by Jeanne Adams
“White Plains, then. If there’s anything to it, we need to hit it hard and fast. Get him to forward everything to you electronically, so you can review it on the trip east. If it looks like there’s enough to warrant further checks, let me know and we’ll get it arranged. I’ve reached out to the New York office, but they’ve got four big cases pending. They’re okay with us being on their turf, checking a cold case, but they aren’t going to lend a hand, if you know what I mean.” She waited for Ana’s nod of understanding. New York was there, would get some credit if they closed it, but they weren’t fronting any help or time for a cold case.
“If we could close this,” Pretzky continued, “it would be huge.”
Pretzky fell silent, but still didn’t dismiss Ana. They sat, listening to the clock tick for what seemed like an eternity. Evidently, Pretzky made up her mind to speak openly.
“I didn’t like you when you came here, Burton. You know that. I questioned your dedication.”
“Everyone did. Hell,” Ana admitted, “I did.”
Pretzky nodded. “I get that. Here’s the thing. You’ve done superb work. I’m in this job because I’m not built for the field, and I found it out the hard way.” She didn’t elaborate, and Ana didn’t ask.
“I’m good at what I do,” Pretzky continued. “I’m good at managing the rejects and the lost causes, the people who need desk duty for a while.” She flicked her eyes toward Pearson, who was passing by the windows as she spoke. A sure indication that Pearson was no reject, but that she had issues no one was immediately aware of. Pretzky obviously was good at what she did, since Ana would never have guessed that anyone in the office—barring Davis—was considered a reject. “What I do is important to the Agency, I know that. I also know that I won’t get someone with your impressive capabilities in this office anytime soon, if ever. I’ve pushed you hard,” she continued, ignoring Ana’s halfhearted protest. “It’s my job. But you’ll hear it at the inquiry. I would recommend you to any duty post, and have you back here in a New York minute if they’d let you come.”
Once again, Ana felt her jaw loosen with shock. She didn’t know what to say, where to look.
Pretzky laughed. “I know, I’m a hard-ass.” She leaned forward, earnest now. “I have to be. Sometimes the people they send me just need a break, a chance to breathe before they get back to what they’re really good at. You’re one of those. Sometimes, this office is just the cruise to retirement, or the way to keep a half-decent resource plugging away at a menial but necessary task. We’re the last stop for some.”
Cold Cases certainly qualified in that respect.
“Most of this crap is either so opaque, with so few leads, that it’ll never be solved, or so obviously botched that it was worthless to even review the data. But someone has to check and mine for the few, the very few, that may have a lead no one else saw. In the three, no four months on the job here, you’ve closed a case and you are well on your way to closing another.” Pretzky sounded sure, authoritative. “Hell, I’d beg for you if I thought they’d let me have you.”
“Thank you.” Ana’s voice was weak, so she cleared her throat and tried again. “I mean, I hadn’t considered…” She paused, searching for courtesy. “…everything, but it makes sense. I’ve enjoyed working with you, Special Agent.”
“Same goes, now get out of here. Let me know when you’re headed for New York.”
“Will do,” Ana said, and rose since Pretzky had finally given her usual dismissive wave to speed Ana on her way.
In a daze, she got back to her cubicle, staring blindly at the files that lay on her desk. A new, hard-locked file cabinet sat under the workstation. It had been there when Ana came back in. Only she and Pretzky had keys to it.
The Inquiry. Oh, God. Why now?
Her e-mail pinged with six incoming messages. She frowned and opened the first.
Hey gorgeous! Think you could manage one more round for me? I’m going to take that as a yes. Ha ha! Here’s the latest.
Ti manderemo al Creatore—context is still the guy who’s cheating. Is this a threat?
No fare piu lo stronzo—context is similar. I need to connect them. Does this do it?
Thanks. You’re a peach.
TJ
Hell. Just what she needed. Ana opened the others to find they were all from TJ, with at least one more phrase per e-mail, most of these in Greek.
