by Mel Gough
Their Special Agent
Thistle Hearts - Book 1
Mel Gough
ARC copy
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to others. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Published 24 October 2019
© 2019 Mel Gough
Cover: Najla Qamber Designs
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
Thank you!
About the Author
Also by Mel Gough
Gorgeous boys dressed to the nines
Flittering across the lanes
Makes me wonder who has made the rules here
Thistle Hearts - Sunset in NoHo
1
The rain came down in sheets. Special Agent Carrie McDonald wiped her face on the sleeve of her black windbreaker. No use. Everything was soaked.
Special Agent Susan White joined Carrie at her lookout post by the cordoned-off stretch of highway. “Thank god that’s someone else’s mess to clean up.” She squinted at Special Agent Cortez talking to a Travis County Sheriff’s Deputy next to an SUV in the ditch with its wheels still slowly revolving in the air. He looked like a swarthy, drowned rat. Carrie felt sorry for him.
The San Antonio field office would take the rap for this clusterfuck. She tried not to feel relieved about that.
The scene on this stretch of highway was straight out of the latest installment of The Fast and the Furious. A pick-up and a black sedan lay upside down across the lanes, flattened and still smoking. The railings that SUV had crashed through were mangled shards of metal. A fourth vehicle lay out of sight in a deep ravine, curls of smoke marking its resting place. Everything was illuminated sideways by the setting sun. The ambulances were long gone, but the coroner’s van still idled nearby.
Three dead drug mules. Two civilians, on the way home from a choir recital, also dead. And three seriously injured Austin PD detectives made it a calamity beyond the usual drug bust.
Would they ever work out exactly what had gone wrong? Right now, the narrative was confused and short on detail. As far as the forensics team had worked out, one of the unmarked law enforcement vehicles had been en route to head off the suspects fleeing hell over leather from the sting op gone south in downtown Austin. That had been where Carrie and Susan had been detailed to cover one of the routes out of the city. The sedan, carrying two agents from the FBI’s San Antonio field office, was in hot pursuit. Poor visibility, a narrow stretch of road of hairpin bends and a car full of stressed-out perps under the influence had made for an explosive combination. The drug traffickers’ car had swerved on the opposite lane to overtake the SUV carrying a mother and teenage daughter just before another narrow curve. They’d met a car with three Austin detectives racing to aid the operation head on, and the world had exploded in screeching metal and glass.
Carrie gave a sigh. She nudged her partner. “Come on. Cortez says to call it a day.” It wasn’t like them getting soaked here made the slightest bit of difference. The hillside swarmed with LEOs from Austin PD, the Travis County Sheriff’s Department and the San Antonio field office. Two Criminal Investigation agents on loan from Baltimore were of scant use in the clean-up.
Susan nodded as Cortez’s angry voice carried up to them. “Let’s get out of here.”
Their rental sedan sat thirty yards back from the cordoned-off scene, and Susan pointed the keys at it. The lights flashed and the doors clicked open. Even in the middle of a crisis, she’d never leave a car unlocked that contained weapons and ammunition. Behind her back, Susan was sometimes called Agent Lily White. Carrie appreciated her partner’s uprightness. It was one reason they got on so well and she chose to work more with her than any other agent.
Thinking of Susan’s nickname made Carrie smile, but when she slid into the passenger seat and her gaze took in the carnage on the highway, the smile quickly faded.
Fucking hell, this one’s gone sideways.
“Gibbs’ll want a report.” Susan buckled up.
“Yeah.” Carrie sighed. She reached into the backseat where their luggage was stowed and dug in her carry-on for a towel. As she slid back into her seat, the wet windbreaker made a squelchy sound against the fake leather. She grimaced and wriggled out of the jacket, dropping the sodden thing in the foot space.
She quickly rubbed her short hair dry, then handed the towel to Susan, who took her time to undo the knot at the back of her head, wincing as the rubber band snagged on her long auburn tresses. She folded down the visor and tried to untangle the mess that the wind and rain had made of her do. Usually Carrie envied Susan her beautiful hair. Tonight, not so much.
She folded down her own screen and smoothed down the much shorter strands of her dark brown bob. She looked a fright, with chapped cheeks and a sodden collar. At least her hair would be as good as dry before they got back to the motel. “I hope they can give us our rooms back for one more night.”
“We were the only ones in that place for the last three days,” Susan pointed out from under the towel. “More likely they’ve gone bankrupt since we checked out. Maybe we should find somewhere else. Somewhere less—”
“Dank?” Carrie suggested. Susan snorted.
“Yeah.” She sighed. “Gibbs would flip his shit if we upgraded on the company dollar.” She chucked the towel in the back and started the car. “Back to the Bates Motel it is.”
“Should we call him?”
“Let’s get off the road first.” Susan sped past the police cruisers, their flashing blue-and-red lights soon receding in the distance. She stretched, moving her head from side to side to work out the tension. “The only reason I didn’t throw a wobbly today is Hawaii. Twenty-four hours from now, and I’ll be sipping cocktails. And I won’t have to think of any of this for ten days.”
