Page 39 of S.O.S. Mizzay

Missy snorted angrily. “You really think that’s gonna fly?”

“Watch me,” Baskins said, reaching for a file on his desk. “This,” he tapped a finger on the manilla folder, “is a long laundry list of your infractions. It will be left somewhere semi-visible in Cavateral’s office after having been aired loudly, here, so that both offices will be aware of your dishonesty.” He gave air quotes to dishonesty, as if that would make her feel better. “With this, along with the condemning language included in your termination letter, which youwillsign, the information should convince whoever is watching that you’ll never work in a federal job again.”

“Excuse me for saying so, boss guyz, but this sucks.” All she could think about were her years of hard work and dedication. They were blowing up in her face.

But her invective didn’t sway them.

The DAAG went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “I also suggest a change of address. Let’s not make things easy for those who might have been keeping an eye on you. If they get a hair across their asses, figuring that going after you might still be a piece of cake, they could try to eliminate you despite the fact that you’ve been terminated.”

Baskins agreed. “Where you live now is too far out in the suburbs; too remote. People there tend to keep their noses out of anything that might be happening to their neighbors. Consider, instead, buying a condo in the city where busy-body locals will be all over it if they see someone sneaking around your place. Start fresh, Missy. Find a well-trafficked location. Take a nice, safe job. We’ll make sure you have stellar references.”

They had a point, but…

“What about Cobble?” she asked.Yeah.Where would that leave her long-time protectee, and now, lover?

“He’ll be well cared for,” Cavateral admonished, lowering his brows. “I’m turning all theDOJ’srecords over to Baskins and Smalley at the FBI for safekeeping. Then I, personally, will assist with anything they might need in the way of help with Mr. Blue. But Missy, as of now, this is no longer a case on our books.”

“Officiallyspeaking you mean,” Missy insisted with narrowed eyes.

He nodded succinctly in answer, then leaned forward, steepling his fingers.

“Always one step ahead of me,” he chuckled. “Unofficially,” he said, and hope rose in Missy’s chest, “if you agree to this, you’ll still be in charge of what’s happening with Sawyer Blue,andwe’ll use you on any other cases that arise that look like they could benefit from your remote and clandestine touch. Yes, we’ll surreptitiously use you—off the books, of course—as an asset. Because you are just that good. The only thing missing for you will be your title, an office, and a steady paycheck. What do you say?”

Missy thought about it for a nano-second.

“I’m in.”

The DAAG leaned back with a nod, and Baskins was all smiles. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

Missy huffed. “Okay. Now that we’ve sorted that out,” she told Baskins—who everyone not in the know thought she actually worked for, “chew my ass.”

****

Fifteen minutes later, after a huge blowout that had to have been heard in even the farthest corner of the most remote office, Missy grabbed a packing box from the supply closet, went into her office, and threw her meager belongings inside.

She thought ahead as she left the building, taking her final steps away from a place where she’d been proud to serve. Money wouldn’t be a problem. She’d saved judiciously, and could probably last quite a while. But… Nine years with various Federal agencies flushed instantly down the tubes? That was harder to swallow.

And what the hell was she going to do with herself to stay busy?

****

A month after her abrupt termination, Missy, both upset and preoccupied, looked around the large living room of her new second floor, triple decker condo in the city, feeling overwhelmed. All the freaking boxes. Packing materials strewn everywhere. Her sofa in the wrong place. Normally she’d deal with it all in her no-nonsense way, but after thepersonalshit that had gone down yesterday…

Missy had to swallow back a frustrated scream.

She’d moved to South Boston to be closer to her twelve-year old niece, Rory, knowing that her sister and brother-in-law were screwing up and that Social Services were looking to take away their custody. She, as next of kin, had let the social workers know that she’d be willing to take her niece in, in a heartbeat. What she hadn’t expected was that her first visit to Rory would take her to the hospital, and that when she arrived, the girl would be missing.

In a panic, Missy had called Smalley, who’d reminded her that since Rory had disappeared less than twenty-four hours ago, he wouldn’t be able to dig into it, but he’d given her the name of a start-up search and rescue outfit of which he’d heard nothing but stellar things.

Even though it was well after hours, Missy had called the number and reached the answering machine of one Delancourt Songen Agency. After leaving a detailed message, she hoped they’d send someone by to start an investigation at their first opportunity.

Missy had remained on pins and needles all night. Sleeping on her mattress on the floor, with no curtains, and the city lights glaring in across her naked walls, hadn’t helped. And now, well into the morning, Missy was jittery, having downed far too much coffee. She was worried for her niece, while at the same time being uncustomarily bewildered at the unpacking task ahead of her as she waited for the rescue firm to return her call.

A knock sounded on the door, and Missy jumped.

Before she could get her feet to move, there was a second knock.

“Impatient, much?” she muttered under her breath as she went to the door and yanked it open.

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