by Skye Warren
Creepy men in white vans took one look at the jaded knowledge in my eyes and kept on driving. They knew there was no innocence left to corrupt—just a hollowed out space where my soul should have been.
I didn’t want those men to hurt me because I liked pain. I wanted them to hurt me because I knew I deserved it all along. I’d escaped it through a twist of fate. I’d let the hurt fall to other more hopeful children. And for that, I would always deserve to be punished.
Hennessey was leaning against his car when I pulled up. Morning light glinted off his smooth jaw. He seemed somehow younger than before. He looked bright and put together, as if yesterday’s stress and upheaval had meant nothing to him. Threatening a child molester with death was like fetching coffee for him. Implying he might let his rookie partner get raped was like filing a paper. Part of the job, easy peasy.
He nodded toward the passenger side. “Get in, rookie.”
“Where are we going?”
“To catch a bad guy. Where else?”
His voice was light, and I took that airiness into myself. I made it mine. Let this be a joke. At least then I could be in on it. A coping mechanism, the textbook would say. Life was one big coping mechanism, one more beat passing without desperation, another moment without fear. I wasn’t afraid of a joke.
We didn’t go back to the prison. Instead, we went to the permitting center and rode a creaky elevator to the fifth floor. A large dusty room contained architectural plans and permits for the entire city, in no sort of order that made sense to me. There were gaps, too, I learned. With a building changing from one survey to the next without any official construction permit being filed. The thin fading carbon copies chronicled the growth of a metropolis, only hinting at the people who lived within it.
And I found that looking for a building near the docks shaped like an M was fucking hard. We found a seemingly endless amount of possibilities, and we set each one aside so we could check into its current usage and ownership. And the worst part was knowing we could miss it in this haphazard pile. The proverbial M-shaped needle in the biggest haystack in Texas. For all the fancy gadgetry we oohed and ahhed over in the academy, actual detective work was a backward business. We peered into the past, hoping it would help. But history held on to its secrets like a forest at night, shrouded in moonlight and steeped in folklore. There was magic in these dusty volumes, but all we could see were shadows.
We walked over to a diner for lunch, where I ordered a salad and two eggs sunny side up. Hennessey ordered a burger loaded with cheese and bacon, fries, and a milkshake. I raised my eyebrows as the waitress left us.
Hennessey grinned, almost boyish. “Sorry, I don’t share. You’ll have to get your own if you get tired of rabbit food.”
I snorted. “My arteries will thank me later.”
“You’re not into living dangerously?”
“I’m an FBI agent working one of the highest profile cases south of the Mason Dixon. My danger quota is full.”
He nodded, turning pensive. “You’re probably right. Though sometimes…it gets to be too much, to live a normal life with a dangerous job. We build up all this steam, and we don’t have the release of money and drugs the way the criminals do.”
“Maybe you don’t,” I deadpanned, and he laughed. His smile changed his whole face, made him younger and so handsome that my heart squeezed. Synapses lit up in my brain, firing into places long asleep. Like waking up and finding the world more vivid than your dreams.
His smile faded. He looked me in the eye. “Truth is, I never planned to live very long. In this job, there’s always a bullet out there with my name on it.”
I looked down, tracing a groove in the laminate with my fingernail. Not a grown up response, but it was all I could manage in that moment. I had the sense of a ghost again, of Carlos Laguardia and a hundred other criminals, all gathered around us with sinister incorporeal faces.
Since I was in this job too, there was a bullet with my name on it. But that didn’t bother me. That was why I was here, if I were being honest. Some criminals sought their deaths using suicide by cop. Me? I’d been working at suicide by criminal my whole broken life.
But if Hennessey were killed…that would hurt. He was a larger-than-life hero in my mind, his death unthinkable to me.
I never planned to live very long. His words chilled me.
Trying to break the somber mood, I quipped, “I hate to break it to you, but you’re no spring chicken. You’ve already lived a long time.”
