"Sloane spent fourteen months undercover as part of an operation targeting an organized crime ring in Chicago. It was the kind of deep cover where you basically become someone else, cut off from your regular life and support systems." DeMarco leaned back in her chair. "She did excellent work. The operation was a success, they dismantled the organization, and she came out without blowing her cover. By all accounts, she should be getting promoted and collecting commendations."
Kate could already sense where this was heading. "But she's struggling now."
"She's struggling with everything that comes after. The transition back to regular agent work, and following standard procedures. She finds it hard to work within the chain of command." DeMarco's tone was careful, choosing her words with precision. "When you're undercover that long, you learn to trust your instincts above everything else. You make decisions in the moment because you don't have backup or protocol to fall back on. That's how you survive."
"And now she's expected to work like a regular agent."
"Right. And she can't seem to make the adjustment." DeMarco pulled up another file, though she didn't turn the screen to show Kate. "She's been here three weeks and I've already had to have two conversations with her about procedure. Last week she followed up on a lead without clearing it with her supervising agent first. The week before that, she made contact with a witness against direct instructions to wait for backup."
Kate thought about her own career, the times she'd bent rules or pushed boundaries in pursuit of an investigation. But she'd also learned when to hold back, when procedure existed for good reasons beyond bureaucratic convenience. "What does she say when you talk to her about it?"
"She apologizes and agrees that she should have followed protocol. And she seems sincere. But then she does the samething the next time a situation comes up." DeMarco closed the file on her computer. "She's not being defiant or deliberately insubordinate. I think she genuinely doesn't see the problem. Her instincts are good, Kate. Really good. But she's trusting them over methodology, and that's going to get her or someone else hurt eventually."
"And you think I can help with that."
"I think you might be able to reach her in a way I can't." DeMarco's expression was earnest. "You've spent three decades balancing instinct and procedure. You know when to follow the rules and when to break them, and more importantly, you know how to make that calculation in real time. I can't teach her that because I'm her supervisor. Anything I say sounds like criticism or discipline."
Kate understood the logic, but she also felt the weight of what DeMarco was asking. Taking on a mentorship role meant investing time and energy, becoming responsible for someone else's development. She'd finally found a comfortable rhythm in her semi-retirement, working cases remotely and spending time with her family. Adding a struggling agent to that balance felt like opening a door she'd deliberately closed.
"I don't know if I'm the right person for this," Kate said carefully. "I'm not supervising anyone anymore. I consult on cases from my laptop and try to wrap things up before dinner every night. That's a pretty far cry from active mentorship."
"Which is exactly why you might be able to help her." DeMarco leaned forward. "You've made the transition out of field work… in two different phases. You've found a way to use your experience without being in the thick of investigations every day. Sloane needs to see that there's a middle ground between following every rule and trusting only her gut."
Kate looked past DeMarco to the windows beyond, seeing the parking lot four floors below and the city stretching out inthe distance. She thought about the memoir project she'd been working on, dredging up old cases and old instincts. She thought about the peace she'd found over the past six months, the stability that had seemed impossible after everything with Diana Vance.
Taking on this responsibility meant potentially disrupting that peace. It meant engaging with active investigations again, even if only peripherally. It meant caring about someone else's career trajectory and professional development.
But she also remembered what it felt like to be a young agent, trying to find her footing in a system that didn't always make sense. She remembered partners who'd taken the time to explain things to her, supervisors who'd mentored her through difficult transitions. Maybe she owed it to someone else to do the same.
"I'll meet with her," Kate said finally. "I mean, I can at least talk to her, to see if there's anything I can offer. But I'm not promising anything beyond that. If it doesn't work or if she doesn't legitimately want the help, I'm not going to push it."
"That's all I'm asking," DeMarco said with a visible look of relief on her face. "Just give her a chance to talk to someone who's been where she is. Maybe it'll help, maybe it won't. But at least we'll know we tried."
"When did you want to set this up?"
"She's finishing up a training session this afternoon,” DeMarco said, “but she should be free around two. Could you stick around until then?"
Kate thought about her schedule for the day. She had case notes to review for Portland. It was a good thing she’d thought to bring her laptop; she could look over the case files and notes while she waited. "I can do that."
"Thank you, Kate. I really appreciate this."
They talked for a few more minutes about other cases, catching up on investigations Kate had consulted on recently.But beneath the professional conversation, Kate felt the familiar pull of active duty, the sense that she was being drawn back into a world she'd thought she'd left behind even if it was to mentor someone.
She just wasn't sure yet whether that was something to welcome or resist.
CHAPTER FOUR
James Thornton woke to sunlight streaming through the bedroom curtains, brighter than it should have been at his usual wake-up time. He reached for his phone on the nightstand and squinted at the screen. 6:30. He'd slept in by almost nine hours, though that wasn't entirely surprising given the sleeping pill he'd taken last night.
He rolled onto his side and reached across the bed, expecting to find Rachel beside him. Instead, his hand met cool sheets and an undisturbed pillow. She'd never come to bed.
James sat up, rubbing his eyes and trying to shake off the grogginess. The pill had knocked him out harder than he'd expected, giving him that heavy, disconnected feeling that came with medication-induced sleep. He remembered taking it around ten, after stopping by Rachel's home office to say goodnight. She'd been hunched over her laptop, reviewing quarterly projections for one of her clients, her reading glasses perched on her nose the way they always were when she was deep in concentration.
"Don't work too late," he'd told her, leaning against the doorframe.
She'd glanced up and smiled. "Just finishing these reports. I'll be up soon."
That had been nearly nine hours ago. And from what he could tell, she’d never even come to bed. That, or she’d waken up, made her side of the bed, and then quietly left the room without waking him… which was unheard of.
