Perfect Paige

by Ines Saint

  Paige felt as if her sister had slapped her. Repeatedly. “That’s not true,” she said, her voice shakier than she’d like. Hope’s eyebrow remained raised. Paige shot up. She wanted to run to the bathroom, grab her razor, and shave that left eyebrow right off of Hope’s face. She hadn’t had that urge in years.

  “Stop it, Hope, that’s neither here nor there.” Even Gracie looked like she wanted to throttle Hope.

  “Yes, it is. It’s right here and right now. She needs a reality check, for her own good!” Hope’s voice cracked, and her tough mask, along with the eyebrow, slipped. “Glenn is being investigated for a serious crime. Lawyers are expensive, and no matter how this goes, you might end up broke. You need to start figuring out how you’re going to support and raise two kids on your own. You know we’re all more than willing to help out, but that’s not a healthy long-term plan—”

  The tears that had been prickling the back of Paige’s eyes for weeks began to pool, and an intense ache that felt like hatred gathered in the pit of her belly. She never cried. Never. She’d learned early on it served no purpose.

  But her entire being was in pain. “I don’t need your help. You are the ones who always needed mine. I’m the one who cooked for both of you. I’m the one who kept the house clean. I’m the one who took care of both of you, and Mom, whenever you were sick. I cleaned houses from the time I was fifteen to put food on the table, and I worked hard to keep as much as possible from Grandma so she wouldn’t worry herself to death or take us away from Mom. And you have the nerve to tell me right now that being a good mom to my own kids is not enough? That just because I let my husband take care of the financial side of things, that what I do is not enough? That just because I have someone come in to help me clean a huge house, that I’m somehow a flake? For your information, those meetings are about fund-raisers for my kids’ schools and other worthy causes! But you wouldn’t understand any of it! Your life is completely different from mine, and I don’t go around judging you! You have no idea what it’s like to be a mom. Go ahead and try being with a child twenty-four hours a day for the first five years of their life, and then come and tell me it’s not the hardest job you’ve ever taken on!”

  Hope’s eyes had widened, and her face had paled. Her combative demeanor deflated before Paige’s eyes, and Paige realized too late what she’d said. Her anger left in one swoosh. After a moment, Paige sat down and exhaled. “I’m so sorry, Hope. I was mad, and I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “I know.” Hope closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. A moment later, she was breathing evenly, and her color was back. When she opened her eyes, the steely determination from minutes before was replaced with something softer. She sat down next to Paige. “Look, I’m not saying that raising your kids and being the best mom you can be isn’t important. It is.”

  Gracie looked down at her mascara-streaked face. “We both know being a good mom is important to you, it always has been.”

  Hope nodded. “But being good sisters and good aunts is important to us. The three of us being together again has been good for us, and neither of us is ready to give it up yet. I asked for a transfer, and I got it, and it’s actually a step up because it’s the same position, but back here at headquarters, where I got my start. When I’m ready to put in for the promotion I want back in North Carolina, the ideas I’ll execute here will look great. I have to go back for a few days later this week, but then I’ll be here for a good long while.”

  Paige held in a breath. A good long while . . . She said it as if that were a good thing. And normally, it would be. But not now, not when her idea of helping out was getting on her back over every little thing they disagreed on.

  “I telecommute, so it doesn’t matter where I’m based. And I’ll be traveling a lot—I won’t even be here all next week—but when I do come home, I’ll come home to you two, Grandma Sherry, and my niece and nephew. Honestly, the only thing I’m not happy about is that they’re making me stay in the apartment Rosa decorated.” Gracie’s eyes twinkled.

  The first real smile Paige had felt in ages tugged at her lips as she pictured her shy, soft-spoken sister living amid the myriad of animal-patterned throw pillows and area rugs, and walls painted in bold colors.