It worked. He quirked a grin, and my insides lurched forward, speeding up again. It was like riding a high, teasing out those smiles of his, and if I wasn’t careful, I could become addicted.
His eyes twinkled. “So maybe you can start looking out for me, partner. Watch what I eat.”
“Maybe,” I said, missing the word rookie coming out of his mouth, realizing his voice had been laced with strange affection each time. Partner sounded respectful and cold falling from his lips.
“We’ll spend the rest of the day in the record room,” he said, switching subjects. “That should be enough to get us started. We can dig into the backgrounds tomorrow.”
“Okay.” A question hovered on my tongue. “Doesn’t it seem kind of…random? Hoping he’s telling us the truth and assuming we’ll find the right building and be able to tell that it is. There’s so many ways for it to go wrong.”
His eyes were grave as he nodded, and I appreciated that he took my question seriously. “It’s true, but crime is random. The nature of detective work is to always be one step behind. We have to wait until they commit a crime or make a mistake, and then we can follow them.”
One step behind. How accurate. How depressing. I stared at him, realizing how difficult that might be for a man with pride. With initiative. How much easier it’d be as a criminal, how freeing.
He continued, “And then one day, we catch up. We get some commendations, and we move on to the next case.”
“If crime is random, I take it you don’t believe in trying to understand the criminals, the way their mind works, why they do what they do.”
“Nah, I leave that to the doctors. And the lawyers. My job is to put them in handcuffs. That’s all I allow myself to care about, because as often as not, they end up back on the streets with a plea bargain or whatever the fuck.”
“You paint a bleak picture, Hennessey.”
“Just being honest, rookie.”
I warmed at the return of his endearment. That was what it had become now, an expression of kindness. He had grieved for the other rookie who had died. It meant something to him, to be young and new here. He wanted me to live, to succeed, and that elevated my junior status to a place of honor.
“Are we going to do what Fuentes said and interview Laguardia’s woman?” The word fell awkwardly from my lips, but I didn’t want to call her a puta or a whore. I wasn’t really sure who she’d been to Laguardia except that she’d fucked him. There’d been a few pages about her in the files, but they’d been mostly blacked out, unreadable. Classified. Since she’d gotten away, I assumed she’d flipped on Laguardia. Except that didn’t explain why she was still alive. Carlos wouldn’t let a betrayal go unpunished…but he had, with her.
Hennessy shook his head. “That was years ago. She won’t have any information on this deal going down or his current whereabouts.”
She knew something. The blacked-out pages proved that.
“We can ask her general questions. Like what Laguardia looks like. She slept with him. She should at least know that much.”
A grainy black-and-white image flashed through my mind, of a man standing still in a crowd, looking up. He wore a large jacket—was it required to cover him or was it part of the disguise?
Hennessey looked bored. “Five-foot-ten. A hundred and eighty pounds. Black hair, strong build. Like a million other criminals.”
“She might know the way he works. His quirks. Whether he usually attends important shipments like this
one and what role he might play.”
Hennessey gave me a faintly pitying look, and his voice, when he spoke, was gentler. “These kinds of guys don’t let their women participate in business. They don’t treat them as equals.”
Like we do, was the subtext. But even there, it wasn’t true. Women didn’t advance at the same rate as men in the FBI. They weren’t, on average, paid as much. Even my position on this case was an unexplained thing with an ulterior motive lurking somewhere out of reach. Equality was a pipe dream on either side of the law, and it made me defensive.
“That’s exactly my point. They wouldn’t have believed her capable of anything, so they wouldn’t have guarded themselves around her. She could have overheard things. She could be a gold mine of information.”
I was breathing hard, somehow. Sweating, as if this had become a fight. Hennessey stared at me in the same way he had at Fuentes, like looking down at ants, like wondering at the strange behavior of lesser mortals. Suddenly this diner table was metal to match his eyes, the retro décor around us turned to concrete walls. The dim sound of voices evened out into the buzz of fluorescent lights, no other people here, no cameras, no witnesses.
