Broken Toy

by Tymber Dalton

  She swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “You’re not just yanking my chain?”

  “No, I’m serious. You’re already in the area. We give a briefing day after tomorrow. I’ll come up to sit in on it with you and coordinate with the locals for you. I’ve already contacted the agencies and got them to assign representatives. I’ll come up and do the briefing with you before I go up to Tampa for that one. We already have Orlando, Ft. Myers, and Naples, and the east coast scheduled, and I’ll be hitting those on Thursday and Friday.”

  “Work-work?”

  He chuckled. “Work-work. Your happy place, if I’m not mistaken?”

  “So I get back some of my vacation time, then?”

  “Like you really care about vacation time.”

  “I just thought I’d ask.”

  “Check your work e-mail. I’ve sent you notes. I need you to pull together a briefing presentation for this, one that the other agents can use at their regional briefings. You have the case?”

  She thought to the files on her laptop, as well as her notes. “I have everything I need.”

  “Good. Let me see a rough draft by noon before you start on the pretty version.” He hung up.

  She smiled as she stood and ran to the kitchen to get the coffee started. Her headache had vanished.

  Work! I get to work!

  Any thoughts she might have had about Bill, regrets about ditching the class, dropped to last place.

  She had work to do.

  Finally.

  * * * *

  She actually had the rough draft to Walker by eleven and was on the phone with him shortly thereafter.

  “Damn, girl. You’ve been busy this morning.”

  She’d also started her third pot of coffee. “I had work to do.”

  “Look, I’m sorry I had to interrupt your time off—”

  “Jeez, boss. Don’t ruin the moment by apologizing, okay?”

  “You will still take time off. Just after we get through this. Okay?”

  “Sure. Whatever you say.” She smiled, glad he couldn’t see her expression. She knew the truth. After this case, there’d be another. And another.

  And another.

  The old maxim was wrong. There were three sureties in this world—death, taxes…and assholes who were willing to do bad things to other people.

  She was responsible for taking care of the third.

  Before long, Walker would forget about ordering her to relax, and she could go on with her life and what she needed to do.

  Working.

  At least it kept her mind off the empty little gap blatantly obvious to her now. The oddly Bill-shaped gap.

  Okay, so maybe not so little.

  Suck it up, buttercup, and deal. If you hadn’t been stupid in the first place, you wouldn’t be feeling like this now. Your own damn fault.

  She never should have gone to the munch. She damn sure shouldn’t have gone to the class. It was horrible of her to get Bill’s hopes up when she knew she wasn’t local to the area. He was a really nice guy who deserved to find someone who could give him what he needed.

  There was no way in hell she could be that person.

  Even though, deep inside, she really wished she could.

  * * * *

  By the time she collapsed a little after midnight, she’d already run seven different versions by Walker, the last of which he okayed and began distributing to the other agents after she turned in the final “pretty” version.

  Gabe also realized she had one little problem, that she had absolutely no work clothes with her, or her usual working carry rig for her sidearm.

  Dammit.

  She rolled onto her back and stared at the shadows cast across the bedroom ceiling. They’d started becoming familiar to her. The condo felt familiar.

  Sarasota and the surrounding area was beginning to feel familiar.

  Go shopping, which will cost me, or drive home and back, which will also cost me in time and gas money.

  She closed her eyes and pondered it. In the end, she figured she’d spend less money on gas, and less overall aggravation, if she just bit the bullet and went home.

  It didn’t escape her she didn’t even have anyone she could ask to go over to her place, grab things for her, and take them to her boss to bring up to her.

  No one else had a key to her condo.

  How sad am I?

  Without a chance to get to know Bill better, especially now that she’d be working with local law enforcement, she figured she deserved it.

  * * * *

  She stuck her head in Travis Walker’s office a little before noon. “Hiya.”

  He sat back, shock on his face. “What the hell are you doing here? Did I not make it clear we were doing things there?”

  “Yeeeaahh, about that.” She shrugged. “My clothes and stuff are here.” She pointed down. “In Miami. I had to come get them, unless you wanted me showing up in shorts and a T-shirt. Don’t worry, I promise to go straight home, grab my stuff, and get my butt back to Sarasota. You can even check on me and time me.”

  He buried his face in his hands and let out a moan. “You are going to be the damn death of me yet, girl.” He raised his face and stared at her. “I just saw an official copy of the report from Charlotte County. What the hell happened?”

  “Okay, you know, in a way this is all your fault.”

  She’d worked on this part on the way over from Sarasota.

  “My fault?”

  “Yeah. You ordered me to relax, have fun, take time off, and sightsee.” She opened her hands, palms up. “Your fault. I was just following orders.”

  “Really?”

  She solemnly nodded.

  He stared at her for a moment before shaking his head and pointing at his office door. “Out. Go. Get your shit and get back to Sarasota. And get me your report on the incident by tomorrow. Did you get the info I sent you about the meeting details up there?”

