by Mary Stone
Rubbing the corners of both eyes, she dropped the smartphone in her handbag and pushed open the door.
She’d hoped that by arriving at the office so early, she’d beat Joseph to a meeting with SAC Keaton. If Jasmine Keaton was going to learn that one of her agents had killed a suspect without justification, then she’d hear the admission from the source.
With a long drink from her lukewarm coffee, Amelia glanced up and down the rows of parked cars. Though there were more vehicles than she’d spotted upon her arrival, she didn’t see Joseph’s car.
She kept a lookout as she hurried across the garage to a set of glass double doors, but she still didn’t spot Joseph’s gunmetal sedan. She thought she spotted Zane’s Acura, but she pushed aside the thought and jogged the rest of the distance to the elevator.
By the time she reached the hall that led to Jasmine Keaton’s office, Amelia was out of breath. She’d planned to post up on a nearby bench if the SAC’s door was closed, but to her relief, a slat of golden light fell across the carpeted floor.
Straightening the front of her black button-down—the third black shirt she’d worn this week, almost as if she was in mourning—Amelia inhaled to the count of six and then breathed out to the count of four. She was glad that she was out of sight of the main corridor as she repeated the technique a couple more times. Passersby would have thought she’d lost her mind.
Once she was satisfied that she no longer sounded like she’d just finished an Iron Man marathon, she swallowed her mounting trepidation and walked to the open doorway.
Before she could knock, SAC Keaton looked up, as if sensing Amelia’s presence. “Agent Storm. Good morning.”
Amelia didn’t trust herself to come up with any pleasantries. “Morning. I was…wondering if you had a few minutes? I had something I wanted to talk to you about.”
SAC Keaton straightened in her office chair. “Sure. I’m not scheduled for any meetings until noon, believe it or not. Come on in.”
As she stepped over the threshold, Amelia guided the door closed behind herself. Clearing her throat, she shrugged her handbag off her shoulder and took a seat facing the SAC’s cluttered desk.
Jasmine folded her hands and turned her attention to Amelia. “What’s on your mind? Anything I can help you with?”
Though Amelia had mentally gone over her spiel more times than she could count, she hadn’t spoken a word out loud. Her pulse buzzed in her ears, and her palms ached from how tightly she’d clamped her hands. Her throat was so tight, she was surprised she could swallow.
She wasn’t here to defend herself. She wasn’t here to lie.
She was here to tell the truth. No more, and no less.
Amelia cleared her throat. “I…I wanted to talk to you about Alton Dalessio.”
“Okay. Go ahead.”
With a weary sigh she could no longer suppress, Amelia tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “It’s about the day that he…the day I shot him.” Her eyes darted around the room, but she forced her attention back to the SAC before she continued. “I thought I saw him take a step in my direction. I’d told him twice, at least twice, to drop his weapon and not to move. I told him I’d fire if he moved, but…well, I don’t know. I could have sworn I saw him move toward me, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe I imagined it.”
Lacing her fingers together, SAC Keaton nodded for Amelia to continue.
Wringing both hands in her lap, Amelia finally allowed her gaze to drop. “I’m not trying to make an excuse, and I was honest when I gave my testimony at the hearing after. I thought I was in danger, and I thought I saw him move. But the more I remember it, the less I’m sure that’s how it happened.”
A silence enveloped the room, only broken by the faint honk of geese in the distance. Inch by agonizing inch, Amelia returned her eyes to SAC Keaton.
She expected a frown, a look of contemplation, or a glare. Instead, the SAC’s focus was fixed on one of two monitors at the corner of her desk.
Great. She was already starting the paperwork to ask for Amelia’s resignation or send her to prison. Maybe she’d already emailed the U.S. Attorney to request their presence for a special indictment.
SAC Keaton’s concentrated expression gave way to a reassuring smile as she turned back to Amelia. “I’ve actually been meaning to give you an update on that. I heard from the U.S. Attorney a couple days ago, but to be honest, it hadn’t been high on my priority list, given everything else that’s been going on. If I’d known that it was bothering you, I would’ve gotten word to you sooner.”
