typing turned into white noise, and I realized, at that moment, just how numb I was.
Numb was better than how I typically felt while inside the federal building, but it was an unfamiliar sensation. Nothing was wrong exactly, but something wasn’t right. Lucca slipped past my desk, taking a seat behind his and powering on his computer. He mumbled good morning, but he was already buried in catching up with the day’s reports.
Without saying a word, I went into the conference room to speak to the agents assessing the evidence recovered from the raid. They appeared to have a handle on things, so I returned to my desk. Lucca was on the phone, and I couldn’t help but wonder what he was researching.
“Who was that?” I asked as soon as he placed the receiver down.
“Agent Decker,” he practically rolled his eyes, “the DEA agent that requested additional intel on Timothy Wilde.”
“Right.” I nodded, hoping he’d get to the heart of the matter.
“Apparently, he didn’t believe the intel I passed along was particularly helpful and decided to call personally to tell me that.” Lucca sneered at the phone. “You’d think the DEA would have better things to do.”
“I guess their jobs are just as boring as ours.”
“Still no active assignments?”
“No. Jablonsky told me I could go home. It really doesn’t pay to get ahead on work.”
Turning, he studied me for a long moment. “You haven’t slept yet. Did you stay here all night?”
I shrugged.
“Is everything okay?” Lucca had an annoying habit of showing genuine concern at the oddest of times.
“Fantastic.”
“You’re lying. Are you having trouble sleeping again?”
“God,” I huffed, slamming my palms on the desk louder than I intended, “not everything is post-traumatic stress.” Glancing around the room, I wondered if anyone heard me, and then I realized that I didn’t even care. “Dammit.” I squeezed the bridge of my nose. “I’m just off my game right now. If you must know, my boyfriend kicked me out of his house.”
“I thought you had your own apartment.”
“I do.”
Lucca thought for a moment, deciding not to ask any more questions. “I’m sorry.”
“What? No quip like ‘why’d it take him so long to do that’ or ‘who in their right mind would ever be with you?’ Nothing?”
“No.” He swallowed. “The guy’s an idiot. Do you want me to knock some sense into him? In case you don’t remember, I do know where he works.” He smiled. “And if I forget, his name’s on the building, right?”
“That won’t be necessary.” I smiled. “Thanks though.”
“Sure, no problem.”
“Can you do me one favor?”
“Damn, I walked right into that. What do you want?”
“I’m waiting for a few files to come in. If you happen to see them, can you put them in my desk drawer?”
He nodded. “Where are you going?”
“Home.”
Three
The rest of the week went by incredibly slowly. Slow was good. It meant that lives weren’t being jeopardized and the status quo was being maintained. For shits and giggles, Mark tasked me with dissecting everything I could find on Timothy Wilde. The DEA had issued a formal request for our assistance, and whatever intel I could piece together would be used to brief whoever was loaned to assist on the deep cover assignment.
Typically, one of the analysts would do this, but I had some free time. And I’d made it known long ago that I had a penchant for finding tidbits of valuable information that were occasionally overlooked. I always imagined it was because of my time in the field, but maybe every single person in the office possessed the same ability. After all, we’d been trained the same. Therefore, we should have the same skill set. We were all just interchangeable cogs in the machine.
Glancing down at the time, I decided to take a break from mapping Wilde’s family tree and residential history. I’d done nothing but live and breathe Timothy Wilde for the last three days. At this rate, I probably knew him better than his followers or whatever they were calling themselves. If this kept up, in another few days, I might be ready to drink the Kool-Aid just to put an end to the misery.
The information from New Scotland Yard proved just as useless as everything else I’d gotten on the cold case, and I slammed the drawer closed. Lucca chuckled, and I turned to him with a glare. He pretended not to notice, but the smile remained on his face.
“What?” I asked.
“You’ve done the exact same thing every single day. And to think, there was a time when I thought you were the most unpredictable agent I’d ever met.” He shook his head, continuing to smile. “I might actually miss this little comedy routine.”
“Why?” I stopped what I was doing, my focus entirely on him. “Am I going somewhere?”
