by DiAnn Mills
With a tilt of her head, Kariss flashed an award-winning smile at Linc. “Oh, I’m excited about working with Tigo. This morning is the past. I’m over it and ready to open my laptop, ask questions, and take notes.” She shifted her laptop and studied Tigo’s face. “I understand my research has to occur in and around your busy schedule, so just give me the guidelines.” She peered closer at him. “Do you need another Band-Aid? The two you have sticking there aren’t doing the job.”
Did she think he couldn’t take care of himself? “It needs a few stitches.”
Kariss hurried at a fast clip to the elevator. Why had she worn stilettos? Keeping up with Tigo had led to another workout. First the MOU had to be signed and now this.
“The med center’s off campus.” He pressed the Down arrow, and she noted his Buzz Lightyear watch. If not for her nieces and nephews, she wouldn’t have recognized the Toy Story character.
“No problem. Linc told me. My car or yours?” she said between breaths.
“Mine is quicker.”
She’d already witnessed that.
“Sure you don’t want to stay here?”
“I want the whole experience. One of my characters might need medical attention, and this is an excellent fact-finding mission.”
He stepped into the empty elevator and then pierced her with his gaze. But she would not be intimidated. “Make sure I’m not one of your characters.”
This guy definitely thought highly of himself. “Why not? Looks like you’re Linc’s favorite. Or is it least favorite?”
“I’m beginning to wonder.”
If Kariss wanted the inside scoop on the work of an FBI agent, she’d have to make the first move. “We’ve gotten off to a rough start, and I know I’m not on your list of favorite assignments.”
He smirked. “Linc tell you that?”
“He indicated the possibility. What can I do to make this easier, other than quitting or requesting another agent?”
“I haven’t a clue.”
She laughed lightly. The elevator opened, and they stepped out. “I have no intention of giving up my writing project because you view me as a hindrance to your work.”
“All I ask is you don’t get in my way.”
“I wouldn’t think of it.”
Tigo continued at the same lightning speed toward the rear of the building. He and Buzz did have much in common. How could one man walk that fast with blood oozing onto his shirt collar? Maybe pain kept him moving.
Through the glass doors, she viewed the employee parking lot. He opened the door and waited, impatience etched across his forehead.
“Is the jog for my benefit or yours?” She struggled to control her breathing.
“I’m in a hurry. Lots to do.” He pointed to the car that resembled a castoff from the junkyard. She might use it in her story. “Is that your normal transportation?”
“You don’t like the tank?”
“Oh, it’s fine.” She grimaced at the spider-web effect of the shattered windshield, which looked like a bullet had sailed through. Other similar holes sank into the car’s side. “I know this is not your ride of choice. What’s your other vehicle?”
He opened her door. The ragged piece of metal protested. “Most days I drive a truck. But there are three other tank-types available for my use.”
Made sense. He’d already jumped from the image of a professional who worked a case from a phone and computer to a … Well, she didn’t know yet. Buzz Lightyear’s phrase “To infinity and beyond” slid across her mind.
She eased onto the ragged seat and hoped her outfit wasn’t destroyed by the open springs and dirt. “Were you on a stakeout this morning?”
“Possibly.” He slammed the door and walked around the front of the car. Ruggedly handsome, but his condescending and ripply sarcasm reminded her of an ex-boyfriend. Very ex. She’d killed him off in a tragic accident in her third bestseller.
She composed herself before he started the engine. “Did you get what you went after?”
“Since I didn’t go after a bullet, the answer is no.”
“Is dodging bullets your normal method of gathering information?”
He wrestled the gear shift into reverse, obviously throwing his frustration into the process. “Have you counted how many questions you’ve asked since we started this ordeal?”
“Ordeal?”
He moistened his lips and backed out of the parking place. “I will answer one question of your choice if you promise you won’t ask one more thing until my neck is stitched.”
“Okay.” She should have understood his pain could make him surly. “I’m sorry. Here’s my last question for now: how much of your investigative method involves dodging bullets?”
“Too much.”
“Thank you. I believe the next few months will be exciting.” She gave him her best smile.
He groaned, and she didn’t ask if his response was due to the wound in his neck or her presence.
“I can bring Starbucks every morning.” She’d seen that done on a TV show.
“Venti, black.”
“A pastry?”
“That’s a question, but I’ll give you a break. Blueberry scone once a week. Preferably Wednesday.”
“It’s a deal.” She’d found his weakness.
“Here’s an assignment for you.”
He’d be a great character. “Bring it on.”
“See if you can muzzle your enthusiasm until we’re on our way back to the office.”
Kariss bit her tongue to keep from laughing. This was not at all what she’d expected. But it would be worth any price.
CHAPTER 5
“Do you realize your file is bigger than any other agent’s?” Dr. Nguyen shifted his focus from Tigo to the open folder. “More stitches. Two broken arms. One hospitalization after you decided to scale a twenty-foot fence. Need I go on?”
