A Perfect Wife (Blake Wilder FBI Mystery Thriller Book 2)

by Elle Gray

  This is my opportunity and I need to make the absolute most of it.

  Two

  Office of SAC Rosalinda Espinoza; Seattle Field Office

  “It’s good to have you back, Wilder.”

  Rosie is a smallish woman with tawny skin and a little more gray in her dark hair than the last time I saw her. She’s got caramel-colored eyes in a face free from any lines, though she’s pushing fifty, and has an unassuming demeanor. But I know from experience that she doesn’t miss a thing. She is one of the sharpest people I’ve ever met, and definitely not somebody you want to tangle with.

  I give her a smile. “It’s good to be back, Rosie,” I tell her. “The SAC chair looks good on you. And might I say, it’s long overdue.”

  She laughs and tries to downplay it, but I can see that it means a lot to her. After nearly single-handedly taking down a cartel kingpin and rolling up his network years ago, Rosie became one of the rising stars in the Bureau. But she stalled out here in the SFO, toiling for years as the Assistant Special Agent in Charge to former SAC Harry Potts.

  Most of us assume her trajectory slowed simply because she’s not a political animal. She doesn’t try to curry favor, nor does she ever kiss anybody’s butt. She’s blunt, direct, and always says what’s on her mind. And when she says it, she means it. That’s not a recipe for upward mobility in the Bureau. Especially as a woman, when you’re more or less expected to grovel, be thankful, and be humble at all times.

  But when I went to New York, Potts got a promotion－mostly on the back of the cases I broke and the positive news coverage it generated－and was transferred to the New York Field Office. He’s now the Assistant Director of the White Collar Crimes Unit. Not that I begrudge him that. He took a risk in letting me operate the way I did. And it paid off for the both of us. I have a shiny new title－Supervisory Special Agent, thank you very much－and now I’m running my own squad.

  And Rosalinda Espinoza, Rosie to most of us, who also rolled the dice on me, also got a promotion. She’s now the Special Agent in Charge, and she is running the Seattle Field Office. She’s an agent’s agent. She’s one of us. Potts was always a little too cerebral and administrative to ever really be a line agent or truly relate to us. But Rosie was a damn good field agent and she still carries that mentality. It’s why she can bond with us and seems to get us in ways Potts never could have.

  More than that, based on what I did here and in New York, the Bureau is assembling squads just like mine, who operate just like I do. It’s kind of flattering, really; my nerdy obsession with numbers and data is now a model for a new specialized Bureau response team.

  My understanding is that eventually, every field office around the country is going to have a squad like mine where we crunch numbers, analyze the data, and look at patterns to hopefully get ahead of some of these killers. To be honest, what I do is nothing special or all that unique. In a lot of ways, it’s profiling. Just like the BAU does. Except that in addition to behavior, we’re studying data and trends over a number of years. Though, I also like to look at the behavior of our unsubs to further bolster the profile.

  “Oh, I should probably tell you that Grant stopped me in the hall and asked to join my squad,” I tell her. “I turned him down.”

  Rosie rolls her eyes and chuckles. “Wonderful. Couldn’t you have at least told him you’d think about it? Spare me the headache of listening to him whine?”

  “I just did what I figured you’d do and was honest with him.”

  She arches an eyebrow at me. “How honest were you?”

  “Brutally.”

  She sighs but can’t keep the smile off her face. “Girl, we’ve got to teach you how to play politics.”

  “Because you do it so well,” I say and flash her a grin.

  “Yeah well, I’m different. You’re going places, kid,” she says. “Or you will be if you can control your mouth and learn to play the game.”

  I shrug. “I’m fine doing what I’m doing, Rosie. This is good work. This is important work. I’d rather do this for the rest of my life than spend my time kissing the asses of people I despise.”

  “Speaking of kissing asses, how was Potts doing in New York?”

  “I only saw him a few times, but he seemed to be in his element,” I tell her.