He spoke in the same even voice he’d used in that room, low and seductive. “You want to know what information she has for us? Whether he liked to give it to her in the pussy or in the ass. How rough did his blowjobs get and does he pay extra if she bleeds.”
I stared at him, unblinking. I couldn’t believe he was talking to me like this, except I’d asked for it, hadn’t I? I’d pushed him, and now he was pushing back. His words felt like a threat, and I wore an orange jumpsuit and handcuffs, headed for certain death. Trapped.
“That’s how women get treated by men like Laguardia. That’s the part they gloss over in the academy textbooks.”
That’s why we’re going to stop them, I willed him to say, desperate to redeem the man in front of me. We were on the same side, but in that moment, he felt like my enemy. In that moment, I saw my future. Even worse, I saw a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. The smug expression of an animal who’d spotted his prey—and knew he would catch her.
Then he sat back. The illusion lifted.
I heard the clatter of silverware clang in my ears, felt the lamp swing above our table, too bright. I took a breath and felt it spread through my lungs like acid. His expression had returned to its usual, half-sardonic, half-distracted. He looked endearingly rumpled and slightly apologetic.
God, I was crazy, imagining bad guys everywhere, all around.
“Sorry,” Hennessey said. “I’m going to have to pull rank on this one. If we were desperate for leads, maybe. What we really need is more time to go through all these records, to find where the deal is going down and start laying down surveillance.”
At least he seemed genuinely regretful, and it was a valid reason. The woman could be a wild goose chase, a waste of time like he thought. Then again, she might know the most important things of all. One thing Hennessey didn’t seem to realize was that it said a lot about a man whether he preferred to give it in the pussy or in the ass and how he liked his blowjobs. It exposed a man too, when he made a woman bleed.
Chapter Four
Hennessey hadn’t been kidding about the amount of work required to find the building. Even Lance got roped into the research.
“What’s field work like?” he asked me back in the office.
If I remembered the few moments in the interview room, field work was terrifying. It sat in a gray area, where right and wrong blended into one directive: results. But I tried not to remember the time in the interview room. Something about it twisted me inside, tied me in knots I could never untangle with Bureau rules and regulations.
“It’s a lot like this,” I answered him, referring to the stacks of architectural plans and permits covering every inch of the cherrywood conference table. “Not very glamorous.”
Which was the truth, at least. Making a blind man piss himself didn’t factor into any glossy movie screen version of detective work.
I expected Hennessey to leave the grunt work to us rookies, but he stayed with us, sleeves rolled up. He sat beside us from 6:00 a.m., when we stumbled in, groping for a mug of coffee, until 8:00 p.m., when we drained the last cold dregs of brownish liquid from the machine and dragged ourselves home. It may not have been glamorous work, sorting through paperwork, but it was a very real part of the job that would save lives. If we found the place in time. Our administrative treasure hunt had a ticking clock.
“You can go,” I offered him, when Lance had left the room to get us all coffee. “If you have something more important to be doing. Lance and I can handle this.”
Hennessey shook his head. “This. This is what an agent does, and he doesn’t take a break because it’s hard. We don’t stop until we catch the guy, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
A shiver climbed up my spine. I felt a ghost again, but this time it was Hennessey, mentoring me, preparing me for a time he wouldn’t be around to call the shots. What would finally kill him? A heart attack from greasy diner food? Or would it be Laguardia? Not if I could help it.
“Be careful, okay?” The words slipped out before I could stop them.
His expression softened, but I never heard what he was going to say. Some bit of male bravado, probably. They hadn’t gotten him for this long, so he clearly knew how to take care of himself. But then I remembered the burger and milkshake and thought maybe he really didn’t.
Like Peter Pan, he could fight and put on a good front, but he was just a boy at heart, never quite grown up. And who did that make me? Wendy Darling, thrust into a world she was unsuited for, in constant need of saving.