“No.” The smile fell from his face. “I am.”
“You’ve been recalled?”
He nodded. “This was just a temporary assignment to clean house. My job here is done.”
“When are you leaving?”
“In a few days.”
“You must be happy.” I brushed the hair out of my face for something to do.
“Eh, not particularly. My wife likes her job. She found a playgroup for our daughter. We were going to start looking at preschools in the area in a few months, but it’s cool. We knew this would probably be temporary. Plus, now I get to live close to my in-laws again. Yay.” The sarcasm was undeniable.
I snorted. “Did you talk to Jablonsky? Perhaps he could pull some strings.”
Lucca shook his head. “He tried, even Director Kendall tried, but my reassignment came from our boss’s boss’s boss. It’s no biggie.” He narrowed his eyes. “Shouldn’t you be over the moon elated by the news?” The smile returned. “You actually like me. Damn, wonders never cease to amaze.”
“I don’t like you. I’m thrilled that no one will be around to pester me or remind me of some antiquated regulation. Plus, you drive like a geriatric.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know, grandma. Shouldn’t you be smart enough to figure it out?”
He laughed. “It’s okay. I understand. The bitchiness is to mask the pain. Do you need a hug?”
“Don’t even.” I pointed an accusing finger in his face. “That is an inappropriate sexual advance. Just for the hell of it, I should report you.” Getting up from my desk, I went down the hall to Jablonsky’s office. Without knocking, I entered to find him reading a report. He looked up, and I glared at him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Eddie wanted to tell you himself.”
“He doesn’t want to go.”
“I know.” Mark licked his lips. “The orders came from above my pay grade. They need him back in D.C. to conduct some kind of oversight analysis. That’s all I know. Kendall seems concerned about something. I imagine this links back to our office being compromised, but there’s no way of knowing for certain.”
“Great. This really is the gift that just keeps on giving.” I bit my bottom lip, temporarily lost in thought. “Any idea what the powers that be plan on doing with yours truly?”
“As far as I can tell, you’re still my problem.” He winked. “So do you have any progress to report on the Wilde expedition?”
“How long did it take you to come up with that?”
“Probably longer than it should have.” He folded his hands over his gut and leaned back in his chair, waiting for my response.
“Wilde grew up in the system, going from f
oster home to foster home. No juvie record. After he turned eighteen, he fell off the radar for a couple of years. Surfaced at age twenty-three when he was picked up for possession with intent to distribute. At twenty-five, he was arrested for sexual assault. The case fell apart, as so many of them do. It turned into a he said, she said with no definitive evidence. He stayed clean for the next ten years, or he got smart.”
“Maybe he was just lucky.”
“Probably. He has no tax records during that time. No employment history. He lived in halfway houses and homeless shelters, at least from what I’ve gathered. It’s hard to follow his whereabouts without a money trail.”
“Have you tried phone records?”
“Either he never had a phone, or he used burners and payphones. This guy lived on the fringes of society. Shit, he might be one of the few who actually managed to stay off the grid.”
“Until now.”
“Well, three years ago. He reappeared. Suddenly, he had a permanent address, a phone, utilities, credit cards, the whole nine. I’m trying to figure out where he got the money. It must have been liquid. He purchased the land that now houses his co-op with cash.”
“I’m guessing he didn’t win the lottery.”
“There would be a record of that, and that would be too easy. I’ve been tracing his roots, hoping that there’s a rich dead relative somewhere, but honestly, we know the money came from some sort of illegal activity. Knowing the DEA’s involved, it has to be drugs.”
“But you’re trying not to let that information cloud your judgment,” Mark said knowingly.
“Right.”
“Why don’t you ever do things the easy way? Life doesn’t have to be as hard as you make it.”
“I imagine Martin would agree with you.” Sighing, I turned back toward the door. “Are we throwing Lucca a going away party?”
“Of course.”
“At the usual place?”
“Yep.”
“Okay.”
“Alex,” Mark called, halting my departure, “are you okay? I know it’s different, but he’s still your partner.”