Is Jasmine Keaton enjoying this? Is that why she looks so pleased?
Amelia dug her nails into her palm. “What update?”
“Well, as you know, the girl who was in the room with you and Dalessio was unharmed, at least physically.” SAC Keaton turned one of her monitors to show Amelia an image of the girl.
“Yanira.” The word was a reverent whisper from Amelia’s lips.
“That’s right. She survived that night, but so did another girl.” SAC Keaton pulled up another picture. “Hazel Pomales. Hazel is the niece of one of our best witnesses, Ava Fernandez. Ava told the U.S. Attorney that Dalessio had threatened to rape the girl, but Ava had made a bargain with him. Essentially, Ava took her niece’s spot. She was repeatedly assaulted by Carlo until your team took down the operation.”
As much as Amelia wanted to ask what Ava’s experience had to do with Alton Dalessio, she remained silent.
“In addition to statements from Ava and Hazel, Yanira has been working with a child psychiatrist who has been helping her with a comprehensive court submissible statement.” SAC Keaton’s pleased expression brightened further as she lifted a finger. “Which includes the confrontation with Alton Dalessio. According to Yanira’s testimony, Dalessio not only took a step in your direction, he’d lifted the weapon held in his hand too. The girl was scared to death that he was going to kill you, but you fired first.”
Amelia blinked.
For weeks, she’d convinced herself that she’d acted based on her instincts and her gut feeling. Neither was admissible in a courtroom, just like Joseph had not-so-subtly reminded her.
Had she fallen asleep in her car again? Was this turning into another nightmare?
She squeezed her hand and almost winced at the sharp bite of her fingernails. No. This was real.
Jasmine’s voice pulled Amelia out of the haze of disbelief. “Yanira’s testimony also indicates that Agent Larson wasn’t in the room when the shot was fired. I’m not sure if she just didn’t see him or if he’s the one misremembering what happened.”
“Oh,” Amelia said. “Oh. Okay.” She sounded like a caveman, but she didn’t care.
SAC Keaton lifted a shoulder. “If there’s one thing I learned during all my years in the field, it’s that memory can be spot-on, or it can be completely wrong, especially in a high-stress situation like that. Don’t worry, Storm.” Another warm smile spread over her face. “We all second-guess ourselves sometimes. I appreciate your honesty, but I never doubted that you did the right thing.”
Tears welled in the corners of Amelia’s eyes. She wanted to both cry in relief and reach across the desk to hug SAC Keaton. But Keaton wasn’t really the hugging type, especially not in the office. Straightening her back, Amelia did her best to return the SAC’s kind expression without tears spilling over her cheeks. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
SAC Keaton studied her closely. “Now, you look like you haven’t slept in a damn week. The Marshals are handling Russel Ulmer now, and Cliff Allworth is locked up as snug as a bug in solitary. I know you’ve got some paperwork to fill out, but it can wait until after the weekend. Take a half day, or a full day, and get some rest.”
The tension Amelia had been holding onto eased, and her relief came out as a soft chuckle. “I think that might be just what I need. I’ll swing by and see where Palmer is before I call it a day.”
“Perfect. Let me know if you guys need anything. Take care
, Agent Storm, and have a good weekend.”
As Joseph Larson stepped off the elevator, he looked to the figure of a woman as she emerged from the hallway to his right—the hall that led to the office of the Special Agent in Charge. Her hair was pulled back in the same neat ponytail he saw almost every day, and her eyes were fixed on the smartphone in her hand.
Until she spotted him.
The fires of indignance flickered to life as she straightened. She pulled her gaze away, but Joseph slowed his pace to study her expression.
He’d expected the dark circles under her eyes to be far more pronounced, for her posture to be hunched and her countenance defeated.
Aside from the faint shadows beneath her lower lashes, nothing in her demeanor matched his expectation. There was no doubt she’d just left a meeting with SAC Keaton. Why else would she be in this part of the building?