Less than two weeks ago, Susan had married her high school sweetheart. Pete, a prosecutor with the Baltimore City State’s Attorney’s Office, had agreed to postpone their honeymoon until after the sting operation for which San Antonio had requested Susan and Carrie, experts in large-scale criminal investigations. Susan glanced at the rose gold and platinum band on her left hand. “I can’t believe it’s finally happening.”
“Pete’ll be on his way to the airport in a few hours.” Carrie glanced at her watch. She knew their plans inside out; Susan hadn’t talked of anything else since they’d touched down at Austin-Bergstrom International. He would meet Susan in Honolulu, which had a midday flight from Austin via L.A. the next day. Carrie understood why Susan couldn’t wait. The preparation for the sting operation had left no time for the newlyweds. It was a shame it had to end so badly, though.
Carrie also had a vacation coming up. After debriefing Gibbs in Baltimore she’d spend the next week in Oak Park, a suburb of Chicago, where her thirteen-year-old daughter Trixie lived with Carrie’s mom. Carrie hadn’t seen Trixie for several months, though she couldn’t quite suppress the ripples of envy for Susan’s exotic getaway.
As if reading her mind, Susan asked, “How long since you’ve seen the kid?”
“Five months.” Carrie looked out of the window at the curtain
of rain that still showed no sign of letting up. She didn’t mind talking about private matters with Susan. They’d worked in the same field office for two years and thanks to their shared expertise and matching personalities had spent a lot of time together on assignments. But Carrie wasn’t in the mood to discuss Trixie. The case they’d just worked had left her thin-skinned.
Susan wasn’t to be deterred. “She’ll be glad to see you. But you could at least take her somewhere fun. Oak Park isn’t exactly party central.”
Carrie pressed her lips together. “She’s thirteen. She’s too young for spring break.”
“I wasn’t thinking of her.” Susan threw her a wink. “Book two plane tickets to Honolulu and join us. Pete won’t mind, he likes stroppy teenagers. And you’ll get to relax properly.”
They’d had this conversation before. “Trixie has school. And anyway, how relaxed can I be with my daughter in tow?” Relax was Susan’s code word for sexual adventures. It came up more than Carrie cared for.
Before Susan could reply, Carrie’s phone rang. She fished it from the sodden jacket on the floor and groaned.
“Gibbs?” Susan guessed.
“Yep.” Carrie steeled herself. As bosses went, Field Supervisor Gibbs was neither the jackpot nor Dante’s second level of hell, but she would’ve preferred to be dry and warm before reporting back to base. Nothing for it, though. She pressed the speaker button.
“Agent McDonald.” Gibbs’s baritone voice rumbled through the car. “An update, if you please.”
“We’re on our way back to Austin, sir.” Carrie suppressed the urge to add that they’d planned to call the moment they were back at the motel. “Cortez is mopping up with the Sherriff’s Department.”
A pause. Gibbs seemed to struggle to find fault with that. Not much had happened since they’d reported back to Baltimore last, briefing their supervisor about the crash. “Everything is under control?”
Susan answered. “Affirmative, sir. We offered our continued support to the San Antonio boys, but Cortez declined. Very graciously, but he seemed keen to swipe up this mess with the brooms he knows.” Leave it to Susan to say it as it was. Carrie admired her partner’s total fearlessness, and not for the first time she wondered if she could’ve been like this if she’d made better decisions.
“Understood. You’ll be heading back first thing?”
“Affirmative,” Carrie said. “I’ll be on the five fifty-fife, landing ten a.m. Baltimore time.”
“I expect you for a debrief at my office at eleven thirty.” In a kinder tone he added, “Agent White, enjoy your vacation.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Gibbs hung up and Carrie put the phone away. “That wasn’t so bad.”
“Not much he can blame us for if San Antonio tells us to butt out.” Susan shrugged. As usual, Gibbs’s brusque manner had slid off her like butter.
Carrie frowned. “You won’t have to deal with him tomorrow.”
Susan shot her a look. “Do you want me to change my flight? I can just as easily fly out from BWI after the briefing.”
“You’re not messing your honeymoon around for Gibbs,” Carrie said determinately. “I can handle him. And like you said, it’s not like he can blame us for this cock-up.” Keep telling yourself that. She ignored the voice. Dwelling on what had happened years ago did nobody any good.
“He can’t, and he won’t, McDonald.” Susan only used Carrie’s last name when she was being an idiot. Carrie looked out of the window and said nothing. Susan was right. Not everyone’s out to get you.
Another couple of miles and they pulled into the motel car park. Susan killed the engine. “I wrestle the clerk for our rooms back and you behave with Gibbs tomorrow.”
Carrie gave her the kind of look that Trixie got when she was toeing a fine line of insolence. Susan laughed. She got out of the car and sprinted across the gravel toward the lit-up window of reception. A cold gust of wind snuck in before the door shut. Carrie wrapped her arms around herself, shivering. Who knew that Texas in February could be this miserable?
