by Devyn Quinn
Charlie Grayson clapped her on the shoulder. “You did the right thing. You are one cool chick.” He pointed to his partner. “Now Mitch here, he’d have screamed like a little girl. God forbid some sexual predator got hold of his precious virgin ass.”
Sitting on the other side of the narrow table, Mitch Reeves tossed his middle finger. “Fuck you, Grayson. You’ve been trying to get in my pants since we partnered. That ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy is totally bogus.”
Grayson flicked his butt toward his partner. “No, it just covers perverts like you.” He pretended to think a moment. “Maybe I should tell them about the stakeout of that gunrunner’s farm….”
A service weapon was drawn, safety flicked off. “If you say one Goddamn word, Charlie, I swear to God, I’ll blow you away.” Reeve’s eyes were crazed, almost fanatically so. “I’ll fucking sit in prison, man.”
Charlie Grayson raised his arms in surrender. “Chill, dude. Chill. I’ll never tell.”
The gun was put away. “I’m warning you, asshole.”
Charlie Grayson flicked a shit-eating grin. “I want your house, your car, and your wife in return for my silence.”
A set of keys flipped across the table. “The tank’s almost empty, so fill it up on the way home, please. And good luck with getting the fat bitch off the couch.”
Grayson considered the keys. “I’m a fag, remember?” He tossed the keys back. “And I’ve seen your wife. No wonder you prefer sheep.”
The two agents collapsed into snickers and giggles. Charlie Grayson wasn’t gay and Mitch Reeve, as far as anyone knew, didn’t screw farm animals. Partnered long enough to practically be Siamese twins, they loved nothing better than to keep the jokes flying.
Callie rolled her eyes and blew out an exasperated breath. If the taxpayers who signed their paychecks saw them in action, Grayson and Reeve would be fired as idiots.
Roger Reinke cleared his throat in a severe manner, leaving no room for argument or further high jinks. A certain amount of joking was necessary to keep the pressure down. However, enough was enough. His frown was deadly, silencing the guilty. “Up the hall we have a dead body, yet another victim of a man we can’t seem to lay our hands on. I am sure that poor girl’s family wouldn’t find your jokes hilarious. Put a cap on it. We have work to do.”
Grayson and Reeve sobered.
Roger nodded approval. “Now, back to Agent Whitten.” He addressed Callie directly. “You said you believed Drake might try to use you as an alibi. How long, exactly, was he with you?”
As if she hadn’t given this answer already. “An hour.” She paused. “Maybe a little more. I can’t really remember.”
A hint of irritation drew down the corners of Faber’s mouth. A ridge of muscle tightened in his jaw. “You can’t remember?” He spoke precisely, watching her in a way that scraped along her exposed nerves. Focused gray eyes never wavered. He watched her like a hawk, ready to swoop in and snatch its prey.
Callie rubbed her eyes with a trembling hand. Her head hurt, her body burned and she didn’t want to tell the whole truth. “With all due respect, sir, I was tired. It was a long night. I fell asleep.”
Samuel Faber sent her a look that nailed her protests into the ground. “Ah. I see.” A smirk played around the corners of his mouth. “Before Drake left, or after?”
That one caught her by the short hairs. Shit. Must he keep circling back to what she and Drake had done? In a roundabout way, she’d already revealed all she cared to. “After, sir.” Her first lie. So far she’d managed to wriggle around admitting she’d slept with Drake. The fire under the frying pan was getting hotter. Her ass was starting to sizzle.
“I see.”
No, you don’t. The throbbing building behind her eyes threatened to knock her eyeballs out of her skull. She pressed a hand to her forehead. Mistake. Anyone able to read body language could tell she was lying.
Realizing her error, Callie let her hand drop. The pain receded, but the slivers stabbing her psyche did not. Heaven help her, she was about to have a nervous breakdown. At the critical moment something she’d misidentified as desire had turned her into a liar. She neither liked the bitter feeling in the pit of her soul, nor the bile rising in the back of her throat.
