“What?” I ask.
“Think about it.” Wyatt leans against the counter, working through the logic. “If Nina decides to go?—”
“I’m going,” I say. Both of them look at me. “Callie will be there. It’s a chance to build rapport with my clients in their own environment. And frankly, it might be Thanksgiving, but it’s still basically a dinner party—therapists attend client functions all the time. It’s not that unusual.”
“So if you’re going,” Wyatt continues, “we should go too. Turn it into an operational advantage.”
Chris’s eyes narrow. “What kind of advantage?”
“Access.” Wyatt straightens, warming to the idea. “We’ve been working this case from the outside. Gathering intel, building profiles, trying to figure out who’s connected to what. But if we’re actually inside their home, at a family gathering?—”
“We can observe security,” Chris finishes slowly. “Family dynamics. Who’s there, who isn’t. What information they’re comfortable sharing in that environment.”
“Exactly.”
“And we could coordinate with both agencies,” Chris adds, thinking it through. “Get authorization to treat it as an intelligence-gathering opportunity rather than a social obligation.”
“Wait.” I hold up a hand. “This is supposed to be Thanksgiving. A family dinner. Not a surveillance operation.”
“It’s always a surveillance operation with them,” Chris says. Not cruel. Just matter-of-fact. “You want to go because you see people trying to build a normal family experience. But they want you there because it serves their purposes somehow. Maybe it’s rapport-building, like you said. Maybe it’s something else. Either way, there’s an agenda.”
“That’s incredibly cynical.”
“That’s realistic.” He softens slightly. “Look, I’m not saying Vicente and Arturo don’t care about family. They clearly do. But caring about family doesn’t mean they don’t also have operational goals. With men like them, it’s always both. Always.”
I want to keep arguing. Want to defend my clients, insist they’re capable of simple human kindness without ulterior motives.
But I can’t. Because deep down, I know Chris is right.
“So we go,” Wyatt says. “But we go smart. Eyes open. Prepared.”
Chris looks at me. “You okay with that? With us treating your therapy clients’ family dinner as an intelligence opportunity?”
Am I? I’m supposed to be building trust, creating safe therapeutic space. But I also walked into this knowing I’m an intelligence bridge between their world and the federal government. That’s the whole point of this arrangement—disguising the fact that they’re cooperating with the feds so they can keep operating their way. Using their hospitality for surveillance just makes that role more explicit.
“Fine,” I say finally. “We go. Together. But I need you both to promise me something.”
“What?” Chris asks.
“That you’ll try—really try—to see them as people. Not just as threats or assets or cartel scum. They’re complex, damaged men trying to rebuild their life together. Even if they’re also everything else you think they are.”
Not so different from the two men standing in my kitchen, really. But I keep that observation to myself.
Chris and Wyatt exchange a look.
“We’ll try,” Wyatt says.
“Chris?”
He’s quiet for a long moment. “I’ll try. But I’m not making promises about what I’ll see.”
“That’s fair.”
He nods once. “I need to call McIntyre. Clear this with the Agency. And Wyatt, you’ll need?—”
“Already know. I’ll coordinate with Walsh tomorrow.”
They’re already sliding into operational mode. Planning, strategizing, turning a family dinner into a mission.
