"Yes, but I don't think it's anything he hasn't said to you."
"He wants to make Abby an asset."
I nodded.
"And?" he asked.
I was surprised that he was asking me.
"Your brother won't allow it. Besides, I don't think she can be trusted. According to the file, she has helped her father numerous times despite their volatile relationship. She won't turn him in, except maybe for Travis. We'd have to arrest him first though. Then, maybe she'd play."
Thomas sighed, and I inwardly cursed myself for thinking aloud.
"You would have to arrest him," Thomas said.
"What do you mean?"
Thomas nearly whispered, "It would blow my cover."
"You're not undercover. What the hell are you talking about?"
Thomas shifted his weight. "It's hard to explain, and I won't while I'm in the hall and while Sawyer is pretending to be asleep on your couch."
I turned, and one of Sawyer's eyes popped open.
He sat up, grinning. "To be fair, I was asleep until you knocked on the door. This couch is comfy, Lindy! Where did you get it?" he asked, pushing down on the cushions.
Thomas opened the door wider and pointed to the hall. "Out."
"You can't kick him out of my condo," I said.
"Get the fuck out!" Thomas yelled, the veins in his throat bulging.
Sawyer stood up, stretched, and then grabbed his things off my long rectangular coffee table, his keys scraping against the glass as he did so. He stood between me and the doorjamb, just inches from my face. "See you Monday morning."
"Thanks for the help," I said, trying to sound apologetic while still remaining professional. It was an impossible balance.
Sawyer nodded to Thomas and then left us for the hallway. Once the elevator opened and then closed again, Thomas looked at me with a stern glare.
I rolled my eyes. "Oh, stop. You are trying too hard."
I walked off, and Thomas followed me inside.
I retrieved the saltines from the cabinet and held them out. "Breakfast?"
Thomas seemed confused. "What?"
"I'm hungover. Crackers are for breakfast."
"What do you mean, I'm trying too hard?"
I looked up at him. "You like me."
"I...you're okay, I guess," he said, stumbling over his words.
"But you're my boss, you don't think we should date, so now you're scaring away any interested parties."
"That's quite a theory," he said.
I pulled apart the plastic package, put a stack of saltines on a plate, poured a glass of tepid water, and used the counter for a table. "Are you saying I'm wrong?"
"You're not wrong. But you're emotionally unavailable, remember? Maybe I'm just doing Sawyer a favor."
The crackers crunched between my teeth, and the cotton mouth I was experiencing from too much alcohol became worse. I pushed the plate away and took a drink of water.
"You shouldn't be so hard on Sawyer. He's just being a team player. You're trying to save your brother. This is important to you. For whatever reason, your family doesn't know you're a fed, and now, you're forcing your brother to join the ranks. We all get it, but no need to piss on every idea your team brings you."
"You know, Liis, your observations aren't always correct. Sometimes, things go deeper than what you see on the surface."
"The reasons leading to the origin of the problem aren't always simple, but the solution always is."
Thomas sat on the couch, looking distraught. "They don't get it, Liis, and you definitely don't get it."
My tough shell melted at the sight of his tough shell melting. "I might if you explain it to me."
He shook his head, rubbing his face with his hand. "She knew this would happen. That's why she made him promise."
"Who's she? Camille?"
Thomas looked up at me, completely pulled out of his line of thought. "What the hell made you think of her?"
I walked the ten feet to the couch and sat next to him. "Are we going to work together on this or not?"
"We are."
"Then, we have to trust each other. If something is between me and getting the job done, I remove whatever it is."
"Like me?" he asked with a half smile.
I recalled our argument in the fitness room and wondered how I'd found the courage to tell the ASAC to get out of my way. "Thomas, you have to fix this."
"What?"
"Whatever is messing with your head. Sawyer seems to think you're too close to this case. Is he right?"
Thomas frowned. "Sawyer has wanted this case since I brought it to the supervisor. He wanted it when I was promoted to supervisor, and he wanted it when I was promoted to ASAC."