More importantly, why was she relieved?
He knew the answer before the question had even finished forming in his head. One way or another, she’d been absolved of Alton Dalessio’s death. Joseph could only guess at the specifics, but her body language was clear. Whatever stress had weighed down on her shoulders like an anvil was gone.
Time slowed to a crawl as she strode past him. Her eyes were fixed straight ahead, but those green embers still smoldered with animosity.
Gritting his teeth, he rounded the corner to SAC Keaton’s door.
Change of plans.
He needed time away from the office to let Amelia’s memory fade and to allow him to consider a new tactic.
With a blank expression that belied none of the turmoil in his head, Joseph stepped into the doorway of the SAC’s office and rapped his knuckles against the drywall. “Morning, SAC Keaton.”
“Morning, Agent Larson.” She gave her computer mouse a couple clicks and turned her attention to him. “What can I do for you?”
He jammed a hand in the pocket of his slacks as he feigned contemplation. “I was wondering if it’d be possible for me to take a little personal time. I’ve got a lot saved up, and now that Agent Storm and I have put this thing with the Kankakee County farm to bed, it seems like a good time.”
Rather than the drawn-out discussion he’d prepared for, he was in and out of Keaton’s office in less than five minutes, his request for time off approved. He was expected to wrap up his paperwork today and be on-call for a potential court appearance, but otherwise, he was free for the next couple weeks.
Rubbing his eyes, he set off for the breakroom. In his rush to get to the office, he’d neglected to brew himself a cup of coffee at home. To his dismay, the oversight meant he’d be stuck with the breakroom sludge.
He paused beside a bench to check the time. Maybe the hour was still early enough that he could head to a café without the risk of enduring Chicago’s notorious rush-hour traffic. Not to mention a lengthy line at the coffee shop.
A faint ding drew his gaze to the closest elevator. The doors slid open, and a woman with striking auburn hair stepped out. A black pencil skirt hugged every curve, accentuating her flawless hourglass figure. Topped with a chic ivory blouse and paired with five-inch heels, she looked ready for the runway instead of a meeting in the FBI building.
As the redhead’s pale blue eyes flitted to him, he remembered why she was so familiar.
“Hey.” He tilted his head. “You’re Cassandra Halcott, right? The Assistant U.S. Attorney who’s working on the Carlo Enrico case?”
Shifting her messenger bag on her shoulder, she offered him a quick smile. “That’s me. And you’re…” She pursed her lips. “Don’t tell me. I’m terrible with names. I need to get better.”
Joseph couldn’t help but stare. The buttons of her semi-sheer shirt were fastened to just below her neck, but he didn’t need cleavage to tell him she was well-endowed. Coupled with the perfect curve of her ass and those heels…
Yeah. She’d do just fine.
Cassandra snapped her fingers. “Agent Larson. Right?”
Extending a hand, Joseph dipped his chin. “Yep, that’s me. Nice to meet you again, Ms. Halcott.”
She chuckled and accepted the handshake. “Cassandra. Just Cassandra.” She glanced around the area before she returned her focus to him. “Hey, I’m not very familiar with this building yet. Could you point me to a breakroom? I didn’t make myself any coffee this morning, and I need my caffeine fix.”
Joseph snorted out a laugh. “I was headed that way, actually. But…” he mimed looking around for others who might hear and then brought his index finger up to his lips, “just to warn you, the coffee around here tastes like shit.”
She dropped a hand to her hip. “Of course it does. It tastes like shit at my office too.” She paused, sending a quick glance down to a bangle watch around her wrist. “I’ve got a meeting at nine. Do you think that’s enough time to get to a coffee shop and back, around this area?”
A wicked thought crossed Joseph’s mind, bringing a smile to his face. “It’s only quarter after eight. Should be plenty of time.” He gestured to the elevator. “I can drive if you want. If that isn’t weird.”
Her ruby-red painted lips parted with a polite grin. “No, that’s not weird at all. I appreciate the offer.”
