He?Is she talking about her husband? Could Felicia and Ben be involved in something, just the two of them?
Suddenly, Felicia yells:“Teniamos un trato!”(“We had a”… a what?)
Those are Felicia’s final words. Then I hear her go clicking off in her shiny pink heels. Ben calls after her as the sound of her stilettos grows fainter and fainter.
But what doestratomean? With Lily under my arm, I grab my phone and punch the word into Google Translate.Tratomeans “deal or bargain or agreement.”
What kind of deal? Is it drug-related? Are they having an affair? It all seems vaguely ominous. But for all I know, they could be talking about going for ice cream.
Whatever it is, it sounds like something Metcalf should know about.
CHAPTER 27
THE CAR RIDE HOME is unusually quiet. Neither Ben nor Amber says anything. Lily keeps nodding off. And I do a lot of thinking.
Back home, Lily gets a tiny taste of solid food—squash and broccoli blended in the mini-Cuisinart until it’s the consistency of mucus. Then I wipe her face and hands, change her diaper, rock her as I sing “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” six or seven times, and put her in the crib. She falls asleep quickly. Finally, I can text Metcalf.
Overheard Ben in argument with Felicia Velasquez, wife of Paulo. Business deal? Affair? Don’t know yet. Also, been thinking: Ben’s daughter Hailey hates him. Could anonymous tip have come from her?
If I think Metcalf will compliment me on my eavesdropping, I am dead wrong. He texts back:So you’re telling me a teenage daughter hates her father, who might be sleeping with a neighbor? For THIS you went undercover?
I’m burning up. And it’s not from the sun. It’s the sheer disrespect. I’m so angry, I decide texts won’t do, so I call him. I’ve been cautioned not to do it again after last time. I do it anyway. He picks up halfway through the first ring. It’s like he was lying in wait.
“Damn you,” I say.
“Did you expect me to be happy with the crumb you sent?”
“Listen—”
“No,youlisten,” he says. “That told me nothing, and you know it. Maybe you’re just slowing down. What about when you first saw the two of them together—any telltale signs? Lingering looks? Dilated pupils? Body language?”
“Iknowwhat to look for!”
“I know you do,” he says. “That’s why I put you there, girl.” (Girl?) “All I know is, the old Elinor would have been on top of this. This is not the way you used to be.”
CHAPTER 28
NOT THE WAY I USED TO BE. That stung. Metcalf knew it would.
I was twenty-one when I was hired, fresh out of college and full of dreams. Back then, I had youth and energy on my side. I was up for anything. Man the phones on Friday night so others could leave early? Sure. Sit in a seedy car in a seedy neighborhood at midnight so I could alert the surveillance team if the perp was on his way? You betcha. In time, my attitude and eagerness got noticed.
Sometimestoonoticed.
Those were the days before #MeToo. It was nothing to be on the receiving end of a pat on the rump or a lewd suggestion—well, nothing you could bring to what was thenknown as Personnel. Corporate rules forbade office relationships. But that didn’t stop anyone.
My standard response: “Gee, [harasser’s name], if there wereanyoneI wouldeverbe tempted to bend the rules for, it would beyou.”
Men are amazing. Even the butt-ugly ones believed me.
And then I met Coveleigh Ravenstock.
He sounds like the unnecessarily handsome blond captain of the lacrosse team instead of what he was—an ordinary-looking guy in his late thirties. Dark hair, somewhat balding, horn-rimmed glasses. If you didn’t keep your eye on him, you’d lose him in a crowd. To add to the misdirect, Cove was a big fan of baggy brown suits (who wears brown if they have a choice about it?), bow ties, and short-sleeved shirts that screamedwash-and-wear.
A deputy assistant special agent, Cove was five years younger than Metcalf but several levels above him—he was Metcalf’s boss’s boss. Cove was charming and dynamic when you got to know him. Watching him take charge of an unruly meeting was like watching a man tame a bucking horse. Unlike most of the drones who filled most of the offices, Cove had a zany streak and a wicked sense of humor. He made me laugh. As I rose through the ranks, he became my go-to guy for career advice, then my mentor, then my closest work friend.
Is it any wonder I fell in love with him?
No, he wasn’t my direct boss. I reported to someone who reported to someone who reported to him. But being that far apart on the food chain meant people noticed. Afew whispers at first, then some side-eyes and a couple of comments. The irony is, our relationship was completely innocent. Totally asexual. Cove was my mentor and just about the only guy there who never hit on me. I saw him in the office but never outside it. He would pop by my cubicle every so often to recommend a book, a movie. We shared one or two lunches in the FBI cafeteria. He shared some great insights into criminal profiling. I made him laugh a lot. And that was it.