Ugh.
Hennessey stayed true to his attitude of inclusion by having me tag along to the briefing with Brody. I followed him in silence and made myself unobtrusive while Hennessey filled him in. I had no wish to steal any of the glory, however small it may be at this point. We had narrowed down the pool to three possible locations. Once we received more information about the ownership, we would narrow it down and initiate surveillance on the possible buildings. All this Hennessey said in clear, concise language that would easily translate into a report Brody would write for the upper levels.
Brody grunted his approval as he jotted notes. He turned a piercing gaze on me. “How are you finding the work?”
At turns exhilarating and boring, meaningful and empty. “It’s going very well, sir. I’m coming up to speed quickly.”
He nodded, though his eyes remained considering.
Hennessey cleared his throat. “I’d like to take this opportunity to request a change in assignment. I think a different partner would be better suited to this case, one with more experience.”
All the breath left me. Completely silent, I fell apart in that office chair. He wanted to get rid of me? I hadn’t been impressive, okay. But to request reassignment after five days of working together? God. And he hadn’t even given me a heads up before we came in here.
Brody glanced at me idly, seeming to find amusement in my shock. Bastard.
He turned to Hennessey. “You know you’re going to have to provide a better reason than that if you want management to sign off on this.”
“You have final say,” Hennessey said.
Brody nodded, conceding. “Fine. You’ll have to do better if you want me to sign off on it.”
“She attracted the attention of Fuentes. He’ll get word back to Carlos that there’s a rookie on his case. It’s unusual for such a high profile fugitive. He’ll take an interest.”
“And that would be bad,” Brody said. A statement, not a question.
“Yes, that would be bad,” Hennessey repeated, a touch of mockery in his tone. “We want him thinking he has this wrapped up. We don’t want him changing the schedule around or doubling up on security.”
Brody shrugged. “If he finds out we have a rookie working his case, he isn’t likely to beef up securi
ty, is he?”
Hennessey’s expression was bored. “He’ll know something is up. Don’t make the mistake of underestimating him this close to the finish line.”
New shock flooded my veins. Was he trying to get himself on Brody’s shit list? First he’d sprung this on me, now he was reprimanding Brody? Brody may not have the power to fire him, but he wasn’t a fun guy to piss off.
Brody’s eyebrows lowered. “It’s my call who’s on the case, and I say it’s Holmes. You got a problem with that, you come back with something substantial.”
Hennessey nodded, seeming unsurprised. “Understood.”
“Dismissed, gentlemen.” Brody paused. “And lady.”
I managed not to roll my eyes. Law enforcement officers were the least politically correct people you’d ever meet, but I was too pissed off to find the dichotomy amusing. I pushed through the door and let it swing back in Hennessey’s face. Fuck him. Just fuck him and his request for a new partner.
“Rookie,” he called, and that made me angrier.
Fuck the fake endearment too.
I sped up. The thin office carpeting blurred beneath my feet, as if I were watching a runway before takeoff. I wished I could really fly away and never have to face the man coming after me. He didn’t want me? Fine. But I hated that he’d hurt me. When had I given another person that power? Never. Not ever. Not even my father had hurt me. It hadn’t hurt, not even when he…
“Holmes. Agent Holmes,” Hennessey spoke lower, having caught up to me now, but fuck his bogus respect, the sudden desire for privacy. Where was his conspiratorial murmur before that meeting? Blindsided. I’d been blindsided. Now I was shaking and cold and hating that he could affect me.
What do you remember?
No one had ever hurt me.
“Samantha,” he said, out of breath. “Sam!” Frustration roughened his voice. It would have pleased me, if it hadn’t also been laced with regret. Fine. If we were going to do this, we’d do it in private. We’d have to work together, at least until he found something more “substantial” with which to get rid of me. And I’d learned years ago to face my problems head on.