"Is it true? Were you promoted because of the break you got in the case?"
"Travis dating Abernathy's daughter?"
I waited for his answer.
He looked across the room, his expression somber. "For the most part. But I've also worked my ass off."
"Then, quit screwing around, and let's bring these guys in."
Thomas stood and began to pace. "Bringing them in means nailing them, and the easiest way to do that is to use my little brother."
"So, do it."
"You know it's not that easy. You can't be that naive," Thomas snapped.
"You know what has to be done. I'm not sure why you're making it so hard."
Thomas thought about that for a moment and then sat next to me again. He covered his mouth and nose with his hands, and then he closed his eyes.
"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked.
"No," he said, his voice muffled.
I sighed. "Do you really not want to talk about it? Or is this where I demand that you do?"
He let his hands fall to his lap, and he sat back. "She had cancer."
"Camille?"
"My mother."
The air in the room became heavy, so much so that I couldn't move. I couldn't take a breath. All I could do was listen.
Thomas's eyes were fixed on the floor, his mind trapped in a bad memory. "Before she died, she spoke to each of us. I was eleven. I've thought about it a lot. I just can't"--he took a deep breath--"imagine what it was like for her--trying to tell her sons everything she wanted to teach us over a lifetime, but having to do so in just a few weeks."
"I can't imagine what that was like for you."
Thomas shook his head. "Every word she said, even every word she tried to say, is branded into my memory."
I leaned back against the cushion, my head propped by my hand, listening as Thomas described how his mother had reached out for him, how beautiful her voice had been even though she could barely speak, and how much he knew she'd loved him, even in her last moments. I thought about what kind of woman must have raised a man like Thomas along with four other boys. What kind of person could say good-bye with enough strength and love to last her children the rest of their childhoods? His descriptions of her left a knot in my throat.
Thomas's eyebrows pulled together. "She said, 'Your dad is going to take this hard. You're the oldest. I'm sorry, and it's not fair, but it's up to you, Thomas. Don't just take care of them. Be a good brother.'"
I rested my chin on my hands, watching the various emotions scroll across his face. I couldn't relate, but I definitely empathized, so much so that I had to resist wrapping my arms around him.
"The last thing I said to my mother was that I'd try. What I'm about to do to Travis doesn't feel like trying, not one fucking bit."
"Really?" I asked, dubious. "All the work you've done on this case? All the strings you had to pull to get Travis recruited instead of sent to prison?"
"My dad is a retired police detective. Did you know that?" Thomas looked at me with his dark hazel eyes. He was neck-deep in his past, family baggage, guilt, and disappointment.
I wasn't sure how much worse his story could get. Part of me was afraid he was going to admit to being abused.
Hesitant, I
shook my head. "Did he...hit you?"
Thomas's face screwed into disgust. "No. No, nothing like that." His eyes lost focus. "Dad checked out for a few years, but he's a good man."
"What do you mean?" I said.
"It was right after she spoke to me for the last time. I was crying in the hallway, just outside the bedroom door. I wanted to get it all out, so the boys wouldn't see me. I heard Mom ask Dad to quit his job at the station, and she made him promise that he'd never let us follow in his footsteps. She had always been proud of him, of his job, but she knew her death would be hard on us, and she didn't want Dad in a line of work that could make us orphans. Dad loved the job, but he promised. He knew Mom was right. Our family couldn't take another loss."
He rubbed his thumb on his lips. "We came too close with Trenton and Travis. Along with Abby, they almost died in that fire."
"Does your dad know?"
"No. But if something had happened to them, he wouldn't have survived it."
I touched his knee. "You're good at being a federal agent, Thomas."
He sighed. "They won't see it that way. I spent the rest of my childhood trying to be a grown-up. I lost a lot of sleep trying to think of something else to be. I couldn't let my dad break his promise to her. He loved her too much. I couldn't do that to him."