  “Surrounded by yes men with their lips firmly planted on his backside?”

  I nod. “Bingo.”

  She laughs for a moment but then looks at me, her expression sober. “You know, if you want to change the Bureau, you need to do it from the top.”

  My laugh is a little bitter. “I saw enough in New York to know the Bureau probably isn’t going to change. Not in our lifetimes, anyway. Maybe when we have more women in the power structure.”

  “If more women are allowed into the power structure.”

  “Exactly. I mean, look how long it took you to get to that chair. You deserved it a long time ago. But because you don’t kiss ass or play politics, they only gave it to you when they had no other choice,” I point out. “Honestly, I’m fine where I am, doing what I’m doing. I have no desire to wade into the political cesspool I’d have to get into to move up the food chain.”

  “You could do a lot of good at the top.”

  “So could you,” I reply. “But hey, I’d rather just focus on the here and now. We can do a lot of good here for a lot of people.”

  She leans back in her chair and looks at me for a long moment, the expression on her face inscrutable. She could be thinking I’m an idiot, or she could be discovering some newfound respect for me for not wanting to play the game. Or she could be thinking about what she wants for lunch for all I know. The woman has a killer poker face and is confoundingly unreadable.

  “All right,” she finally says. “Let’s get to work.”

  “Thought you’d never ask.”

  She picks up a stack of files as we both get up and I follow her out of the office and past her uptight, prissy assistant, Stephen. He glares hard at me when he thinks I’m not looking. Stephen and I have a love-hate relationship－I love to tease him, he hates me. But to be fair, he hates everybody, so it’s not just me. He is, seriously, the crustiest person I’ve ever met. It’s like he was born without a sense of humor or something.

  Rosie leads me through the warren of corridors, then to the elevator. We step inside and she hits the button for the second underground floor. I look over at her with a wry grin on my face.

  “Literally hiding us in the basement like the ugly stepchildren?” I ask.

  She laughs. “Sorry. It’s temporary until we can get you some office space above ground. It’s not a reflection on you. Promise.”

  I wave her off. “It’s not a big deal. Really,” I say. “If nothing else, having nothing around to distract us will keep the team focused. Speaking of which－”

  She grimaces, and I know I’m not going to like the next words that going to come out of her mouth.

  “We got word that because this is a pilot program－”

  “Pilot program? We ran this exact same set up in New York,” I cut her off. “We proved the viability a thousand times over.”

  “You know how the higher-ups and the bean counters are. Their sphincters pucker when we try something new and aren’t willing to invest a lot of capital until it’s proven itself,” she tells me. “They argue that in New York, you had the benefit of the field office’s resources at your disposal. They want to see if this thing has legs and can stand on its own.”

  I sigh. “It would have been nice if they’d told me that when we were putting this all together.”

  “I tried to get them to reconsider, but you know how they are,” she says.

  “Yeah, I do,” I groan. “So after they stripped the cabinets, what am I left with?”

  The elevator stops on sub-floor two and the doors slide open. We follow the corridor, which is a plain, institutional gray, then make a right when it ends in a T. About thirty yards down from the junction is a glass
door emblazoned with the Bureau’s logo. A plaque has already been mounted to the wall beside the door that reads, Criminal Data Analysis Unit.

  I take a moment to look at the plaque and think about how far I’ve come personally. To go from a fringe agent with a quirky idea about how to identify killers, to being on the verge of somewhat revolutionizing the way the Bureau does business－at least in some respects－is pretty amazing. Humbling. Exciting. Not even the change in plans and stripping my team down to nothing can put a damper on my mood. Not entirely anyway.

  The smile on my face is stretched from ear to ear when I turn to Rosie. She hands me the stack of files and I quickly rifle through them, then look up at her, pursing my lips and shaking my head, a slight tarnish on my good mood.

  “This is all I get?” I ask.

  “Afraid so.”

