Page 11 of Hidden Depths

“Honestly, Agent Bennett, it would make my job easier if it was as simple as suspending you. If I thought it would make any difference, I would.”

“That would be a waste of my talents.”

Armstrong sighed and drummed his beefy fingers on his desk. “I wish that was arrogance talking.”

“It’s the truth.”

“It’s true that you really are the best agent I have, yes. And if you were being blasé, or careless even, it would be an easy fix. Just knock you down a few poles. I’ve done it to less deserving fools. Unfortunately, I don’t believe it’s negligence that drives you.”

“You are correct, Special Agent in Charge. It is not. I’m simply doing my job to the best of my ability.”

“Ever since Agent Connors’ death, you’ve become rash.”

Thatdidmake Tom flinch. “His loss affected us all.”

“But you’re the only one with a death wish.”

“I hate to disappoint you, sir, but I didn’t intend on dying at Harrison’s hands no matter what you may think of me.”

“What if your team hadn’t turned up when they did? How much longer do you think you could have survived?”

“I was doing all right.” Tom shifted in his chair to release some of the tension that had built. “However, I will concede that undercover work is dangerous. Nothing has changed there.”

“Allowing Harrison to chain you up and electrocute you for as long as he could while you informed him you were a federal agent, trusting that I could get a team up and running at the last second after we received your email,” Armstrong’s voice built in volume until his last words exploded from his mouth, “is not working undercover!”

He immediately snapped his lips together and focused on his desk while he regained control.

“I appreciate your concern for my safety, but it was worth it. It gave the agency an airtight reason to apprehend him and keep him that way.”

“And that’s why you did it? So we could arrest Harrison?”

“Is that not why you put me on the case?”

Armstrong stood and went to the window, turning the blinds so he could look outside. Streaks of water chased each other on the glass and obscured the view. It created an eerie lens into the gray day beyond. “They expect the rain to turn to sleet tonight.”

Tom took the change of subject as a good sign and went with it. “Winter arrives too early in Chicago once again.”

“You don’t like winter?”

Tom shrugged. “It’s fine. It’s the tedious extra layers of clothing that get old.”

Armstrong watched the distorted vehicles on the road below, hesitating before saying, “I believe you blame yourself for Conners’ death.”

“Whoa. Now hang on a second. You can’t just lead in like that.”

“And yet, I did.” He turned with his arms clasped behind his back. “Either you’re trying to pay for what you see as your fault, or you’re attempting to run away from the guilt.”

It was the first time Armstrong had him scrambling. “Sir, I understand that Conners’ death was not my fault. I did the required therapy. I was deemed fit to return to service.”

“Yes. You did a great job pretending you were okay.”

“I’m fine. If you disagree with the psychologist’s findings, then you need to take it up with him.”

“You agree with him that there is nothing residual affecting your job?”

“Yes.”

“Any baggage you have, you are coping with well enough to do your job satisfactorily?”

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