I reached for his hand and held it in mine. His story was so much worse than I'd thought. I couldn't imagine how much guilt he carried around with him every day, loving the job he wasn't supposed to have.
"When I decided to apply for the Bureau, it was the hardest, most exciting thing I'd ever done. I've tried to tell them so many times, but I just can't."
"You don't have to tell him. If you truly believe he won't understand, then don't. It's your secret to keep."
"Now, it's going to be Travis's secret to keep."
"I wish"--I put my other hand on top of his--"you could see this the way I do. You're protecting him the only way you can."
"I potty-trained Travis. I bathed him every night. My dad loved us, but he was lost in his grief. For a while after he got his new job, he used to drink until he passed out. He's made up for it. He apologizes all the time for taking the easy way out. But I raised Trav. I bandaged his scrapes. I got in so many fights over him and fought next to him. I can't let him go to prison." His voice broke.
I shook my head. "You're not. The director agreed to recruit him. He's home free."
"Do you understand what I'm dealing with here? Trav will have to lie to our family and his wife, like I've done. But I chose this, and I know how hard it is, Liis. Travis doesn't get a choice. Not only will Dad be disappointed, but Travis will also be undercover. Only the director and our team will know. He is going to have to lie to everyone he knows because I knew his connection to Benny could get me this promotion. I'm his fucking brother. What kind of person does that to his own brother?"
Thomas's self-loathing was difficult to watch, especially knowing there was no reprieve.
"You didn't do this just for a promotion. You might tell yourself that, but I don't buy it." I squeezed his hand. His misery was so heavy that even I could feel it. "And you didn't force him to engage in illegal activity. You're just trying to spare him the consequences of his actions."
"He's a kid," Thomas said, his voice faltering. "He's just getting ready to turn twenty-one, for Christ's sake. He's a fucking kid, and I bailed on him. I left for California and didn't look back, and now, he's in some serious shit."
"Thomas, listen to me. You've got to get this straight in your head. If you don't believe in the reasons for Travis's recruitment, he sure as hell isn't going to."
He cupped my hands in both of his. Then, he brought my fingers to his mouth and kissed them. My entire body leaned toward him a fraction of an inch as if by a gravitational pull I couldn't control. As I watched his lips warm my skin, I felt jealous of my own hands.
Never had I wanted to defy my own rules so ardently that my conscience was at war in my own head. Not even half of these conflicting emotions had existed the night I decided to leave Jackson. The effect Thomas had on me was wonderful and maddening and terrifying.
"I remember the guy I met my first night here, the one without the pressure of running a field office or making the tough decision to protect his brother. No matter what you tell yourself, you're a good person, Thomas."
He looked over at me and pulled his hand away from mine, indignant. "I'm no fucking saint. If I told you the story about Camille, you wouldn't be looking at me like that."
"You mentioned that she's Trent's girlfriend. I can guess."
He shook his head. "It's worse than you think."
"I'd say helping Travis avoid a prison sentence is atonement."
"Not even close." He stood.
I reached for him but missed. I didn't want him to leave. I had an entire day and nothing to unpack. Now that Thomas was in my living room, he seemed to fill up the empty space. I was afraid it would feel lonely when he left.
"We can do this, you know," I said. "Travis will be free. He can stay home with his new wife, and he'll have a good job. It'll all work out."
"It'd better. God owes me one, more than one."
He wasn't in my living room. He was miles away from me.
"We just have to stay focused," I said. "This has to be the best damn thing either of us has ever pulled off."
He nodded, considering my words.
"And what about Camille?" I asked. "Do you have that handled?"
Thomas walked toward the door, putting his hand on the knob. "Another time. I think we've had enough truth for one day."
When the door slammed, my shoulders flew up to my ears, and I closed my eyes. After the few decorations Sawyer had nailed to the walls the night before stopped rattling, I sat back against the couch cushions in a huff. Thomas was supposed to make it easier to hate him, and after what he'd shared with me, it was impossible.