  “Well… at least they gave me who I asked for.”

  “I made sure of that,” she assures me. “I told them this is my field office and I make the personnel decisions around here.”

  “I appreciate you going to bat for me, Rosie.”

  She gives me a crooked smile. “I believe in you, kid. I know what you can do. And I know you’re going to knock these guys who are doubting you on their butts,” she says. “Just be prepared to not get credit for this when you succeed.”

  I smile. “Already prepared for it.”

  “Then you’re in good shape.”

  We share a laugh together. But then she looks at me for a long minute, the look on her face telling me she’s debating something. After a beat of silence, Rosie’s curiosity seems to get the better of her.

  “Not my business, but did you really have Paxton Arrington call one of his Senator buddies to help you force your way out of New York?”

  I look at her, aghast. “I most certainly did not. He did that of his own accord,” I tell her. “I guess he took my complaining about the politics there as a sign I wanted out. And so he did that without asking me first.”

  “But he was right. You wanted to come back.”

  “God, yes. I can’t tell you how much I wanted out of there.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  I nod. “Absolute political cesspool. I swear, I think some people spend more time and energy covering their backsides than they do solving crimes.”

  Rosie nods. “I hear you. Anyway, I was just curious. But I will say, you want to be careful about stuff like that. You don’t want to get a rep as somebody who plays her connections into preferred assignments,” she says.

  My face pales. “Is that what people are saying?”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t think so. I’m just giving you a heads up,” she replies. “Anyway, I have to get to a meeting, so I’ll leave you to it. If you need something else… you’re going to have to find a way to get it yourself.”

  “Thanks, Rosie,” I say and laugh.

  She hustles away, the slap of her leather shoes echoing around the empty concrete corridor. I swear this dingy underground floor reminds me of a prison. Her words about Paxton have me concerned. The last thing I want is for people to think I pull my connections to get what I want. I’ve earned everything I have. Always have and always will. That’s just who I am. The fact that this story is making the rounds bothers me. A lot.

  But I try to push it aside for now. I’m standing at the threshold of a new start for me. Literally. This is the start of a new chapter in my life and career. My stomach is bubbling with excitement.

  Reaching out, I push the door open and step into the newly christened Criminal Data Analysis Unit.

  Three

  Office of SSA Blake Wilder; CDAU, Seattle Field Office

  “The prodigal daughter has returned.”

  I look up from the files I’m looking through to see none other than Astra Russo strutting through my office door like she’s strolling down a catwalk in a Paris fashion show. She’s gorgeous, with dark hair, crystalline blue eyes, a smooth, clear complexion, and a body to absolutely die for. Somehow, even in the harsh fluorescent light down here, she still glows. She looks like she should be on a bikini photoshoot on an exotic beach somewhere instead of carrying a coffee and a briefcase down here in this drab concrete office.

  But the truth is, Astra is one of the finest agents I know. She was my first pick when I got the green light to assemble my team. She’s smart, intuitive, and a lot tougher than you’d ever think, given her lingerie model looks. She’s also been my best friend since our days at the Academy. It was hard leaving her when I transferred to New York.

  I jump out of my seat and come around the desk, pulling her into a tight embrace. We step back after a couple of moments, and I look at her, unable to keep the smile from my face.

  “It is so good to see you,” I say. “I have missed you like you wouldn’t believe.”

  She flashes me a mischievous grin. “Could have fooled me. I mean, when was the last time I heard from you?”

  “I know. And I’m sorry,” I reply. “I always meant to call, but… you know how it is. You get sucked into a case and you just lose all concept of time.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know,” she rolls her eyes, not relenting a bit. “I understand.”

  I get it. Over the year I spent in New York, we texted often enough, but phone calls were rare, and we only got to actually visit each other once. Astra did a better job of trying to reach out and stay in contact with me than I did with her. Much to my shame. It made me feel like a horrible person and an even worse friend.

