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“Yes, Agent Parks?” he asked, not looking up.
“I’d like permission to reopen the Elizabeth Lightfoot investigation,” she said, holding on to her file. She wouldn’t hand it over unless he seemed mildly receptive.
He looked up. “There is no investigation. Agent Lightfoot was on vacation and was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The French authorities found the group responsible for the bomb and prosecuted them to the full extent of the law. There’s nothing more to say.”
“She was looking into a connection between US companies and the group responsible for the bomb,” Callie pressed. Chrome’s predecessor would have asked her why she thought she had grounds to reopen the case. The fact that Chrome hadn’t didn’t surprise her. Disappointed her, yes, but didn’t surprise her.
“The Bureau moved all her open investigations and cases to qualified agents. If there was something to be found, they would have found it.”
Callie acknowledged the direct hit in that comment. None of Liza’s cases had been assigned to her. But while her confidence was strong enough to withstand Chrome’s implication, it didn’t change the fact that he had no respect for her. Or really any agent who didn’t think he walked on water. Nor would he agree to reopen the investigation.
She waited to feel the weight of disappointment. When it didn’t come, she realized just how low her expectations of Chrome had fallen. She’d never anticipated his support. She’d hoped it would be different, hoped that maybe this time he’d ask why. But deep down, she hadn’t expected anything different.
“I have new evidence,” she said, giving it one more shot.
His eyes narrowed. “And when did you come across this ‘new evidence’?”
She sensed a trap. “I looked into a few things on my personal time.”
“You don’t have personal time, Agent Parks. Not when it comes to investigating cases, old or new. If you’re investigating, it’s Bureau time, and I recall expressly telling you six months ago not to waste more time or resources on investigations I haven’t personally assigned to you.”
She clenched her jaw to keep from snapping back that she could do both—manage her caseloadandlook into Liza’s murder. The only thing stopping her—other than her lockjaw imitation—was the memory of Liza’s voice.
Drop it, Callie,Liza had said during a particularly complex money laundering case.They’re never going to see it your way if you beat them over the head. Not even if you’re right, which you are. So, let’s take a breather, focus on our end game, and figure out a different way to get from here to there.
And they had. They’d gotten the arrest and eventually a prosecution. The one no one else in the Bureau believed they’d get. All because she’d stepped back, taken a breather, and focused on the end game.
Callie nodded. “Of course, sir,” she said, turning to leave.
“Parks,” he barked as she reached the door. She turned. “I will write you up for misusing FBI resources if you pursue this any further. You’ve been warned twice now. You so much as dream of bringing this up again, it’s not only misuse but insubordination. You’re relatively intelligent. You know what will happen after that.”
Anger flared inside her, burning through her body. But Chrome would have her escorted from the building if she saidthe words hovering on her tongue. Then she’d lose any chance of investigatingandthe opportunity to clear out her desk.
She’d take theLfor today’s battle, but she wasn’t out of the war.
With a curt nod, she turned and walked out.
9
Despite having just returned from her usual eight-mile morning run, Callie paced her small living room, her coffee going cold on the counter. The idea that had come to her while running spun inside her head and wouldn’t leave. She didn’t think she wanted it to.
It was insane. Well, not literally. But it was crazy. She could do it, though.
Panic squeezed her chest, and she inhaled sharply, reminding herself there were good and bad types of panic. She paused, checking in with her body. She’d welcome the kind that focused her and helped her excel. But was this the bad kind? The distracting, fumbling kind?
Staring out the large window in her dining room toward the muted colors of the city, Nathan’s words came back to her. She’d had other job offers. If she quit the FBI—words she had a hard time stringing together even though they kept circling her mind like a nausea-inducing Tilt-A-Whirl—she’d find another job. She could even reapply to the Bureau in a different office or division, and her pension would stay intact. Or maybe she’d go private.
A tiny part of her brain insisted on reminding her that the Mystery Lake Police Department was hiring a detective. A fact she shouldn’t know but did, thanks to a late-night internet binge/rabbit-hole session while at Lyda’s. Settling in Mystery Lake wasn’t even a remote possibility, but she couldn’t unsee what she’d seen. She could do the job. She might even like it. But she wasn’t that much of a glutton for punishment.
A police siren outside her window pulled her from the edge of that abyss, and she stalked to the front room and looked out. Twenty seconds later, a fire truck drove by, siren also wailing, followed by an ambulance. Wherever they were headed, she sent a little plea out into the world, wishing the recipient of the first responders’ care well.
Her thoughts lingered there. Maybe they were on their way to help a cat from a tree or responding to a fake call. But maybe they weren’t. Maybe in a split second something had happened that would change the caller’s life forever. Maybe someone, or more than one someone, would be irrevocably changed by the events that precipitated the call to the responders.
The reminder that life was not only short but unpredictable settled on her shoulders like a warm, weighted blanket. She had an opportunitynow. She had money saved up, her lease was month-to-month, and while she didn’t have a lot of friends in DC, she did have a phone and computer, and no one was out of touch these days unless they wanted to be.
Could she do it, though? Could she quit the FBI to work on Liza’s case full-time? She’d lose access to resources if she did, but she’d gain time and autonomy. Despite her relationship with Gabriel, she had a pretty good one with HICC, and their headquarters was a few miles outside DC. Maybe she could convince them to hire her. If they did, that would solve her access issues.
The idea took root, winding through her until she felt the possibilities in every part of her body. Working as a consultant to HICC would give her nearly all the same access to information she had now, and she wouldn’t have to answer to Chrome or deal with all the red tape. They wouldn’t even need to pay her.
