Winter Black Box Set 2

by Mary Stone

  “You did, really?”

  “Yep. For a whole four months. Worst four months of my adult life, and that’s not just because I was taking calculus at the time.”

  “Calculus was rough.” Winter wrinkled her nose. “I worked at a call center too. We did inbound customer service, and it was still terrible. I’d always be extra motivated to do my homework too. It’s like that job reminded me how terrible everything would be if I didn’t put some effort into school.”

  “Exactly,” Autumn snickered.

  As they walked through the Violent Crimes department and out into the cloudy morning, they exchanged call center horror stories. From their coworkers to the customers to their bosses, there hadn’t been a single aspect of the job they had enjoyed.

  At the early morning hour, the inside of the coffee shop was sparsely populated. Most patrons were stopping by to pick up a caffeinated drink on their way to work, so not many had seated themselves throughout the space.

  Winter and Autumn accepted their drinks and their scones, a chocolate chip scone for Winter and a blueberry scone for Autumn, and made their way to a table near the corner.

  After the first bite, Autumn nodded her approval and complimented Winter for her breakfast decision.

  “I should make scones more often,” she mused. “They can be kind of a pain, though. You have to cut the butter into the flour and stuff, and when you’ve got the start of carpal tunnel like I do, it hurts your hand.”

  “You really need to meet my grandmother,” Winter replied. “She would love you. I was interested in cooking for a little while when I was in high school, but I think that’s because I was more interested in eating, honestly.”

  “Why do you think I like cooking so much?” Autumn asked with a grin. “It makes it a lot easier and a lot cheaper to stuff my face.”

  “I bet that’s why Noah taught himself how to cook earlier this year.”

  “No doubt about that.” Autumn nodded and sipped at her latte.

  “So,” Winter said after a short silence. “How are you feeling about your first job?”

  “I don’t know. All right, I suppose. It’s not like I’ve never interviewed someone in a clinical setting before, you know. But, it’s just a little weird since it’s one of your coworkers. Not that it’s a conflict of interest, I double-checked that. Since I don’t know her and you guys aren’t necessarily friends with her, that part’s fine.”

  “That’s good.” Winter offered her friend a warm smile. “You’ve got this, then.”

  Her green eyes darted back and forth as she tapped the side of her paper cup. “Can I tell you something? Ask you something, I guess. About, you know, your sixth sense, or whatever you want to call it.”

  Once she glanced around to make sure no one could overhear them, Winter nodded. “Of course.”

  “Okay, this is going to sound really weird, so I’m just going to say it. That thing with your senses, that same thing happened to me.”

  Winter’s mouth drooped open, and she didn’t bother to conceal the awe from her dumbfounded stare. Before she could ask for an elaboration, Autumn went on.

  “There was that, and then this other thing. Kind of like your headaches, I guess, but it’s different. And no matter how many classes I’ve taken about cognition and brain function, I’ve never been able to find anything detailed about something like this happening. It’s not uncommon for people to come out of serious head injuries with a different personality or something like that, but not, you know. Abilities.”

  Winter made a soft snorting sound. “That makes us sound like the X-Men.”

  Autumn laughed and seemed to relax. “It kind of does. Sorry, I talk a lot when I’m nervous, and I guess I’m a little nervous. I’ve never really told anyone this before. I kind of told my ex, but I didn’t tell him the extent of it. But, well, you said that sometimes you’ll see something and it’ll kind of jump out at you, right?”

  Winter had managed to swallow most of her shock, and she nodded. “Right. It’s like it’ll almost glow red. It does glow, but it’s not like a normal glow, you know what I mean? Because I don’t see it lighting up anything around it, it’ll just be that one thing that’s lit up.”

  “That makes sense. Well, as much as it can make sense anyway.” Autumn paused to take a drink of her latte and shrug. “For me, it’s different. When I touch someone, like shake their hand or something, it’s almost like I can feel what they’re feeling. Their motivation, their emotions, whether or not they’re lying. It’s all really vague, but it’s hard to explain.”