I wondered who at the Bureau knew about his personal conflicts--with his brother and the Vegas case, and keeping his career from his family--maybe Marks, likely the S.A.C., and definitely the director.
Thomas had made me his partner on this. For whatever reason, he trusted me, and just as inexplicably, that made me want to work that much harder to wrap up this case.
Val had said before that Thomas had a loyal circle and to be careful what I said. Now, I was part of that circle, and I was curious if it was because he needed to use my talents like he did Sawyer's or if it was just that he needed me.
I covered my face, thinking about his lips on my skin, and I knew that I was hoping for both.
"ABSOLUTELY NOT," I said to Agent Davies.
She gritted her teeth, sitting stiffly in my office.
"You're not getting three million dollars of taxpayer money for some half-cocked scheme."
"It's not a half-cocked scheme, Lindy. It's right there in the file. If we wire three million to that account, we'll have Vick's trust."
"You know how much a middleman's trust is worth to me?"
"Three million?" Davies said, her big eyes only half hopeful.
"No. Stop wasting my time." I continued typing on my laptop, checking my schedule.
Val and I had a lunch meeting at Fuzzy's, and then I had to ask Thomas if I could speak with the other language expert, Agent Grove, about some discrepancies I had found in his FD-302.
Davies slapped my desk and stood up. "Just another goddamn bossy..." Her grumbling trailed off as she got closer to my door.
"Agent Davies," I called.
She turned around, her long brown ponytail flipping as she did so. The annoyed expression on her face hardened when her eyes met mine.
"You need to get one thing straight. I am not bossy. I'm the fucking boss."
Davies's stern look softened, and she blinked. "Have a nice day, Agent Lindy."
"Likewise, Agent Davies." I motioned for her to shut the door, and as it closed, I put on my headphones and listened to the digital file Thomas had sent
me this morning.
The file Agent Grove had translated a few days before was accurate, except for a few key elements. I'd meant to ask Thomas about it earlier, but something felt off. It was mostly a number here and there, but then Grove had listed a suspect by the wrong name and begun leaving things out altogether.
I pulled off the headset and walked out into the squad room, noticing Grove wasn't at his desk. "Val," I called, "have you seen Maddox?"
She walked over to me, holding a small bag of potato chips in one hand and licking the salt off the other. "He's interviewing someone over at the Taliban Welcome Center."
I frowned. "Really? We're really going to call it that?"
"It's what everyone calls it," she said, shrugging.
Val was referring to the million-dollar building that sat in front of our multimillion-dollar building. It served as a security checkpoint for visitors, and it was where we would question persons of interest. That way, if they or their friends attempted to bring explosives in, the main building wouldn't be at risk.
Someone had dubbed this checkpoint as the Taliban Welcome Center, and for some bizarre reason, the nickname had stuck.
I flicked my ID badge--habit to make sure I had it on before I left--and I headed out. It was normally a nice jaunt across the parking lot to the checkpoint building, but low gray clouds were rumbling across the sky, and huge raindrops began to fall a few moments after I'd stepped onto the concrete.
The air smelled metallic, and I breathed in deep. The last week had been spent mostly indoors. That was something I hadn't prepared for. It was easy to work behind a desk in freezing Chicago temperatures. Working so much when it was downright balmy was proving to be more difficult as the gorgeous days came, one after another.
I looked up at the sky, seeing flashes of lightning at the edge of the city. It would be easier to be at work in stormy weather.
I pushed through the glass double doors, flicking my hands and spraying the carpet with rainwater. Despite being soaked, I was in a good mood.
I looked to the agent at the desk with a broad smile. She wasn't impressed with my positivity, my manners, or the fact that I'd walked that far in the rain.
My smile fell away, and I cleared my throat. "Special Agent Maddox?"
She took a long look at my badge and then nodded behind her. "He's in interrogation room two."
"Thank you," I said. I walked over to the security door and bent over a bit while holding my badge to the black box on the wall near the door. I felt ridiculous, and someday soon, I would have to find a retractable badge holder.
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