  Ruby, Rosa, and Grandma Sherry had insisted on decorating and picking out the finishes in three of the apartments. Themed apartments on a haunted street in a town with a rich history would add to their appeal on Airbnb, they’d said. To hear her grandmother tell it, the Amador boys had not been happy. They’d insisted on having complete control of the fourth apartment, for their reputation’s sake. It was the best one. Beautiful quartzite countertops. Neutral beige walls. White trim. Soothing décor.

  Hope frowned. “So? I have to stay in the one Ruby decorated. Every time I go in there I hit my head on one of her damn dream catchers.” Ruby was a descendant of the gypsies who’d founded the town, and she was convinced she’d inherited their powers. The apartment she’d decorated looked like a fortune-teller’s tent, with fairy lights, dream catchers, metal moons, suns, stars, and paper lanterns hanging from the ceilings.

  “I wanted 2B.” Paige smiled, mentioning the apartment the Amador boys had taken control of. “But Grandma Sherry decided for me, and I’m in no position to argue.”

  “At least she let you stay in the apartment she decorated,” Hope said. “It’s not as . . . different and interesting as the other two.”

  Paige looked around. She didn’t agree. It was as if red gingham, honey oak trim, flowers, and sunshine had thrown up over every last inch of the place. She’d never seen something so new look so hopelessly outdated. It almost wasn’t possible. Gingham and flower patterns didn’t even go together.

  Turning to her sisters again, she grabbed on to the one objection they were voicing. “See? You two are already sick of being here. And—” She hesitated then, wondering how to say what needed to be said. “And you two hate the Dayton region, you know you do,” she said in a softened voice. There were things they never talked about, but they were relevant now. Hope especially didn’t like Spinning Hills.

  They were all quiet a moment, thinking.

  “It’s the past we resent, not the place . . . and maybe facing it will be good for us.” Gracie finally spoke, but Paige could tell neither of her sisters believed it.

  “What about your, er . . . little problem?” She turned to Hope, and made sure to keep her voice gentle. “Won’t it be exacerbated by being here?”

  “No. I no longer have that problem. Plus, we’re insisting on paying full rent, which is good for Grandma, Ruby, and Rosa.”

  Ugh. Of course Hope would hit upon the one argument guaranteed to make her shut up. Having their grandmother and her partners start to recoup their investment would be good for them, and one thing off her conscience. She took a deep breath and let it out. “Well, if you’re determined, and if you’re sure it won’t get in the way of your amazing careers, then I guess there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  She pulled them close then, feeling proud of how far her little sisters had come in life, even though she didn’t know how she’d handle them living in the same building. Their goals for her were in direct conflict with her goals for herself. They thought a divorce from Glenn and starting over would be a good thing for her and the kids.

  They didn’t understand.

  Yes, the man who wanted to be her ex-husband had been indicted on charges of intellectual property theft and money laundering, and yes, it sounded like a big deal, and yes, he’d asked her for a divorce.

  But he’d told the kids the charges would soon be dropped. And as soon as the stress was over with, she was sure he’d want his old life back. They’d been happy once. And the past year now made sense. The late nights, the short fuse, the extended business trips . . .

  The world of scientific research was cutthroat, and multiple researchers were often working on similar investigations, until someone won the race to file a patent
and publish. Over the last few years, there had been a discernible pattern of other universities winning the race for promising commercial technologies that were being developed and researched out of the University of Southern Ohio. Apparently, Glenn had been dealing with the fallout for nearly a year, because he was one of only a few people with unfettered access to every lab. But his silence on the matter had made it hard for her to be there for him during that time.

  But if the charges were being dropped, his reputation would be restored, their assets would be unfrozen, and his focus could finally return to their life. It wouldn’t be easy, but she was a fighter. They could reconnect through couple’s therapy, and good riddance to the people they’d once thought were their friends who’d since turned their backs on them. Plenty of people still had their back. At least once a week they sent her messages of support. It would take time and strategy, but they could get their old life back.