  “Wait a second,” Winter said. “You can tell if someone’s lying just by shaking their hand?”

  “I can usually tell more than that.” Autumn twisted her fingers together. “And sometimes, it’s stronger than others. That probably has something to do with how strong the emotion is for the person, though.”

  “So, you could tell me what’s going through my head right now if you shook my hand?” Winter asked, eyebrow arched.

  “No.” Autumn shook her head. “Not after I’ve gotten to know someone, or after I’ve spent a lot of time around them. I think that might be because by then I’ve got my own perception of them, and it messes with what I can pick up on. Jesus, I sound like I’m a damn weather balloon or something.”

  Winter snapped one hand up to cover her mouth as she swallowed the drink of mocha before she had a chance to spit it all over the table. “A weather balloon?” she managed to say without snorting coffee through her nose.

  “Hey, that’s what it sounded like to me, all right? Talking about interference and whatever.” Waving a dismissive hand, Autumn took another sip of coffee.

  “Wow, though, that’s a pretty useful ability, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” she sighed. “I suppose. Sometimes I’d rather not know what people are thinking when I shake their hand, though. It makes you keenly aware of how many creeps are out there.”

  Winter wrinkled her nose. “I guess that’s a downside.”

  “I’m just wondering, though. How do you do it? Obviously, it helps you with your work, right? So, how do you balance it? Or keep other people from finding out about it?”

  “It’s not always easy,” Winter admitted. “Especially with the headaches. They got really intense while we were looking for, well, while we were trying to find who killed my parents. But the other part, for me, it’s just a matter of making sure I’ve got a reason for why I found something that I probably wouldn’t have if I didn’t have this sixth sense. Usually, I just call it a hunch or say it’s instinct. Because I guess, in a way, that’s what it is.”

  With a thoughtful look, Autumn leaned back in her chair and nodded. “That makes sense. Yeah, I think I see it. For me, I’d just have to almost tailor my questions to what I already know.”

  “Exactly.”

  Winter smiled. For the second time in the past twenty-four hours, one of her close friends had sought her out to ask for her advice. And for the second time, she had been able to deliver.

  25

  Autumn took in a steadying breath and brushed off the front of her button-down blouse before she pushed down on the metal lever and shoved open the door.

  She had been told by the special agent in charge of Violent Crimes that the woman she was scheduled to interview would meet her in the cramped conference room. There were plenty of free interrogation rooms, but Autumn had been clear that she didn’t want their discussion to feel like an interrogation.

  She wasn’t a cop; she was a psychologist. And she wasn’t here to interrogate a federal agent. She was here to collect information.

  As Autumn stepped into the dim space, a pair of dark eyes snapped up from the polished tabletop to scrutinize her.

  She didn’t have to touch the woman to know that mistrust and flat-out paranoia brewed beneath her otherwise calm veneer.

  Pocketing her phone, the shorter woman pushed to her feet. The overhead light caught the shine of her shoulder-length ebony hair
. Each movement stiff, almost reluctant, she stuck out a hand and nodded at Autumn.

  Here it was. The moment of truth.

  Autumn forced a smile to her face as she accepted the handshake.

  The suspicion alight in the woman’s eyes had been expected, but what she hadn’t anticipated was the feeling of anxiety that lurked beneath the irritability. Right away, Autumn knew she had a secret, but at the same time, she knew the secret wasn’t on the level of first-degree murder.

  No, this woman’s secret had to do with a romantic interest. She had hidden her conflicted thoughts about a man, not a crime.

  “Special Agent Ming,” Autumn said as she took a seat on the opposite side of the circular table, “I’m Dr. Autumn Trent. You have some idea why we’re here today, don’t you?”

  The agent nodded. “I do. This is about the Haldane case. Specifically, about whether or not I killed the little shit.”

  “Right,” Autumn replied once she had pushed down her chortle. “And you know that your Fifth Amendment right to silence still applies here, right? This isn’t a clinical session, and anything you tell me can be used in a court of law.”

  For the second time, Sun nodded.