If it were anyone else, she’d tell them to go to hell. For TJ, she’d make the time. He’d saved her ass so many times, she had to help him when he needed her. If nothing else, their brief stint as lovers was the one bright spot in the whole debacle in Rome.
With a sigh, she hit REPLY and answered, easily translating both the Italian and the Greek. She knew that his recommendations, and continued support, might mean the difference at the Inquiry between a hammer blow to her career, and merely a black mark that continued good work could expunge.
She opened a new e-mail, entered TJ’s address.
They’re all threats. I’m off to DC for the Inquiry. Thanks for everything. You know what I mean. I’ll be incommunicado for a couple days. Hope these help. A.
Heart clenching, she picked up the phone, dialed the private number Dav had given her. When he answered, she simply asked, “How is he?”
“Cranky. Hold on, please.” She heard the muffled hum of voices and the rustle of fabric. “There, I’ve stepped outside. He’s healing, but it’s slower than he wants it to be.”
Her heart eased, though it still ached from Gates’s dismissal. She’d felt compelled to check on him. Dav had enabled that, to a degree, by giving her his private line.
“I wanted to let you know I’d be away for a few days. The case is moving,” she added, wanting to have some real rationale for bothering Dav, a business excuse, since her personal ties were now severed. “I’ve got some leads to check out.”
“You’ve got the Inquiry as well,” he said, and she sat up, alert.
“How do you know that?”
He laughed. “My dear young woman,” he continued to chuckle. “I have my sources too. Any number of my companies work with DOD, NSA, and even NASA. There’s not much I can’t uncover. I will wish you luck, but you won’t need it. Safe travels, eh?” he continued, his voice warm and friendly. It brought tears to her eyes. She dashed them away before anyone could walk by, see her crying.
“Thanks, Dav. For everything. I owe you.”
“No, dear lady, we’re even, if anything. When you solve this, I’ll owe you,” he said. “Take care.”
“Will do,” she said, hanging up. Shaking her head over all the strange paths her life seemed to be taking, she made her flight reservations for the red-eye, printed out the info Davis had managed to find on the shipper.
Before she could leave, the phone rang. “Miss Burton, it is Misioia.”
Oh, God. The dress.
“I am so sorry,” Ana began, but Misioia cut her off.
“No, no. I am calling to say that the new dress will be delivered to your home next week. Mr. G called, he told me everything. He wants you to have the dress.” She paused, laughed. “Well, another like it. I do not usually repeat my garments, but for you, for him, I will.”
When Ana tried to protest, the designer laughed again and told her she’d had twelve calls for custom gowns and an additional fifteen calls for interviews. “I am well paid, Miss Burton. I hope you will come back to me again. I will make my creations well within your range, yes?” She wouldn’t hear any protest or comment from Ana; instead, she ordered Ana to return to her shop soon to be sure the replacement dress was fitted properly. “Now, have a good day, yes?” And she was gone.
Ana wanted to put her head down and cry. Instead, she packed up, got her newly returned car from the garage, and went home.
Jen was waiting when she got there. “I called your office. They grilled me about who I was before they would tell me you were on the way home. Someone named Pearson.”
Ana managed a smi
le. “Yeah, she’s a good agent. What’s up?”
“Oh, just stopping by to say hi. Pearson said you were heading to DC. I know what that means,” Jen said, tossing an arm around Ana’s shoulders as they mounted the steps to the apartment. “Want some company while you pack?”
“Sure.”
“Good, we can order Chinese and gorge ourselves while you debate which conservative black suit would work best. After all, you only have twelve.”
Laughing, they went in, with Jen heading straight for the phone. “Total exaggeration,” Ana called from the bedroom. “I only have four.”
“Six,” Jen called back. “I counted last time I was here.”
“Six? Really?” She didn’t remember having six, but Jen was actually far more in touch with her wardrobe than Ana was. She’d helped pick out the more conservative garb when Ana moved back to The City, understanding that Ana needed to look like she was serious, meant business. No more flamboyant Parisian and Italian fashion.
