Page 21 of Deadly Secrets
Weapons? “Outside of a metal nail file, no. Do you need to confiscate that?”
“We’re not the airlines,” he said, smiling, “but I will make note that you are armed and dangerous.”
“That she is,” Roman teased.
The guard actually typed something else in his computer and Brooke wondered if he was telling the truth about noting her nail file as a weapon or just making her think he was. “You all have a good day, now.”
Roman tapped the desk with a fist. “Thanks, Bij. You do the same.”
Roman walked her to the elevator—more glass overlooking the terrarium—and they rode it to the fifth floor.
Stepping out into a foyer, Brooke found herself once again facing a security setup, this one more like FBI headquarters in L.A. where she’d visited with Victor Dupé, head of the West Coast division.
A female guard this time, old enough to be her mother, greeted Roman with a big hug.
Everyone loves him.
As Roman walked around the security scanner without issue, he introduced her. “Sue, this is Dr. Brooke Heaton. Brooke, our number one around here is Lt. Sue Fischer. Dr. Heaton’s helping with a case, so you may be seeing her off and on.”
“Nice to meet ya,” Sue said, her voice rough and crackly, like a woman who’d smoked too many cigarettes. A New York accent laced her vowels. “May I?”
She held out her hand for Brooke’s purse. Roman interceded. “She’s good, Sue.”
“Rules are rules,” Sue argued. “Until she has proper credentials, I can’t let her through without checking her for weapons and confiscating any and all communication devices, cameras, and—”
“She’s been vetted by Dupé.”
Sue’s eyebrows rose for a second. She swept her hand toward the doors. “Well, then. Go on in. Any friend of Victor’s has the keys to the kingdom.”
Director Dupé always made a good impression with those he worked with. It was a skill Brooke admired. To be considered his friend was a compliment. “Thank you, but I do understand the need for security and don’t want to break any rules or get you in trouble.”
Sue laughed, the sound similar to a witch’s cackle, only with less evil and more good humor. “I won’t get in any trouble, sugar. You go on in and kick some bad guy ass.”
As Roman motioned Brooke toward the double mahogany doors a few feet away, Sue grabbed his arm and held him back, lowering her voice. “I like her. Be nice.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said and Brooke had to hide her smile.
Opening the door and escorting her across the threshold, Roman gave her arm a squeeze. “Making points already, Dr. Heaton. Well done.”
Brooke knew the real test wasn’t Lt. Fischer. The real test would be the rest of Roman’s team. They stepped into a carpeted room with soft LED lights, high-tech everything, and a giant yin/yang picture on the far wall. Under it sat a tiny water fountain on a low table with colored stones, a salt lamp, an incense burner filling the air with jasmine, and a Christian cross. Coexist was spelled out on a nearby chalkboard. Around the table were meditation cushions.
Spanish music, heavy on guitars, blasted through the room, a man singing along with a karaoke machine in one corner as two women—one of them Polly—did backup.
Another man sat with earbuds in his ears at a computer with three screens. Several soda cans and candy bar wrappers covered the desktop.
Having worked with the SCVC Taskforce, this was not at all what Brooke had expected. Cooper and his group met at a rundown building that housed a senior center and a couple low-end businesses where they could hold their meetings covertly. Since most of them worked undercover constantly, there were no desks or cubbyholes. The only equipment in the place was an old Mr. Coffee machine; they used laptops and tablets and met around a cheap conference table with awful metal chairs that had been around since the 70s.
“You call this work?” she shouted over the karaoke.
Roman put two fingers to his mouth and blew. A sharp whistle cut through the noise and four heads swiveled to look at them.
The singer jumped forward to shut off the karaoke machine, Polly and the other backup singer rushing to their desks. “Just taking a break, boss,” the man said, coming forward to shake Brooke’s hand. “Hi, Dr. Heaton. I’m Winslow de Soto, NSA. It’s nice to meet you.”
Polly stepped up, handing Roman the same tablet she’d had the previous night before she threw her arms around Brooke and hugged her. “You came! I’m so glad. I’ve got a desk and computer already set up for you.”
Brooke gently patted the woman’s back, catching the floral scent of her hair. “Thanks, but this is just a visit to look at your case files. I’m not sure I can actually help with anything.”
The second woman squeezed in between Winslow and Polly and stuck out her hand. She had dark hair and eyes that looked haunted. “Nadia Fernandez, FBI. Polly told us you were at the crime scene last night.”
