But since the news cycle was the news cycle and kept spinning, she’d eventually gone from “breaking news” to “human interest story” to…nothing. And yet, she couldn’t shake the sensation she was lined up in someone’s crosshairs.
Paranoia,she silently insisted.It’ll pass.
Scrubbing a hand over the back of her neck, she shoved her disquiet aside and forced herself to take in the day and the city around her.
Chicago…
It was a place of contrasts: both beautiful and gritty, tranquil and chaotic.
A construction site on the corner was noisy, with clanging metal and roaring machinery. But she could also hear an orchestra tuning up in Millenium Park—that green oasis amidst the concrete jungle.
Fall was in the air. The earthy aroma of dying leaves mixed with the fresh, clean scent of the cool breezes that swept down from Canada.
An hour earlier, the sun had peeked its head above the waters of Lake Michigan. Now, it cast its golden glow over the buildings, bathing them in that wonderful half-light that made everything seem magical.
The sidewalk grew less crowded—and more uneven—as she continued south towards the FBI building. The tourists who thronged the streets closer to downtown, standing in line for a bag of Garrett’s Popcorn or snapping pictures of the iconic architecture, had no reason to wander this far past the river and?—
The buzzing of her phone in her pocket wrenched her from her ruminations. Pulling out the device, she frowned at the screen when she saw who was calling.
Dillan Douglas. Her partner.
Also known as the pain that lives in my ass.
Dealing with him required more caffeine than she currently had onboard. Which meant there was only one solution.
Tipping back her coffee, she gulped down as much of the burning beverage as she could manage before she had to come up for air or risk a scalded esophagus.
It wasn’t that Dillan was abadagent. His interrogation skills were average and his investigative instincts were fair. She’d worked with better agents, and she’d certainly worked with worse.
Theproblemwas he thought he was god’s gift to the bureau.
Which meant he hadn’t taken it well whenshehad been promoted to lead agent. And even though he’d managed to get over most of his pique in the handful of months since she’d assumed the position, he still didn’t afford her the respect her title deserved.
But what’s new?she thought with a sigh of resignation. She’d spent her whole life having to prove herself worthy of the kind of recognition and regard guys like Dillan—guys like her father and brothers—were given as a matter of course just because they had the hair and the height and the jawlines of comic book heroes.
When her phone buzzed again, she took another quick sip of coffee before thumbing on the device. “Hello?”
“Where are you?”
“Good morning to you too, Agent Douglas.”
“We’ve worked together long enough to skip the pleasantries.” The annoyance in his tone was palpable.
It took everything she had not to squeeze her coffee cup hard enough to pop off the top and have its remaining contents bursting forth in a geyser. But she reminded herself that the coffee was hot, and she didn’t feel like making a trip to Northwestern’s burn unit.
Plus, you know, I still need the caffeine.
“Okay. Consider the pleasantries skipped. What do you want?”
“I want you to haul ass into the office. We just landed a new case, and you’ll never guess who might be involved.”
Her pace quickened at the words “new case,”and she took the steps up to the front door of the FBI field building two at a time.
She and Dillan had been given decidedlylow-prioritywork after the massacre at Senator McClean's mansion. Their supervisor had said they couldn’t effectively work a big case with the press hot on their heels. Then, once the reporters moved on, he’d told them he wanted to give them time to decompress before throwing anything of genuine interest their way.
Not to put too fine a point on it, but she’d been bored off her ass for weeks now.
“I’ll bite,” she said as she ran her security badge through the checkpoint and nodded to the guard manning the front desk. “Who might be involved?”