Faber leaned back in his chair. Lacing his fingers together, he studied her carefully. “Now, when Drake was in your apartment, what exactly did you do?”
Hearing his question, Callie suddenly lost her breath. The room had fallen deathly silent. A painful sensation began to work its way up her spine. Traveling her shoulders, it snaked through the back of her neck and straight into her skull. She felt the air around her shift, the pressure on her lungs almost robbing her of breath. “I offered him a cup of coffee and we talked.”
“About?”
“About the same thing I told you last time.” A hint of exasperation colored her tone. “He wanted to know if I was single, had a boyfriend, all the things a man tries to find out about a woman he wants to fuck.”
Faber didn’t blink. “And did he?”
She didn’t flinch. “Did he what?”
“Did you, Agent Whitten, have sex with the suspect?” Faber asked.
Callie met Faber’s gaze with her own wary one. He looked at her like he knew she’d committed the unforgivable sin. A prickle of fear needled under her skin as she turned her answer over in her mind, examining it from every angle, dissecting, poking, and probing. Faber, she felt, was going to hammer away at the point until he got the answer he seemed to want. Down to the wire, concealing her actions from a superior to shield a criminal would be a stupid move. There was little time to debate her answer.
She lied.
“No. I did not.” In the back of her mind, she wished another female agent had drawn this one. Her attraction to Drake wasn’t good at all. In a room full of her peers, she’d just perjured herself in the investigation of a federal case. If asked the same question by a grand jury, the consequences of her falsehood would probably inflict more than a guilty conscience.
As it was, her lie was threatening to eat through her guts. She considered excusing herself, asking to use the ladies’ room. No, if she went she’d be sick. Totally wiped out, she hung onto her composure by the thinnest of threads.
One bound to snap at any moment.
Faber folded his arms across his chest. “Good. You know, that would have been a violation of bureau policy.”
Callie drew a deep breath, trying to organize her thoughts. She felt nauseated. “Yes, sir.” Her throat worked painfully. “I am aware of that.”
Roger Reinke leaned forward. “So what’s our next move?”
Faber shifted his gaze to his second in command. “We’ve been working this case how long, Roger?”
“Almost a year, sir. A lot of time, money, and manpower have gone into bringing Drake and his people in. We have five known civilian victims, and we’ve lost two agents.”
Faber frowned. “There’s no doubt in my mind we need to catch Drake. “However it’s clear that our methods to this point haven’t proved successful. We’re going to have to rethink the mousetrap.”
“We’re open to suggestions,” Reinke said.
Faber thought a moment. “So far as I have ascertained, Agent Whitten is the one who’s gotten closest to Drake. I think we should encourage this connection.” His unblinking gaze settled on Callie. “I am going to assume you were given no way to contact this man, that the meeting was entirely of his time and choosing.”
Callie wiggled a little. “He seems to be working on his own timetable, sir.”
Faber continued. “You stated earlier you were somewhat intimate with Drake. Did you find this disagreeable?”
The men around her had fallen deathly silent. Surely Faber wasn’t going to suggest…No! It seemed too outrageous that he’d even consider the idea.
She decided to hedge. “Considering I was faced with a man known to be dangerous, I found myself a bit uncomfortable in his company.”
&nbs
p; “Yet you were able to make small talk, and share in some level of intimacy?” Faber asked.
Callie nodded.
“Please speak up for the tape recorder, Agent Whitten.”
She cleared her throat. “During the time we spent together, the suspect conducted himself in a pleasant and appealing manner. As a woman, I found him attractive in a curious sort of way.”
Roger Reinke’s face brewed a sudden thundercloud of jealousy. By the look on his face he clearly wasn’t happy with the direction Faber’s line of questioning was taking.
Callie gave a quick shake of her head. No, not now. He quelled his anger before the rest of the agents noticed it.
Faber’s thick fingers tapped the tabletop. “Good. Then you had no objection becoming intimate with him?”
Callie’s cheeks heated more. She inhaled a breath. “No, sir. I had no objection when he kissed me.” She didn’t elaborate on what else they’d done.