  “Yep.” She stood. “Anything else?”

  He stared at her. “You’re lucky I like you so much.”

  She grinned. “I’m great at my job and you know it.”

  “Yes, you are. And yes, I do.” He pointed again. “Out.”

  At the door, she turned back to face him. “Oh, do you think I could claim all this mileage on my taxes as work expense, or should I itemize it and submit it for reimbursement?”

  “Out!”

  She managed to suppress her grin until she turned away from the door and headed toward the elevator.

  When she unlocked her front door a half hour later, a realization hit her. This didn’t feel much different than the condo she was staying at in Sarasota. In fact, without the ever-growing amigurumi army to greet her, it felt damned empty.

  At least she had Lil Lobo in her purse.

  She grabbed a larger suitcase and filled it, including grabbing the other gun from her gun safe, just in case. Another 9mm Glock she sometimes carried. And the concealed carry rig she wore while working, a couple of blazers, slacks, blouses, and pairs of shoes. She also took a few minutes to empty some things from the fridge and bag the garbage to drop in the Dumpster on her way out.

  As she stood by the front door and surveyed the small condo, she felt a pang hit her. She’d lived there ten years, and yet never replaced the store-bought art on the walls that had come with the place, or the furniture. Just the mattress and box spring.

  It had likely been staged by the real estate agent. When she’d asked about including the furnishings, they’d agreed for a nominal charge. That was worth it to Gabe to avoid the aggravation of doing it herself.

  She still had a few pictures of her parents in albums she’d brought from Maria’s, but had never taken the time to get any of them enlarged into wall-sized prints despite it crossing her mind a few times.

  She went back to the bedroom, grabbed another suitcase from under the bed, and packed the photo albums into it. Now she literally could lock the door on the condo, walk away from
it, and never return, if she had to. She’d learned to live light and lean growing up, a habit reinforced by the army and her years in college dorms.

  I wonder what Bill’s house looks like.

  Then again, she’d never find out now.

  On that sad thought she left, locking the door behind her.

  Chapter Fifteen

  At least now Bill had something else to take his mind off Ella standing him up at the class and apparently dropping off the face of the planet. He and Al got assigned to a multi-agency task force that would be led by an FDLE agent. They were tracking down customers of a child sex ring operation they’d busted up in Miami a couple of weeks prior. Other agents were handling task forces in other parts of the state. They’d draw in the johns via the computer and arrest them, but they needed to have everybody on board to keep this from turning into a paperwork nightmare. And it would take up several weeks of his time.

  Al stood inside Bill’s office doorway. “Ready to go?”

  “Yeah.” He logged off his computer and grabbed his notepad. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to this. Joint tasks forces were nearly always a pain in the ass that at some point devolved into a territorial pissing contest between jurisdictions between the different departments.

  All he wanted to do was put bad guys in jail and keep good people safe. Period, full stop. Especially sexual predators.

  Unfortunately, it was usually the individual investigators who got along well, while the department heads jockeyed for precedent. Especially if they were elected or appointed officials who needed the cachet of a blockbuster operation for their resumes.

  And since Charlotte County was smaller, in terms of force, population, and number of perps, they would get shuffled to the back of the line if they were lucky, and treated like incompetent Barney Fifes if they weren’t.

  Al offered to drive, which was fine with Bill. Hopefully they could be back in the office by early afternoon. Bill didn’t relish the thought of wasting an entire workday on this circle jerk.

  “You remember the last FDLE guy we had to work with on a regular basis?” Al asked as he pointed his car north on US 41.

  Bill nodded. “I heard he finally retired last year.”

  “What a dick he was.”

  Bill smiled. “Yes, he was. Glad he wasn’t our problem to deal with very often.”

  “My friend Paul, who’s a detective with Sarasota County? He hated him with a passion. Even filed a complaint with the state about him being unprofessional.”

  “How’d that pan out?”

  Al grinned. “The dick retired, didn’t he?”

  “That must have been some complaint. So what do we know about”—he glanced at his notes—“Travis Walker?”

  “I’ve heard he’s good. Reasonable. Bringing in one of his top investigators to run point for the state in our area.”

  A supervisor who would hand over an investigation to a—gasp—investigator? How novel. “I think that bodes well,” Bill said.

  “That’s my opinion, and I’m sticking to it.”

  They were meeting in the south county admin center in Venice. It wasn’t exactly neutral territory, but it was centrally located for most of the attendees. There was even a detective from DeSoto County coming over to take part since one of the leads took them to Arcadia. They’d have FDLE overseeing the case, with both the city and county of Sarasota, city of Venice, city of North Port, Charlotte County, DeSoto County, and even a representative from Manatee County since some of the activity was traced close enough to the county line to give them reason to believe there might be jurisdictional issues there as well.

  They pulled into the parking lot twenty minutes before the scheduled meeting start time. “Where are we going?”

  “Conference room over near the auditorium.”