She pulled the suitcase from under the bed, and true to her word, Jen helped her focus enough to pack the right things. They had Chinese for lunch, and laughed over a stupid comedy on HBO while they ate.
“How’re things with Jack?” Ana finally asked, sure she’d hear that Jen had brushed him off, kicked him to the curb.
Jen’s dreamy smile disabused her of that notion right away. “He’s good. Really good. He’s out of town right now, back east, but he’s already called me twice today.”
Shocked, Ana managed only a “Wow, really?” before Jen was off on a tear about the wonders of dating the doting New Yorker, Jack D’Onofrio.
Maybe, just maybe, there was someone in the world for whom things could work out. If anyone deserved it, it was Jen.
“Hey, you’re tired, I know,” Jen said on a grin. “I’ve been running off at the mouth, but I need to get out of here and let you get going. Besides, I gotta go make kissy noises into the phone with Jack. You don’t want to be there for that, right?”
“Uh, no. Thanks for asking,” Ana said facetiously. “We’ll just take a rain check on that.”
“Hey, he wanted me to tell you he was sorry for everything that happened, you know, like empathetic and all.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it. Where is he today?”
“Back in New York, I think. Maybe Boston.” She waved toward the east. “Out that way. Why?”
“Just wondering.” Ana strove to keep her voice level, nonchalant. A hunch, a very troubling worry about New York Millionaire Jack, was buzzing in the back of her mind. “Hey, thanks for coming over,” she said, standing up as Jen did. “It really helped.”
Her friend gave her a hug and a pat on the back. “What friends are for, right? I can do that, most of the time.” She laughed, and gathered her things. “Call me, about everything, okay? I’m here for you.”
Ana nodded. “I know. Thanks.”
“Sure. Fly safe.”
Locking the doors behind her friend, Ana flew to her computer to run Jack D’Onofrio again. There had to be something that linked him, and she was going to find it.
Chapter Sixteen
The private jet was well appointed, the nurses dressed in regular clothes rather than scrubs, but Gates still felt the irritating sting of being under a doctor’s care. Two days out of the hospital and he was still annoyed by all the poking and prodding. He hated being hovered over.
He felt surprisingly good for someone who’d been shot. Then again, the doctor kept saying it was a miracle that the bullet had missed all the vital stuff. Essentially, he just had to heal from the surgery, the blood loss, and the shock to his body.
Piece of cake.
“So.” Dav stood in the doorway to the plane’s bedroom. “You’re insisting on this. Why?”
“We’ve been over it, Dav. Until Baxter and whoever else he’s working with can figure something out, it’s better for me to be away from here, away from you.”
“So you want me to take you to the Paris house and leave you there. It makes so much sense.” Dav’s dry answer said exactly the opposite.
“Dav, I work for you. I’m your security guru. It’s my job to be there and make sure you’re safe, not bring the target that’s on me to you too. You’ve got enough trouble dealing with the Central American faction and whoever’s lurking around, impersonating your dead brother and scaring Sophia, without my adding my crap to it.”
“We still don’t know that it’s your crap,” Dav pointed out. “Don’t look so belligerent.” Dav laughed. “I’ve no objection to a few days in Paris. However, we’ve got to stop in New York. That meeting with Goldman Sachs can’t be postponed any longer. I have a suite set up at the Waldorf. You can recuperate from this flight and prepare for the next one, tomorrow.”
“Yeah, yeah. I could just go on to Paris alone, you know.” He shifted. He was getting stiff spending so much time in bed. That reminded him of Ana, so he went after Dav again. “By the way, don’t think I haven’t heard about Carrie.”
Dav looked away, just a flicker of movement, but Gates saw it and knew he was on to something. “I don’t know what you mean,” Dav said, with bland unconcern.
Gates rolled his eyes. “The hell you don’t. I know you’ve been calling her, asking her out.”
Dav sighed, and Gates heard the puzzlement in it. “She won’t talk anything but business. Won’t meet with me. Especially after the gala.”
“Really? Why?”
Dav looked at him with an “it should be obvious” expression. “Sophia.”
