Page 15 of Dying to Meet You

All gas, no brakes.

“Because you’re a paid messenger,” I repeat. “Here’s the thing.” I scratch one of my eyebrows as I lean toward him. “Did you drive here today?”

None of his bravado slips as he replies, “Why do you care?”

Rivera moves to the door in case the guy tries to bolt. “I take it you did?”

He shrugs before grunting out, “Yeah? So?”

I can tell by the pinpoint pupils alone. Sighing, I shake my head. “It’s a ballsy move to deliver a message to law enforcement high on who knows what.”

He snorts a laugh in derision, “I’m not.”

Pulling on a glove from my pocket, I pluck the needle he has tucked behind his ear. “You’re literally wearing evidence.”

While Rivera, who is trained as a drug recognition expert, runs tests on the man, I flip my badge out, demanding the thumb drive from him. He mumbles to himself, “Fucking prick.”

He’s passed off to another agent after being cuffed for transport to the county jail. Turns out our messenger has a record full of past offenses ranging from petty misdemeanor drug charges to a felony charge for drug distribution. Whoever “hired” him to deliver the message chose a thug with an obvious mob affiliation. Why? I don’t believe he was here with any other purpose than what he stated. But until I see its contents, I won’t know.

My partner, Jergen, claps me on the back as we walk back to our offices. “He didn’t like you much.” Laughing at his own comment he continues, “People usually fall all over themselves around you.”

Do they?

Matt once said if everyone likes you then you’re being inauthentic, you’re dead, or you’re throwing a party. One of his many wisdoms I’ve internalized. I don’t give a fuck if the guy didn’t care for my interaction with him, my need to be liked greatly diminished once I became an agent. “Could you work on his connections? I need to get Hutton the thumb drive. I’m not opening this without him.”

“Good call, my man. That guy is a legit genius. Remember that code IT was running on Sirat’s case? He dismantled it in three minutes.” Rivera holds the door open to the property room. “They’re still pissed at him for doing the job five of their best and brightest couldn’t crack for two weeks.”

There isn’t anyone else I’d trust more with this drive. Odds are, he’ll be able to trace source material quickly, too. There’s a reason he’s sought after by billionaires and heads of state.

“Our mark is projected to land on US soil tomorrow afternoon. Where is the team with staging for surveillance?” Anxious, I fold a piece of cinnamon gum into my mouth from the pack I keep on me, needing to relax the tension in my jaw from clenching it during negotiations this morning. “We need to head him off before he reaches San Diego.”

Rivera screws up his mouth. “We need to pin down his contact on that. The dude is a waffler. Tried to get all up in Sirat’s feelings with that old adage. Damn, how'd it go? Imagine being bitten by a snake, and instead of focusing on healing from the poison, you chase the snake to understand why it bit you and to prove that you didn't deserve it. Went all philosophical on Sirat. You think you’ve seen him angry…whew…”

No, you chase the snake to cut its head off and prevent it from biting others.

Rivera is a blabbermouth, and he loses me while I get as angry as Sirat may have been. He’s one of the best team members we have; we’ve spent many sleepless caffeine-fueled nights of frustration on stake outs together. I’d trade Rivera for Sirat in a heartbeat.

“...give into the demands of a fucking terrorist cell.” I look over at Rivera as he continues his diatribe about a developing issue within our government. The dark underbelly of the CIA, colluding with a faction of the FBI, is back up to its old tricks. “Tell your husband to crack down on that bunch of assholes in Washington D.C. who sit at their desks diddling themselves. He has more pull with his latest promotion.”

I could tell Rivera every day until retirement Matt doesn’t take suggestions or orders from me. He’s not to be purchased or influenced. Jergen still regards our connection as beneficial to me; just one of the many irritations I have with him.

“He’s got his hands full. What we need is less bureaucratic red tape; so we don’t have to sit on our hands while marks continue to traffic children that slip through the system’s cracks.” Like Chris, my brother-in-law. Like…me.

When I let the memories in, a rage in my core fuels me, driving me to push back harder at the obstacles. It calls on the part of me destroyed by the past.

How do you destroy a monster without becoming one?

Chapter Seven

Picking Battles

Matt

Thebureaubecomesinvolvedin crimes when they have a national impact of significant harm or when our expertise is needed. Serial killers who cross state lines are one of the many types of cases we take over. My position as a special agent, second in charge to the Northeast division chief of the bureau, is to work closely with intelligence analysts to neutralize threats. That’s the public friendly explanation. In reality, I have eighty-three field agents who work for me, and I’m bogged down with a pile of bullshit tips. The handful of cases actually needing my attention are starting to evolve into a dangerous arena where action is needed.

The newest one has personal implications.

Camp Carroll.

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