No lights burned in any of the motel’s rooms. It was one of those joyless, rundown places where the neon sign at the entrance had half the letters missing and where the beds sagged and groaned all night. They’d picked it because it was close to the drug bust operation’s temporary headquarters on the outskirts of Austin. It had a listing on the Bureau’s intranet. As soon as she was back from leave, Carrie vowed to find out how to get it taken off that list.
Susan was back in five minutes. “Same rooms.” She threw herself back behind the wheel, spraying fresh rain droplets.
Carrie grimaced. “What’s the bet they haven’t even cleaned them yet?”
Susan chuckled. “Want to grab a bite to eat?”
“Nah.” A day of bad cop coffee and unhealthy snacks had made her feel queasy. “All I want tonight is a shower, and about ten hours of sleep.”
Susan steered the car along the row of rooms and glanced at the dashboard clock. “If you get into bed right now, you can catch about five.” Carrie groaned, and Susan laughed. “Here we are.” She put the car in park in the spot before the last room. “Grab your stuff and get in there. I know old ladies need their rest.”
Carrie cuffed her on the arm. Susan liked to poke fun at the three-year age difference. Sometimes, recently, Carrie thought her partner had a point. At thirty-six, the fifteen-hour shifts that were common for them seemed a lot longer than they had only a few years ago.
They got their bags, said goodnight and went into their respective rooms. Carrie pushed the warped door closed with a sigh and found the switch. A lamp on the bedside table flickered into reluctant life. The room had in fact been cleaned, but it still looked drab. Carrie couldn’t wait to leave. Even the foldout sofa in her mom’s house was preferable.
She draped the still-wet windbreaker over the back of the one chair. The yellow-gold letters on the back twinkled in the dim light. She pulled her phone out. She’d overlooked a message from Trixie. It had come around the time they’d pulled up at the crash site.
I got us movie tickets for Saturday. Special screening of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. You’ll love it! <3
Carrie smiled. She didn’t move in the usual parent circles, so she missed out on much of the parent gossip and advice, but even she knew that having a teenage kid who looked forward to spending time with her mom was not common. Never take it for granted, McDonald.
She checked the time. Past midnight, too late to call Trixie now. Pushing down the familiar surge of guilt, she chucked the phone on the end of the bed. They’d see each other tomorrow. Just the debrief with Gibbs, then home to swap out her business suits for leisurewear, and she’d be on her way back to the airport, due to arrive in Chicago no later than five. A restful, fun week with Trixie and Mom was just the thing she needed after this assignment. And yet, for a moment she yearned again for the dream of white sand beaches and cocktails sipped under colorful umbrellas that Susan’s suggestion had conjured up.
She undressed. Why had they been sent to Austin? San Antonio field office could’ve asked for backup closer to home. Sure, she and Susan were good. The Bureau had few agents as experienced with organized crime, and those were in high demand. Carrie and Susan had been available at the right moment, but they’d been poorly utilized. Cortez had still listened primarily to his own agents. If they’d been given more leeway, today might’ve ended differently. But Carrie had decided long ago that not all battles were worth fighting. And Susan had agreed that they wouldn’t rock this particular boat. Still, civilians had died, and that never made for a restful night’s sleep.
When things worked out, Carrie enjoyed this part of her job. She’d seen a lot of places she would’ve never set foot in if it weren’t for an assignment. Even staying at ratty motels on the edges of towns nobody had ever heard of had its charms. But it was one reason why Trixie didn’t live with her, and on days like today, she wondered if the job was really worth the
sacrifice. She pushed the thought away. Her mood was gloomy enough.
She peeled off the damp jacket of her business suit and stepped out of her boots. Her toes were freezing. The unremitting rain had even defeated her best pair of Army-issue boots. She hopped around the room pulling off the clammy socks and flinging them in the general direction of her bag.
The hip holster went over the back of the chair. Carrie went into the bathroom and placed her Glock 19M next to the sink, together with her badge. All agents she knew had some hang-up about their service weapon. Carrie liked to always have hers within easy reach. Another thing that was easier without a child in the house. Personally, she’d never had to draw her weapon on someone in the buff, but having your gun handy could mean the difference between life and death. Putting the badge next to it while showering was an unashamed affectation, though. The gleaming shield reflecting in the mirror gave her comfort. She’d live with that particular weirdness.
The shower spray started out tepid, and was chilly by the time she finished. Nevertheless, when she turned off the water, some of the frustrations of the day had dissipated, and her moroseness had washed down the drain with the mud and sweat.
She’d just snatched up the towel when her phone rang. Cursing herself for not bringing that into the bathroom, too, she clambered over the too-high side of the tub, banging her shin.
She should just let it go to voicemail. It wasn’t like she couldn’t call them back within five minutes once she wasn’t freezing and dripping water everywhere. But Carrie hated letting calls go unanswered when she could help it. This had to be Gibbs, it was almost midnight. She didn’t even allow herself to contemplate that something had happened with Mom or Trixie.