Graduated top of her class at Quantico. Highest arrest record in her division, except, of course, she hasn’t caught me.
I wonder if I’m a thorn in her side too. She has commendations that would make any agent envious.
Yet she works directly under Victor Blackwood, which makes her either corrupt or oblivious.
What fascinates me most is the connection I discovered between our fathers.
Old man Ricci was a beat cop in my father's pocket for nearly a decade before he suddenly grew a conscience.
He disappeared before my father could deal with him, relocated by the Feds, I assume.
Or maybe someone else took care of my father’s problem. Now his daughter hunts the very organization that once paid for her childhood home.
Tonight, her apartment sits dark. No movement behind the curtains, no shadow passing across the windows.
I check my watch, 11:43 PM on Christmas.
Where would a dedicated FBI agent with no family commitments be at this hour?
The thrill of not knowing heightens my interest. In my world, I control everything, know everything.
But Olivia Ricci remains unpredictable.
I sink deeper into the shadows across from her building, adjusting my position.
I should be at my own party, playing the gracious host, not standing in the cold stalking a federal agent. Yet here I am.
Needing a little more adrenaline rush, I hoof it across the street to her building.
The security in this building is laughable.
Five minutes.
That's all I'd need to slip inside, to see the private spaces she inhabits when no one's watching.
My gloved hand touches the service entrance door.
One small act of breaking and entering, hardly the worst crime on my conscience.
The lock is basic, nothing my skills can't handle.
I've been picking locks since I was eight and could easily slip into small spaces whenever my father felt that skill was needed.
The lock gives way with a satisfying click.
I ease the door open, stepping into the relative warmth of the hallway.
The building is quiet except for the distant hum of heating systems.
"Don't move, Vitale."
Cold metal presses against the base of my skull.
I freeze, muscles tensing, mind racing through escape scenarios. But curiosity overrides instinct.
"Agent Ricci. Working late on Christmas?"
"You too, I see. No rest for the wicked, eh? Hands where I can see them. Now."