  But we were both busy. There were always cases to solve and murderers to catch. I swear to God, we could probably work twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, and we’d still never run out of killers to catch. The sheer number of people out there who enjoy hurting other people is staggering and seems to never end.

  But it’s working with absolutely stellar agents like Astra that make it worthwhile.

  “You going to make me feel bad about it for the rest of my life?” I ask.

  She screws up her face and looks at me. “I might. I’m going to have to let you know about that.”

  “Good to know,” I reply with a laugh.

  I motion to the chair in front of my desk and Astra sits down, then I retake my seat. It feels strange to be here in this capacity, running my own unit. But being with Astra again makes it feel like home.

  “Supervisory Special Agent Wilder, now,” she says.

  “What’s what my business card says.”

  She grins. “Congratulations, Blake. I’m really proud of you.”

  “Thank you, Astra. That means a lot.”

  She leans back in her chair and looks around the office pointedly. “They sure didn’t break the bank setting up our new digs though, did they?”

  “Because they’re not convinced that we’re going to be successful.”

  Her eyes widen and her mouth falls open. “You’re kidding me,” she says. “After everything you did here and in New York, they’re still not convinced?”

  “You know how much the Bureau loves change,” I reply with a shrug. “But the best part is, they didn’t allocate enough funding to fully staff us.”

  “Unbelievable. So, they want you to prove yourself,” she starts. “And then they kneecap you from the start, thus ensure you won’t be able to. That’s fantastic. Makes a lot of sense.”

  I shrug. “I’ve got faith that we’ll overcome it. I think we’ll be a big success,” I tell her. “I mean, look at what we did when it was just you and me.”

  She smiles, an expression of nostalgia on her face. “Oh yeah, the good ol’ days,” she says, but then her smile fades. “I still don’t think it’s cool to put all these eyes on us, then handicap us from the jump.”

  “Yeah, me either. But there’s nothing we can do except make the best of it. No sense in whining about it.”

  “Right. So let’s do what we do,” she chirps brightly. “So who else did they deign to give you to fill out the team?”

  “They’ve
given us Special Agent Maureen Weissman from the white collar unit and Tech Analyst Rick Scanlon,” I say. “You know either of them?”

  “I know Mo a little bit. She’s good. Former Seattle PD. From what I’ve seen, she’s smart, thorough, pays attention to detail. But she’s not exactly the most personable person around. She’s all business,” she says. “I don’t know Rick at all. I didn’t spend much time around the geeks.”

  “All business is good. Her jacket’s pretty impressive, and my understanding is that she has a natural affinity for data analysis,” I say. “And Rosie vouches for Rick, so I’m sure he’s good.”

  Astra nods. “So who else do we have?”

  I look at her, a sly grin on my face. “That’s it. We are a team of four.”

  She grins ruefully. “Wow. You weren’t kidding about them cutting your funding to the bone. Small but mighty, I guess.”

  I shake my head. “Right?”

  I get up from my desk and Astra follows suit, and I lead her out into our bullpen. It’s fully set up to equip the team of ten I had initially requested: seven desks for agents, three for tech analysts. They’re all fully wired and ready to go. So maybe one day, we’ll be able to fill them all out. The thought once again reminds me of the eyes on us and the necessity to succeed.

  The room is a large rectangle, the walls painted a light shade of blue, the carpet a darker shade. Along the wall directly across from the wall of windows that make up my office is a row of four large flatscreen monitors. Above those are clocks, all set to different time zones in different countries. It’s a touch I’ve never understood the need to have. It’s not like I’m ever going to need to know what time it is in London. And if I do, I can look it up on my phone. But whatever.

  The three tech stations are set up in a cluster to the left side of the room, furthest from the door. The other seven desks are set up in two rows in front of the monitors, the idea being they can all see what the techs put up on the monitors. It’s a sleek, open floor plan that allows us to all communicate and share information quickly. I like it.