  The key was getting Glenn to let her in again, so she could help. Right now, he was barely speaking to her. His mother was mediating visitations. Paige had no idea what was going on with the investigation. After endless initial interviews, she’d been forgotten. It had been fraying away at her nerves for months.

  Both Hope’s and Gracie’s phones started buzzing then, over and over. Hope scanned hers before her dark blue eyes settled on Paige. “Guess who just left the café?”

  “Glenn?” she perked up. “Is he coming here?”

  Hope shot her a disgusted look. Even Gracie looked put out with her. “No, Paige . . . the FBI.”

  Paige scrambled off the couch and ran to the door. “What the hell did those bastards want with Grandma now?”

  * * *

  “Do you know who Ruby, Rosa, and Sherry’s plan reminds me of?” Boyd asked as they made their way through Cincinnati traffic. They’d both been mostly quiet on the way back to the office. “Jill and Harry Krueger. Galloway and Krueger are both narcissists with high hedonism and low behavioral self-control,” he said. “It’s what makes them pawns instead of leaders, and it’s what makes them mess up in the end.”

  Alex stared ahead. Dr. Harry Krueger had been part of a pill mill, and he’d been spending most of the money on an exceptionally beautiful professional escort. His wife wasn’t even an afterthought. And so Jill Krueger had delighted in cooperating with the FBI. “Except Jill Krueger was sharp, she knew her husband was guilty, and she didn’t want her husband back.”

  Boyd glanced at him. “You think Paige still believes he’s innocent and she wants him back?” He didn’t seem sure.

  Alex didn’t bother to hide his scorn. “If she helps, it’s because she wants to get him off easily, and she wants him to be so thankful, he’ll come crawling back. She can then resume her clueless life. Thankfully, we don’t need her. Part one of their plan could actually work. We need to consider it and make a decision soon.”

  “And part two?” Boyd grinned.

  “Laughable.” Alex smiled, too, despite himself.

  Boyd turned into the federal building in downtown Cincinnati. The moment they parked, they both tensed up. The last eight months had been a nightmare at their office. Karen Greene, the special agent in charge of their office was away on a special assignment.

  McGee was now in charge. God, how they both hated the guy. And he was waiting for them as soon as they walked into the office.

  “Duffy and Galloway’s lawyers negotiated blanket immunity and seventy thousand in restitution. Session is in fourteen days,” were the only words out of McGee’s mouth before he turned on his heel.

  “Anything about the journal?” Boyd asked.

  “No. Forget that damn thing. We’ve got more than enough on Galloway, and he’s giving up Dwight and the entire network. It’s over.”

  Duffy, an assistant DA, and McGee were a toxic combination. Their definition of justice had either been skewed from the start or had morphed with time.

  Boyd looked incredulous. “Duffy negotiated blanket immunity and didn’t include the journal? You’ve got to be kidding!”

  “The evidence that ties Galloway to it is circumstantial. Kumar probably misplaced the goddamn thing!”

  Alex worked to keep his cool. “This is potentially a matter of national security. So far it’s contained. If Galloway’s not talking, then we need to keep looking. All we need is a little more time and resources. We’re close.”

  McGee folded his arms across his chest. “If Galloway had it, he’d have given it up during negotiations. Why the hell would he keep it?”

  “We’ve explained that.” Boyd was gritting his teeth.

  “Right.” McGee looked like he was done with both them and the case. “Look, we’ve dedicated enough resources to this wild goose chase already. There’s no reason to keep tracking the people around Glenn and no reason to keep looking for something that was likely misplaced. You’re both moving on, and that’s final.” He leveled an authoritative look at them before walking away.

  “What was it you were saying about overconfident douchebags who won’t give an inch?” Boyd asked, loud enough for everyone to hear.

  Alex swore under his breath. Few things were more detrimental to public safety than law enforcement officials whose sole motivation was career advancement. McGee’s wife hated Cincinnati, and McGee hated being second in charge. Most of all, he hated having to answer to a woman. He was looking for a way both up and out. Preferably to a low-volume office somewhere out West where he could be the special agent in charge of nothing much, and his wife could be closer to sunshine and family.