“I’m working on a record.” All Tigo wanted today was an opportunity to eradicate gun smugglers and those who sold them weapons. And in the course of a few hours he’d been shot, received his second speeding ticket in three months, been introduced to a woman who would drive him to drink, and now had to endure more pain. He also wondered about a tooth that seemed to be giving him a problem, but he didn’t have time to see his dentist.
Dr. Nguyen stepped forward to examine him. “Let me guess how this happened. I’m writing a book, you know.”
Not another one.
“Patching you up reminds me of a war zone.” Dr. Nguyen chuckled.
“I’m glad my wounds are your comic relief.”
Once Tigo received the five stitches and what he needed to keep the wound clean from infection, he took a deep breath and headed back to Kariss Walker, his new assignment. More like a shackle. She wouldn’t be riding shotgun with him when he needed to follow up leads. But she’d be waiting at the office to pester him with questions.
A blast of reality blew into his thoughts. A male writer would most likely ask as many questions and get under his skin too. But maybe he could share a few of his exploits and chase this woman away, back to the world of the rich and famous. He stifled a laugh. Linc had shown him the back of Kariss’s book. Her tag line read “Real Women, Real Issues.” She had no clue about the actual work involved in solving a crime.
“Ready?” Tigo smiled with the intent of convincing her of his sincerity.
“I am.” She closed the lid of her laptop. “I’ve been writing my questions.”
His mission went into take-charge mode. “Good idea. Then we can tackle them all at once.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “What’s the change? Pain meds?”
“I thought I’d give you a rundown on why I was in the middle of a firefight this morning.”
Her dark eyes widened. The reaction he needed. “I’ll tell you in the car. No point in boring anyone else with the details.”
“Great. Can I record you?”
“I’d rather you simply listen.” Once in the c
ar, he began, adding a few colorful touches that stretched the truth but served his purpose. “… that’s when I realized I was late for my appointment with Linc.”
“Twelve gang members after one agent. I’m amazed you escaped with only a bullet grazing your neck.”
“I was motivated.”
“Why didn’t you fire a warning shot before it got deadly?”
“FBI agents don’t fire warning shots. That’s only in the movies and isn’t practical.”
“Wow. I’m so lucky.”
Whoa. That’s not the reaction he needed. Before noon, he wanted to make calls to find out the particulars of Candy’s death and work on his next lead. He slid into a parking spot and turned off the engine. “My nearly getting killed is lucky for you?”
She startled. “I mean I’m fortunate to learn from your expertise. I’d love to hear about your disguises. How many do you have?”
Tigo sensed defeat creeping over him, but he rarely ran from a challenge. “Because of what I do, there are those who’d like to gun me down. Gangs don’t play touch football. We could be together at lunch, and your life would be in danger.”
“Not any more than getting cut off on the highway.”
Did she have a flippant remark for everything? Time to put his skills into the next gear. “My point, Kariss, is your desire to write this book might get you killed.”
She shifted to face him. “Cowboy, trying to persuade me to give up my research only reinforces my determination. Let’s start over with your story. This time you can begin by telling the truth.” Her gaze bore into his, steady with a spark of humor. “I believe you had a few problems this morning, and by not mentioning a partner you’re indicating your little incident was probably not sanctioned by FBI protocol. My question is, how many guys did you really upset? Even fiction heroes don’t take on a dozen gang members singlehandedly. Only stubborn women.”
She crossed her arms before continuing. “I’m not stupid, Tigo, and I resent your implication that I’m not smart enough to see what you’re doing. My goal is not to make your life miserable but to conduct research effectively and professionally. So suck up your male ego and realize you’re stuck with me.”
He’d met his match, and she’d won the first round.
An hour had passed since Kariss and Tigo had returned from the med clinic to the work cubicles assigned to each agent. She studied the man seated at the desk before her, the FBI agent with a bandage on his neck. She hadn’t decided if she liked him. He’d fed her a line of trash as though she were a schoolgirl idolizing a rock star. But like heroes and heroines in a novel, she wasn’t giving up one of her character traits. She understood danger and what it meant, but though she hadn’t been involved in anything more life threatening than driving in six lanes during rush-hour traffic since she’d quit being a reporter, she had the intelligence to know when to back off from the opposition. Like the past hour.
What did impress her was the autopsy photo of Cherished Doe on his desk. Like her, he hadn’t been able to forget.
Tigo rubbed his face. Paperwork must drive him nuts. When he’d told her he needed to document what happened this morning, she decided to work on characterization for her hero, who was decidedly Special Agent Santiago Harris. Hmm. He had an interesting combination of names. She’d have to find out about his heritage. He had yummy-colored skin, reminding her of a man she’d met once in Cozumel. Huh. That line would look better in a novel.
Twenty minutes passed before he scooted back his chair and left the area. How she’d love to get her hands on that report. Maybe he’d feel like talking about the Cherished Doe case when he returned.
She let her fingers fly with the hero’s description, filling in the previous blank areas with eye and hair color, height and weight, body build, and distinguishing physical features. She closed her eyes. Tigo had coffee-colored eyes, deep with intensity, and his thick black hair begged to have a woman’s fingers combing through it, feathering her touch around his temples—
Kariss caught herself. This was a suspense novel. She couldn’t think thoughts like this. Different descriptions, priorities … Focus, Kariss. Venture into a world where the resolution of a story means a crime’s been solved and characters change and grow into better people.