Samuel Faber leaned forward in his chair, pinning her down under his heavy gaze. “I’m going to ask you a question, Agent Whitten.”
Tingling anticipation tightened Callie’s chest. She hadn’t meant to get in this deep. Yet with one indiscretion she’d put herself in a situation she couldn’t back out of. She certainly couldn’t argue unfamiliarity with illicit sex. “Go ahead, sir.”
Faber went on. “Before you answer, please think about it. This investigation is at a point where we can’t afford to make any mistakes. What I am going to ask of you will require something that will take you above and beyond the call of duty.”
Callie’s hands clenched into tight balls in her lap. “I understand.”
Faber rubbed one droopy cheek, considering his next words. “Good. Because as of this hour I am giving you sanctioned clearance to pursue a sexual relationship with Iollan Drake.”
Profound disbelief caused all male jaws to drop. Silence followed, as if everyone in the room had ceased to breathe. The lull lasted only a second, then the conference room exploded into a series of protests.
“Sir, I must remind you that an agent having sex with a suspect to gain information toward prosecution is a gray area where the law is concerned,” Roger Reinke pointed out.
“The bureau has never exactly enforced the rule against exploiting sex in an investigation,” Faber countered. He glanced over the rim of his glasses to emphasize his next words. “And as far as I know, it isn’t illegal for two consenting adults to have relations.”
Reinke’s brow furrowed. “This one’s tricky, sir, as we’re dealing with a man who acquires and manipulates females for sexual purposes.”
Faber spread his hands. “Seems a little hypocritical to balk, Roger. What is she supposed to do? Play patty-cake with him? If Drake thinks she’s someone he can manipulate, he’ll take her. Once we know his base of operations, we can move in and shut him down. Until we have that location, we’re dead in the water.”
Charlie Grayson broke in. “If the agent agrees, I say it’s worth the risk.”
Callie wasn’t sure whether to hug the man or slap him. “I’m willing to do this.”
“We’ve lost Kelso and Parker already,” Reeve reminded, shaking his head. “A third agent would be unconscionable.”
“I second that,” Reinke said. “Putting a female agent directly in the line of fire is irresponsible.”
The argument consumed fifteen minutes, with the pros and cons all listed and checked off one by one. Everyone was clearly tired and frustrated with the progress of the investigation, or lack thereof. A break was vital and needed. Soon.
Faber listened to both sides, then rapped the table with his knuckles. “Don’t think I haven’t considered all those options. I’m also considering the fact Agent Whitten is the only—and I repeat, the only—operative who has gotten one-on-one with Drake. The rest of you have seen him, tailed him, and lost him time and time again. If you’ve been made as the heat, he’ll continue to give you guys the slip. As she is new to the investigation, I believe Agent Whitten is the best one to continue contact.”
“I’ll accept that,” Roger Reinke said. “As long as my objection to the plan is recognized and documented.”
“So noted,” Faber said toward the small recorder taping the entire meeting. He turned back to Callie. “It’s going to be your call, Whitten. Do you think you can do this if we send you in deeper? I won’t lie to you, and you obviously know the risks.”
The fact that she was being sanctioned to do what she’d already done immediately helped clear Callie’s conscience. It also took her butt out of a sling.
“I can handle this,” she assured them.
8
Donna’s Diner looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since the day it opened, at least thirty years ago, maybe more. More antiquated than antique, it was little more than a hole-in-the-wall, somehow surviving on an avenue ending in a cul-de-sac.
At Donna’s, none of the questionable clientele had either eyes or ears. In such an area it was better to be blind and dumb. At least half the people had outstanding warrants on their heads. Not even free donuts enticed law enforcement to step through the door.
Blinds covered the front windows, darkening the booths inside. Easy to disappear, take a load off. Eat some bad food, drink coffee stout enough to curl hair. More than that, Donna’s was a free zone. Come inside and the world outside didn’t dare intrude.
Usually.