  She already knew Sun Ming had not killed Tyler Haldane, and by proxy that she had not killed Ben Ormund or Mitch Stockley. Now, like Winter had suggested, she had to backtrack to obtain evidence to prove what she had already discovered.

  Sun’s thoughts were wrapped up in a romantic conflict, so maybe all Autumn had to do was reveal the office romance to clear the woman from the list of suspects? That felt like the right direction.

  “I’ll start simple, then. Agent Ming, did you kill Tyler Haldane?” Autumn clicked the end of her pen as she met the woman’s intense gaze.

  “No,” Sun answered. “I didn’t.”

  Autumn couldn’t help but wonder what the agent’s expression would look like if she gathered up her notepad and pen, thanked her for her time, and left.

  Instead, she continued on through a series of questions, the answers to which had been proven to yield valuable insight in threat assessment. Unsurprisingly, all Agent Ming’s responses—combined with what Autumn had learned of her temperament and her history at the bureau—were consistent with low risk.

  “All right, Agent Ming,” she said, flashing the other woman a quick smile. “I’d like to ask a couple personal questions, if you don’t mind. Are you in a romantic relationship?”

  Though the gesture was slow, Sun shook her head. “No.” Either Sun had lied, or she was unsure of her standing with her romantic interest.

  Until she spotted the fib, Autumn had not intended to pry into Ming’s interpersonal relationships, but now, she wanted to know why the woman had lied.

  Autumn clicked her pen and set the utensil atop the notepad. She kept each motion measured and slow as she folded her hands atop the table and glanced up to Sun. So far, Autumn had been relaxed and agreeable, but now, the sudden shift to stern and disciplined was designed to throw Sun off-balance. And as far as Autumn could tell, the tactic had worked.

  “Have you ever dated someone from work? From the FBI office?” Fingers interlocked, Autumn didn’t let her stare waver.

  Maybe she should have used an interrogation room.

  When Sun started to shake her head, Autumn raised her eyebrows.

  “Who the hell are you?” the agent managed as she narrowed her eyes. “And what do these questions have to do with anything?”

  “Relationship status has been associated with predictors for violent behavior. Whether or not you’ve dated a coworker establishes the type of environment where you work. Hostility toward coworkers, grudges, things of that nature.” The statement was sweeping and broad, but technically, it was true. There was a reason car insurance rates declined when a person got married. “Of course, you’re still entitled to your Fifth Amendment protections, Agent Ming.”

  The shadows shifted along Agent Ming’s face as she clenched and unclenched her jaw. “I’m not dating anyone right now, but…” She paused to sigh. “There is someone. It’s just, it’s complicated.”

  “Complicated how?”

  “Complicated as in he’s at the tail end of a failing marriage, and I feel like I’m just some kind of fucking reprieve!” she snapped. Wide-eyed, she raised a hand to cover her mouth.

  “It’s all right,” Autumn replied, spreading her hands. “Look, no notes, see? This isn’t being recorded, and unless there’s something I don’t know about, no one’s listening in. Off the record, I know the feeling.”

  This time, she had not exaggerated or otherwise stretched the truth. Not long after she moved to Virginia, she had been in the same situation that clearly weighed so heavily on Sun’s mind.

  Now, almost a year after their split, Autumn attributed the entire debacle to her youth and the naivety that came with it. He was twelve years her senior, and at the time, she thought the idea of dating such a smart, savvy man was thrilling. And maybe it still was, but she was no longer the starry-eyed graduate student who had just moved from the Midwest to the coast.

  “Well, thanks,” Sun muttered. “To answer your question, yes, I’ve dated a coworker. That relationship ended a while ago, and we weren’t ever in the same division. He’s in the BAU, and I’ve always been in VC.”

  “He was in the BAU?” Autumn echoed, raising an eyebrow.

  “Still is,” she confirmed.

  So, maybe the work environment at the Richmond FBI office wasn’t conducive to an agent’s violent tendencies, but there were plenty of unorthodox dynamics that lurked beneath the polished surface.