So she added the description “ruggedly handsome” and considered his skills and abilities. She’d add more details as she learned from the men and women of the FBI.
Tigo returned in a better mood. He stood at the entrance of his assigned cubicle — which was a decent size, but with the extra chair Kariss felt crowded.
“Hard at work?” he said.
Kariss gave him her full attention. “I’m in the prep stage, forming my characters.”
“Keep at it. I have a call to make. Do you mind waiting outside my little office.”
She offered her sweetest smile and grabbed her laptop. “All right. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of FBI business.”
For half a second he scowled, but then quickly masked it with a nod. “Anything you hear is confidential. We’re working on getting you a cubicle of your own. Possibly the one to the right of mine.” He scooted her chair into the hallway.
With his back to her, he punched in a number. She wasn’t going to tell him about her acute sense of hearing. Fingers poised, she waited. Although the conversation would be one sided, she could get the gist of what was being said.
“Hey, Ricardo. I understand candy was found last night.”
Candy was a code name for drugs. Kariss wondered where the drugs had been found.
“Unfortunate, any way you look at it. Did you pick up bling?” Tigo leaned back in his chair.
Was bling a code word or a person?
“A man like you doesn’t believe everything he hears.”
Silence.
Tigo chuckled. “Sure, I can do lunch tomorrow. What can you tell me now?”
Several seconds passed with Tigo listening. He grabbed a notepad from his desk and jotted down a few things. She’d love to get her hands on that too.
“Thanks. I’ll see what I can find and get back to you. I’d like to talk to the guy too.” After ending the call, he wrote a few more items, then whirled his chair around to face her.
“Do you have time to discuss the cold case now?” she said.
He held up a finger, wrote something, and placed his notepad inside a drawer. He patted a file and looked up. “Hey, Ryan.”
Kariss turned to see a thin man dressed in a black shirt and khakis standing behind her.
“Heard you were busy this morning. Sorry I missed the action.”
“News travels fast. Hey, I’d like you to meet Kariss Walker. She’s a writer who’ll be observing us for the next three months.”
Ryan reached out his hand, and she met a kind face … that held a sparkle of mischief. “Ryan Steadman. Pleasure to meet you. Are you a journalist? Doing a feature on wild FBI agents?”
“Not exactly. I’m writing a suspense novel, using one of your cold cases.”
Not a muscle moved on his face. “Tigo here is the best agent for your kind of research.”
“Linc said the same thing.”
“He has good stories, and I’m sure he’ll tell you all of them.” Ryan nodded at Tigo as if encouraging him to dive into another heroic venture.
She didn’t want another ego blast. “I’ve already heard one.”
“They get bigger and better.”
This time Tigo laughed. Good to know the man had a sense of humor.
“Tigo,” Ryan said. “I need to talk to you later about our informant.”
“Sure thing. Around two o’clock will work.”
Kariss hoped to be privy to that discussion since she’d been denied access to the phone conversation with Tigo and Ricardo. He had to be the same Ricardo who’d worked on the Cherished Doe case. She turned to Tigo. “You have clearance to give me information for my story.”
“We can discuss the file over lunch.”
“I wasn’t aware of the time.”
He tapped his left wrist, right over Buzz Lightyear. “Check your watch.”
“I don’t wear one.”
Obviously bewildered, he shrugged. “Why? Hard to find one to match your outfit?”
She ignored his gibe. “I can’t find one that will keep time. I have too much electricity in my body.”
He laughed. “Did this happen before or after you started writing fiction?”
If he was setting the stage for the next three months, she’d better be prepared. “I’ve always been this way. For some reason my body generates more static electricity than other people. I’m sure you’ve felt it.”
“Right from the beginning.”
Clearly annoyed but refusing to show her irritation, she cleared her throat. “There isn’t a medical term for my condition, but I assure you it’s documented. I use my phone to check the time.”
“I’ll remember that. Any other quirks I should be aware of?”
She considered a response, but why bother? “If I think of something, I’ll let you know. Why Buzz Lightyear?”
“Fits my mode of tracking down bad guys.”
“ ‘To infinity and beyond’? How does an FBI agent develop an appreciation for an animated character?”
He chuckled. “Ryan’s son is a big Buzz fan. I was playing basketball with him and Ryan when he compared one of my shots to something Buzz would do. So I became Uncle Buzz, and of course I had to complete the MO.”
“That one I believe.”
“You can populate your story with it. How about Mexican?”
What? His nationality?
“I know a great restaurant close by where we can talk about Cherished Doe. I remember you worked at Channel 5 when the child was found, but we didn’t have the privilege of meeting then.”
“I reported on the case and enlisted public support. It happened the last two weeks I was there.”
“So you have a personal stake in it.” He stated his response as though summarizing why she wanted to write the book.
But he had no idea how deep her passion for this story … or why. “I’ve never been able to erase the little girl’s autopsy picture from my mind.”