  Fortunately, the board of county commissioners wasn’t meeting there that day, or the place would have been packed inside and out. They walked in and found the conference room, where three men were already waiting. Bill recognized one of them from North Port, and as they made introductions and took seats around the conference table, Bill sensed at least these three men were all of the same mindset of him and Al, that they wanted to focus on the investigation and apprehensions and let the managers duke the rest of it out amongst themselves.

  More people filtered in. Bill actually wasn’t paying attention when Travis Walker entered the room, followed by someone else. He’d been head down over his BlackBerry, responding to an e-mail from a deputy who’d been the initial responding officer on a case he was working.

  When he looked up for the introductions, he froze. Well, except for his heart, which began thundering in his chest. Behind Walker, and wearing a deer-in-the-headlights look as she stared at Bill, stood one Ella.

  “Thanks for coming here today, ladies and gentlemen,” Walker said. “We know this is a hassle, but since this case ties in with one that we’re working over in Miami, they decided it would be best to put an investigator already familiar with it in place. I’d like to introduce Special Agent Gabriella Villalobos.”

  Bill watched her throat work as she swallowed hard before nodding to the room. Today she wore her hair back in a tight braid.

  Well, I was wrong about her not being a cop. I must be slipping. It took all he had not to burst out laughing.

  As Walker went around the conference table to get personal introductions, she stood there, nodding when appropriate, but her gaze never leaving Bill’s. When Walker reached him, Bill decided to play a card.

  “Detective William Thomas, Charlotte County. Actually, Special Agent Villalobos and I have already met, albeit briefly.”

  Her face transformed into a beautiful and—in his opinion—well-deserved shade of scarlet behind Walker.

  “You have?” Walker asked.

  “Yes. Sunday night, she apprehended a couple of muggers who attacked her. We didn’t get to talk long because it started storming.”

  “Oh, yes, seems I heard about that,” Walker said, glancing back at Ella—Gabriella, Bill corrected himself—who was now looking at a legal pad clutched in her hands.

  Bill’s eyes didn’t leave her face. Every time she glanced up, she looked away again. Walker took a seat at the head of the table as she unslung a laptop bag from her shoulder and got it ready to hook up to a monitor.

  “I’m going to let Special Agent Villalobos take things from here,” Walker said. “She’s going to fill you in on the history and information we have so far, and she’s prepared handouts to e-mail all of you.” He passed out a paper to everyone. “Her e-mail and contact info is on there, as is mine. Just shoot her an e-mail so she can send it to you.”

  She seemed to fumble the cable connection as she tried to get her laptop hooked up to the monitor. It took her a few moments to gather herself and start speaking, but once she did, shifting into what was obviously her work mode, Bill’s attitude started to adjust.

  By the time she finished with the summation an hour later, he was full of admiration for her.

  She still wouldn’t meet his gaze head-on.

  He couldn’t blame her.

  They needed to break for lunch and were all going to hit the Bob Evans a few blocks down the road. Bill excused himself from Al and stepped over to her, dropping his voice. “We need to talk.”

  She started to say something, but he cut her off. “I’ll ride to the restaurant with you. Or did you come with your boss?”

  “Fine,” she muttered.

  He told Al to head over without him, that they’d be there in a few minutes. Al actually opted to ride with his friend from Sarasota county and a couple of others. Eventually the room emptied, leaving the two of them standing there.

  It was obvious she wasn’t going to speak first, so he did. “So what do I call you? Ella? Gabriella? Special Agent Villalobos?”

  “Car,” she muttered. She fished her keys from her pocket, slung her laptop case over her shoulder, and headed out the door without bothering to se
e if he was following her.

  * * * *

  Gabe could barely breathe. She’d been praying the little creeps who’d mugged her would plead out, meaning no reason to ever see Det. William Thomas again.

  Boy, was I ever wrong.

  Never in her life had she dreamed he’d be plopped onto the task force. Then again, had she stopped to think about it instead of being so excited to be on the job again, she would have realized there was a decent chance of it happening.

  She suspected Walker would grill her later, once they could speak alone, about her reaction. Then she’d have to come up with a suitable cover story. As it was she fought the urge to break into a run as soon as she emerged from the building into the daylight of the warm afternoon. She turned right, toward the rear parking lot, well aware of Bill following close behind her.

  He didn’t speak, waiting by the passenger door until she got her door open and popped the locks to let him in. Once they were inside, engine on and AC running, she sat there with her hands on the steering wheel and her eyes facing forward.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” he finally said.

  “What question?”

  “What do you want me to call you? Unless you meant you wanted me to call you ‘car,’ which I highly doubt.”

  “Gabe’s fine,” she said. “That’s what everyone else usually calls me.”

  “Okay,” he said. “I can request someone else be assigned to the task force in my place.”

  She looked at him. “Why?”

  “It’s obviously going to be an issue for you.”

  That got her dander up. “What the heck does that mean? I never said it was going to be an issue for me.”

  “You could barely talk in there at first.”