  In McGee’s mind, the sooner Glenn Galloway gave the others up, the sooner they could wrap the whole thing up into a neat package. It wasn’t a high-profile case, but it was tidy, it was sensational enough to get some media coverage for him and their office, and it met more than a few requirements for a promotion.

  What riled Alex the most, though, was that McGee weighed risks and threats according to whatever benefited him most, and he couldn’t even see that’s what he was doing.

  If Dr. Kumar had been a man, McGee might have listened. But as it was, he dismissed her claims as typical woman-hysteria, completely dismissing the fact that the woman held dual doctorates in microbiology and biotechnology, and she was as staid and steady as they came. She had also been the one researcher at the University of Southern Ohio to keep all records of her research strictly offline and compiled into one old-school laboratory journal. Whether that had been a smart move remained to be seen.

  Alex motioned for Boyd to follow him. What he was about to do next would make an enemy out of McGee.

  In a short amount of time, Alex had built a solid reputation among the agents in his office. Their cases often overlapped, and he’d proved his mettle. He rounded up a few of those he trusted most for a quick meeting. Jerome Hess, their weapons expert, was a good friend who’d been in Alex’s class at Quantico. His assessment and recommendation had been key in involving Alex and Boyd when Dr. Kumar had first come to them, but both McGee and Duffy had ignored it. He was also a supervisory special agent, and Alex needed both him and Boyd to sign off on his plan.

  In almost no time, consensus was reached.

  Alex sat at his desk and began to type. The wording was tricky; he had to somehow convey the potential threat, while stressing that it was contained. They did not want to involve other agencies at this point. No matter what the government wanted people to believe, the different law enforcement agencies did not always play well together. More often than not, when cases overlapped, agencies worked to thwart, obstruct, and micromanage the others. The journalist who’d first outed them had received his information from local authorities in Indiana, who’d been upset when the case had been taken over by the FBI after the initial tip had revealed a larger operation.

  Twenty minutes later, he’d produced an electronic communication detailing the potential threat and possible outcomes if the missing journal was not recovered by the FBI. Investigative techniques that had been considered,
discarded, and recommended by him and others in his team were outlined. The notice ended on a recommendation, to McGee, to delay the immunity hearing in order to obtain crucial evidence and assess potential threats.

  Boyd and Hess, both supervisory agents, signed off on it, and Hess took it to the squad secretary himself. Her eyes widened as she read it, and she posted it without delay. It wasn’t normal procedure, but it was accepted procedure. The threat and their recommendations were now part of the official record, and it would force McGee to respond. If McGee decided to officially refuse their recommendation, and if anything detrimental happened because of his refusal, it would now become part of the official record.

  Ten minutes later, Alex, Boyd, and Hess paid McGee a visit and presented him with the official communication.

  Marlon Q. White, United States Attorney for the Southern District of Ohio, Karen Greene, Special Agent in Charge, Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI), Cincinnati Field Division.... Throughout course of investigation, SSA Nelson Boyd, SA Alex Hooke, and Assistant Special Agent in Charge Peter McGee . . . alerted to potential future threat to water supplies . . . potential for a debilitating impact on national public health and safety . . . studies show effects of heavy metal poisoning range from . . . Recommendation to ASAC Peter McGee by Field Office’s Weapons Expert Jerome Hess . . . Continue investigation and delay session in order to assess, reduce, or eliminate risk and consequences. . . .

  The douchebag blew a gasket—but he moved half an inch. They’d have all the technical support they needed, but only one field agent. No one was surprised when McGee all but ordered that the agent be Alex. But he didn’t change the session date. “You’ve got fourteen days, until the immunity session. Either find it or get him to give it up if he has it. If you come up empty-handed, then we can safely assume there’s nothing to be found, and we cease to devote resources to Dr. Kumar’s memory problems.”