Yet Simmons had gone from intrigued to leaving on vacation? Really? In the middle of a case heating up, whileundercover,he’d texted the boss that he needed to ditch for holiday festivities out of town?
Perhaps he really had needed time off, but the guy would have at least told her about it first.
Granted, she and Simmons didn’t know each other well. They’d only been working together the past two months, but, excluding her two work-friends, she and Simmons had respected each other more than any of the other yes-men on the task force. More than respect, Jane had liked the affable DEA agent. They’d bonded over a good coffee bean and their dislike of bureaucracy—more specifically, their dislike for SSA Scott.
It took effort to look her SSA in the eye without belting him.
“Yes, it’s him.” Supervisory Special Agent Matthew Scott sighed and in a somber voice added, “Shot and left for dead in a skiff floating off the waterway. Coast Guard picked him up this morning, but it looks like he’s been dead for days.” After a pause, Scott added, “Looked like he died hard.”
She surreptitiously glanced at the other members of her ten-man squad and noticed faces drawn in grief. In anger and a need for vengeance.
“Jane, I need to speak with you in my office.”
She met Scott’s gaze and nodded. The others watched her leave, no doubt wondering what couldn’t be shared among the team.
Though Jane was fairly new to the Seattle field office, having spent her first two years in the FBI at the Resident Agency in Poulsbo, she’d been well-prepared for this larger organization.
Though her uncle liked to say she had more hoops to jump through and people to try to impress, he’d followed that with a laugh. Because he knew she didn’t care about getting gold stars and accolades. She never had.
Jane lived for the hunt. To catch bad guys, keep up on her beloved paperwork, and remain number one on the job. “Competitive” should have been her middle name.
She’d have to tell—not tell, request—that Scott keep his briefs and meetings to less than three a day. Did he have nothing better to do than quiz her on her reports? The Mazzuca case aside, she now had Dan Simmons’ murder to solve.
Jane bit the inside of her cheek and swallowed her complaints. Instead, she entered the boss’s office and waited.
“Close the door, please.” He settled behind his desk, not a pen or folder out of place.
Normally, she’d respect such organization. But not with Simmons gone, his killer no closer to being caught while they chitchatted in plush seats.
Office pogue.
She closed the door and took the seat across from Scott’s desk at his nod. Had he ever gotten his hands dirty? From what little she knew, Agent Scott had been a Fed since graduating college. No military service or law enforcement background. Just parents with a lot of money and connections.
“We have a problem, Jane.”
That’s Agent Cannon to you.“Sir?”
His eyes narrowed. The smug bastard sat there in his pristine, expensive suit and his Rolex, both statements of someone on his way up. His hair had been salon-styled, short on the sides and artfully layered on top and brushed to the side,the dark brown complementing his pale complexion. Instead of appearing sickly, his polished image went well with his sophisticated cologne.
The quintessential poster boy for the FBI.
She hated him a little bit for that. He should have looked and smelled like the weasel she knew him to be.
“I know you and Dan Simmons planned to infiltrate the warehouse, despite my orders to steer clear.”
“I don’t know what?—”
He handed her a printout that showed several email messages. They looked to be from Simmons to her, but she didn’t recognize the last few past his saying,See you tomorrow, Jane,the day he’d disappeared.
She frowned. “What is this?”
“This is proof you intentionally disobeyed a direct order.”
She didn’t appreciate his tone. Or the accusation. “First, I’m not a toddler. Don’t talk down to me like I’m three.”
He scowled.
“And second, these aren’t my messages.” She studied them, aware Simmons’ diction seemed off. Jane was a crack investigator. She saw patterns where others didn’t. And past the last message from Simmons signing off for the day, she didn’t recognize anything.