“Oh. Got it.” Gates saw the problem immediately. He wished his challenges with Ana were that simple. He missed her with a need that ached like a sore tooth. “Give it time.”
Dav treated him to a long, thoughtful look. “Recent events have pointed out to me that I may not have time. Life’s precious, Gates.”
Gates gritted his teeth and sat up. The muscles in his gut protested, but he ignored the pain. “Look, Dav, just because I got shot doesn’t mean the world’s going to end tomorrow. I’m just saying that you should give it a week, try again when we go back. Maybe use a different approach.”
The pilot appeared, announcing their imminent departure.
“Right. Get comfortable, Gates.” Dav nodded to the nurses, who closed ranks to pull out the pillows he’d shoved in to support himself and helped him lie back. “Get some sleep if you can.”
“Think about it, man,” Gates offered as a parting shot.
Dav got the last word, however. “Advice from someone who’s had it work out so well. Thanks.”
“Fuck,” Gates muttered, allowing the nurses to fuss around him, anchor the equipment they’d insisted on bringing. As they buckled into the nearby chairs for flight, he closed his eyes, intending to ignore it all, get some thinking in.
Dav’s words reverberated in his mind. Life is short. Every time he closed his eyes, Gates relived the bullet’s impact. Behind his closed eyelids, he replayed it. The needle-sharp pain, the hot smell of singed flesh and fabric, the almost simultaneous crackling of the car door’s glass. Ana’s scream. Dav’s shout. Being lifted; Ana’s voice telling him she had him and to hang on.
It all came back to Ana. Every time.
She had him, she’d said it. She had his back. She wasn’t some frail flower needing or wanting protection. Instead, she was there for him. Now, to add to his nightmares, he could see her face as he essentially told her to get lost, that it had just been a fling.
The pressure of takeoff was nothing compared to the pressure in his chest, in his heart.
Ana. She was it. She was the real deal, not some weak fool to be dismissed.
With a soft moan for the pain in both sides of his chest, he twisted on the bed, feeling in his body the pain of his sheer bullheaded stupidity. What had he done?
He sensed the nurses bustling around, but paid them no heed. What could he do? How could he fix it? He’d well and truly screwed everything to hell, and he knew it.
Her feature
s, wracked with pain, leapt into his mind like an IMAX movie. She’d recovered quickly. She was well trained, well schooled in making her face show only what she wanted it to show. But he’d seen it. The same agony he felt now.
Somehow, he had to mend the breach. To make it right. Yes, that’s what he’d do.
He was about to open his eyes and demand his laptop when he felt the cooling change in the IV line still taped to the back of his wrist. His thoughts fogged, and his mind drifted away from its sharp focus.
“Thank you for coming, Agent,” the head of the Panel of Inquiry started the proceedings. They’d kept her cooling her heels for a day in DC. She’d spent most of the time in the CIA Headquarters, waiting, only to be sent back to her hotel for the night and called back the next day.
Seated next to her, Ana’s advocate noted the time on his legal pad. “Yes, sir. I appreciate your time and efforts,” Ana replied, taking her seat.
The four men looked slightly nonplussed by her thanks, but they opened files and began reading the pertinent details of the Inquiry into the record.
“On Monday, February fifteenth,” the man on the far left read. “The following events occurred which are the subject of this Inquiry.”
Reese, her advocate, wrote the names of the panel in order across the page. Ana tuned into the recitation only so much as necessary to be sure they were following her statement, which they were.
The flight had been long, and she’d slept for only a little while because she knew she had to. The data on Jack G. D’Onofrio wasn’t panning out. He didn’t have a shipping arm of his magazine business as far as she could tell. His main business was West Coast too, San Francisco, Oakland, Sacramento, Lake Tahoe, Las Vegas.
Nothing showed. The problem was, she knew something was there. He was too much a New Yorker to not have something on the East Coast. You didn’t leave your roots behind when you were a New York City boy. Not one who’d spoken with such pride about his roots to a total stranger at the gallery showing.