But it just wasn’t in his heart. He appreciated the opportunity to sit at this computer every day and indulge in his first love, but duty to country had been instilled in him at an early age. He could never be truly happy if he ignored that call to serve.
“Hey, Daniel, did you hear what happened to Mike?”
He looked up from his monitor to find Jerry Johnson standing before his desk with the wide-eyed excitement of someone who’d had too much coffee and not enough sleep.
“Umm, no. Who’s Mike again?”
“Mike Epsen. Tall guy with the glasses.”
He’d just described one-third of Trendsetters’ workforce, but okay.
“I think I know who you’re talking about,” Daniel lied. “What happened to him?”
“Got hit by a bus.”
He blinked. Hadn’t been expecting that. “Excuse me, he what?”
“I guess I should say his bike got hit by a bus. It clipped the rear tire and sent him tumbling onto the side of Barton Springs Road.”
“Is he okay?”
“Six broken ribs, broken collarbone, and more bruises than they can count, according to his wife.”
Damn.Must have been a hell of a fall. “With all the bike lanes here, you’d think a bike rider would be safe,” Daniel commented.
“I know right?”
The crazed, wired look in old Jerry’s eyes was starting to freak him out.
“Well, thanks for letting me know, man,” Daniel said. “I appreciate it.” He pointed at his computer screen when Jerry didn’t make a move to leave. “I need to get back to this.”
“Yeah, yeah. I hear ya. I’ve gotta get back to work too.”
Daniel had just donned his headphones in hopes of dissuading the Jerry Johnsons of the office from bothering him further when his cell phone rang. The ringing abruptly stopped, then was immediately followed by a text message:
Sorry, right number. HQ
It was the code he and his counterpart back at FinCEN, Preston August, had devised to alert the other when there was an urgent need to connect. The HQ meant that he was to call FinCEN’s headquarters in Virginia.
Daniel grabbed his jacket and told Jamie at the front desk that he needed to make a quick run to the convenience store across the street. He’d come up with a list of excuses to leave the office in case of emergencies such as this one. It wasn’t easy. Trendsetters provided so much for their employees that his usual excuses—latte runs, a need for over-the-counter meds, even trips to the post office—weren’t applicable.
Once outside, Daniel used his encrypted cell to call into headquarters. He asked to be patched into Preston’s phone, pacing back and forth between two parking meters as he waited.
“August,” Preston answered after several intermittent beeps.
“It’s Collins. What’s up?”
“Vegas is going to happen.”
Daniel stopped walking. His heart began to pump at twice the normal rhythm. “How do you know?”
“How do you think I know?” came Preston’s sarcastic reply. Guess it paid to be married to the daughter of the head of the org’s enforcement division.
“Don’t hold me to this,” Preston continued. “But I’m pretty sure it’s between you and Bryce when it comes to the lead. If you want this job—and youwantthis job, Daniel—you need to get Austin wrapped up ASAP. I gotta go,” he finished, ending the call without giving Daniel a chance to respond.
Waving away exhaust from a passing souped-up dual cab pickup truck, Daniel perched on one of the steel bollards that lined the sidewalk in front of the building and stared down at his phone.
Vegas was the one he’d been waiting for since he’d started at FinCEN two years ago. Rumors of money laundering between an intricate network of off-the-strip casinos, bail bondsmen, and check-cashing outfits had been floating around since before he joined the bureau. It was the kind of job that made an ordinary agent a legend.