Callie sat in the rear of the diner, back to the wall so the entrance would always be in plain view. Hands curled around a hot cup of coffee, she waited for the meal she’d just ordered from the waitress. A dive stinking of lard and backed-up sewer, it was not the best place in town to get decent food. Operating twenty-four hours a day, the place mostly served the drug dealers, pimps, and hookers working the north side strip. Shootings were as common as the roaches skittering across the linoleum.
She sipped. The chipped cup wasn’t exactly clean, but the coffee was strong and hot. With enough cream and sugar added it even tasted good. At half past four in the afternoon, if she didn’t get some food in her soon, she’d faint from hunger.
Her gaze traveled to the front of the diner. The door opened. A man came in.
Callie winced, sliding down on the torn vinyl seat. She closed her eyes, muttering a silent curse. Shit. What was he doing here? She’d hoped she’d given Roger the dodge after the meeting. She didn’t want to see him, didn’t want to talk to him right now.
Go away, Roger.
He didn’t.
Picking her out of the half-empty diner, he walked up to her table. “I need to talk to you.”
A frown wrinkled her forehead, punctuating the headache that had been building behind her eyes for the last hour. Sharp suit and with an air of getting down to brass tacks, he was clearly out of his element, standing out like a sore thumb among the riffraff. He didn’t fit in; he didn’t want to.
“No, you don’t.”
Ignoring her, he slid into the seat across the table. He was breaking the rules tracking her down in public. If he wanted to trash his career and hers, he was getting off to a fine start. If word of their meeting got around, they would both be sunk with a capital S.
Roger didn’t look happy. “Don’t do it,” he said flatly.
She tensed. “What?”
His burning gaze settled on her face. “Don’t play dumb, Caroline,” he said, using her real name. “I want you to go to Faber and tell him you changed your mind.”
Callie bristled at the possessive tone in his voice. “Why should I do that?” she returned coolly. “It could be the break we’ve been waiting for.”
Roger shook his head, swearing lightly under his breath. “You’ve only been on this case a couple of weeks. You don’t know all the details. Drake’s dangerous.”
The look she gave him showed no amusement.
He smiled thinly. “I’m not calling you a fool, but you don’t have to be so blindly stupid either. I’m not willing to let you put yourself in danger just
because you think you need to prove yourself.”
Anger knotted through her. She felt a certain hollowness in her gut that had nothing to do with hunger and everything to do with resentment. “Your concern for my safety is touching, but I was under the impression Faber put me on this case because I have the ability to do the job.”
He ignored her. “If you’re doing this to get even with me, fine. We’re even.”
Callie leaned into the table, bridging the gap between them. There were a lot of ears in this place. Anyone could hear anything. “This isn’t about you, or whatever we might have been in past times, Roger. I’m a federal agent, just like you. Trained to do whatever it takes to do my job.”
Gaze colliding with hers, he smiled thinly. His eyes narrowed, skimming over her in blatant disapproval. “Spreading your legs for Drake isn’t the way to do your job,” he hissed in an accusatory tone.
His words hit like a slap, the force literally taking her breath away. Insides going cold, Callie swallowed against the wave of mortification rising in her gut. She gave herself a mental shake, forcing herself not to take it personally.
Dangerously close to losing her temper, Callie reminded herself that he’d worked the case a lot longer than she had. She’d gotten closer to Drake in three short weeks than he had in months. She couldn’t afford to make any mistakes now.
Seething, she propped her elbow on the table. He’s just being a prick. If he thought he was going to get her tossed, he had another think coming. Let him needle. She was a big girl. She’d survive.
“That was low,” she said quietly. “I didn’t deserve that at all.” Emotion tightening her throat, frustration lent a bite to her voice.
Roger started to say something, but the waitress interrupted. Callie’s order had arrived, giving a welcome break to the tension, almost a physical barrier between them. The waitress deposited a greasy cheeseburger and greasier fries on the table in front of her. “Here you go. Need anything else?”
Sitting like a stone, Callie shook her head. “The food looks fine.” It didn’t, but she wasn’t about to argue. She was so damn hungry she’d eat a shoe.