As he returned the look, he’d already made up his mind.
Cassandra would be a sweet little distraction, but one thing was for damn sure…
He wasn’t done with Amelia Storm. Not by a damn sight.
30
Since Zane had stepped into the FBI office at seven that morning, he was sure he must have paced for a total of five-thousand feet.
Walking back and forth in front of a whiteboard wasn’t his normal method to cope with stress, but his second choice was to make a trip to the closest gas station to buy a carton of cigarettes—which he hadn’t touched since leaving the CIA. Spencer Corsaw had recently quit smoking. Otherwise, he’d have already found the Supervisory Special Agent to buy a half-pack from him.
No. Just no.
Popping a stick of gum in his mouth instead, he glanced to the clock and blew out a long breath. Glenn had told him the day before that she wouldn’t be at the office until a little past nine, so he had close to an hour to calm himself down before she arrived.
Zane didn’t like uncertainty. He’d started a career in international intelligence because he wanted to know as much as he could about the state of the world.
During his time in Russia, if he’d suspected that a high-ranked politician was engaging in suspicious activity, he’d break into their office to install a key logger on their computer. He’d bug their phone, wire their entire damn house if needed.
Over there, he’d always known what was around the corner.
But here, on American soil, he couldn’t help but feel that his wings had been clipped. With the potential for an adversary as powerful and well-connected as Stan Young, an adversary who could unearth the nasty details of Zane’s past, he wished he could still fly. He wished he could break the rules.
The familiar beep of the keypad drew him away from the rumination.
So much for an hour to make myself look like less of a paranoid lunatic.
As the door opened a crack, he prepared to summon a calm smile to his face. The practiced expression faltered as the visitor slipped through the narrow opening, a paper cup of coffee in each hand.
“Amelia?”
Her eyes met his as she used her foot to close the door. With a bright smile, she stepped to the side and set the drinks on the laminate table. “Long time, huh?”
Dragging a hand over his face, he let out a self-deprecating chuckle. “It sure feels like it. It seems like I haven’t seen you in a month.”
She dropped her handbag in a broken office chair and turned to him. Though the wariness he’d spotted the night before was gone, she still looked like she’d just crawled free from the gates of hell.
As if she could sense the darkness in his thoughts, her expression turned mischievous. “You look
like shit, Palmer.”
Right on cue. Just the snarky greeting he had needed.
Zane made an exaggerated show of rolling his eyes as he laughed away some of the tension he’d been holding on to. “Right back at you, Storm. You look like you just got back from the beaches of Normandy on D-Day.”
“Well, you look like you just stepped off The Event Horizon.”
He’d missed her oddly funny but accurate quips.
“Great.” His laugh halted abruptly as he realized he didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. “Wait, what?”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t seen that movie.” Her mouth hung open in what appeared to be authentic shock. Clearly, she was going to have to educate him on the sci-fi greats. “The spaceship that went through a black hole into hell and came back?”
“Right. That one.” He chuckled again, but he felt sure that the look in his eyes said he was still clueless. “We’re on the same page, then. We’ve both literally been to hell and back and lived to tell the tale. Ready to get to work?”
Her smile turned wistful. “I missed you.”
His heart skipped a beat at those three words. “I missed you too.”
Before he could add to the simple statement, she stepped forward and threw her arms around his shoulders.
Surprise stole his breath for a moment, but as she melted against his body, he realized as much as she needed to hug him, he needed it too. Zane wrapped her in a tight embrace and rested the side of his face against her hair. He’d hugged her before, but he swore he’d never been this close to her. Amelia wasn’t a fan of physical contact with most people, and for her to throw her arms around him without prelude was unprecedented.
Worrisome. Especially after the haunted look he’d seen in her eyes the night before. He could admit that he liked the sensation of her body so close to his, but more than anything, her display of affection concerned him.
Flexing his fingers against her lower back, he gave a little squeeze. “Something was wrong last night, wasn’t it?”