  As Autumn flipped to the second page of her notepad, her expression was thoughtful but calm. Aiden couldn’t remember the last federal agent who had been as relaxed in the presence of the SAC and the Associate Deputy Director, much less a brand-new Ph.D. graduate.

  But try as he might, he could not spot so much as a hint of unease in her demeanor.

  “You said Agent Ming has been acting bizarre, isn’t that right?” Autumn asked, glancing up to Cassidy Ramirez.

  Ramirez nodded. “She’s always been standoffish, but lately, it seems like she isolates herself more. Like she’s been more cut off from her coworkers. You had a chance to speak to Agent Vasquez and Agent Camp, didn’t you, Dr. Trent?”

  “I did,” Autumn replied with a quick smile. “And it does seem like she’s been markedly less sociable since the Riverside Mall, but…” Before Max could interject, Autumn held up a hand. “I don’t think it’s because she’s snapped and become a vigilante. Everything Agents Camp and Vasquez told me, plus what I heard from Agent Ming herself points to posttraumatic stress.”

  “Are you—”

  Autumn powered on. “How tall is Agent Ming?” When her emerald eyes settled on him, he didn’t miss the knowing glint. “A few inches over five foot? She’s petite, and a Barrett M98 Bravo isn’t a small weapon. It’s not as dramatic as some others, but considering Agent Ming’s recent shoulder injury, I don’t think it’s all that likely that she lugged a weapon of that size around with her up six flights of stairs.”

  “But—”

  Autumn wasn’t finished. “And Mitch Stockley was killed before the shooting at the Riverside Mall, correct?”

  The question was rhetorical, but Ramirez nodded. “Yes. A week before.”

  “But the working theory here is that the Riverside Mall was Agent Ming’s breaking point, isn’t that right?”

  Aiden could almost hear Cassidy’s teeth grind together as she nodded for the second time, and he struggled to keep the expression of awe off his face.

  The smirk that tugged at the corner of Max’s mouth was unmistakable. He was right, and he now had the word of a psychologist from an elite firm to back his assertion.

  “Then if Agent Ming is still a suspect, the Riverside Mall doesn’t explain Mitch Stockley. In addition, Agent Ming is almost thirty-one. That’s past the usual age for the onset of disorders like paranoid schizophrenia,
so the likelihood that she suffered a psychotic break is slim. There’s no history of schizophrenia in her family, either, and schizophrenia is usually precluded by some sort of genetic predisposition.”

  The ADD raised a brow. “People snap.”

  “With all due respect, ADD Ramirez, people don’t snap and decide to go on a killing spree without leaving a trail that spans months, even years. There’s nothing else in Agent Ming’s history to suggest that she was nearing a breakdown before the Riverside Mall. She was raised in a middle-class, two-parent household with a twin brother, pets, and a close extended family.

  “She’s well-established at this office, and despite the recent reports of social isolation, she has a strong connection to what she does at the bureau. It’s my professional opinion that Agent Ming poses a low risk of violent behavior, and it’s my professional opinion that she’s not responsible for the murder of Tyler Haldane, Mitch Stockley, or Ben Ormund. I’ll have a written synopsis sent to you by the end of the day, but those are the highlights.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Trent,” Ramirez replied as she rose from her seat to extend a hand to Autumn. Autumn’s smile wobbled a bit as they touched, then brightened through what looked like some effort.

  What was that all about?

  When Autumn stepped to the side to shake Max’s hand, Aiden half-expected the man to offer her a high-five instead.

  With a kindly smile, the likes of which Aiden seldom saw the tenured SAC wear, Max defied Aiden’s expectations and merely shook her hand. Her expression was unreadable as she bade Aiden farewell, but the blank look only invited more questions.

  He excused himself before he could bear witness to Max’s victory stretch—the same exaggerated, casual motion he made whenever his point was proven.

  As he hurried around the corner, he caught the glint of the overhead lights on the polished silver doors of the elevator as they started to ease shut. Attention fixed on her phone, Autumn leaned against a metal handrail.