Brit laughed. “What is this?”
“I like oat and soy. Hawk uses milk with his cereal.” She shrugged. “Take your pick.”
After adding soy, Brit sipped the warm drink. Rather than continuing their conversation, she stayed silent, hoping Addison wouldn’t press the subject about their mother.
“I think about her sometimes,” Addison said, and Brit rolled her eyes.
“She’s dead to me,” Brit bit out. “I wouldn’t know her if I passed her on the street. I don’t think about her and I don’t like whenyoutalk about her either.”
“It’s been twenty years,” Addison continued. “Hard to believe. I don’t even know if she’s still alive.”
“Dead and long forgotten,” Brit said. “Every time I get a stomach ache—and I got a wicked one yesterday—it reminds me of when she left.” Her neck muscles grew taut as she eased onto the counter stool.
“Okay, well, I’m sorry I brought her up.” With her mug in hand, Addison joined her. “I have a job opportunity for you where we can work together.”
Brit took another sip before setting down the mug. “Seriously? What kind of job?”
“Last night, you told me you’re thinking of moving back here, and you aren’t making as much as you’d like with your art.” Addison offered a loving smile. “I want to help.”
“I’m not a financial analyst,” Brit replied. “I can’t do that kind of work.”
“We have other positions,” Addison explained.
“I thought you left to run your own consulting business.”
Biting back a smile, Addison pulled her phone off the counter and started texting. Seconds later, Brit’s phone binged, and she read the text from her sister. It was nothing more than an address in Tysons.
“What’s this?” Brit asked.
“You’ve got a meet-and-greet at noon.”
Brit laughed. “Today?”
Addison nodded.
“I can’t justgoon a job interview. What’s the position?”
“Do you trust me?”
“One hundred percent.”
“Go to this address. After your meeting, ask for me.” Addison sipped her coffee, then pushed off the stool. “I’m going to shower.”
“Thanks… I think,” Brit replied.
After Addison left the room, Brit stared at the address. “I need to get my job back at DEA,” she mumbled under her breath.
Joaquin
Rebel entered the J.Edgar Hoover building through the employee entrance, placed his ID under the scanner. The light turned green and he proceeded to the security guard who ran a wand over him. The alarm beeped and Rebel pulled open his suit jacket to reveal his Glock.
The guard nodded, then let him continue on.
Whenever Rebel swung by the Bureau, he wore a suit and tie, like his dad would. One small way he could honor his father. He was a Dillinger, and damn proud of it.
As an undercover agent, he was somewhat of a rock star. It was impossible for him to swing by without getting pulled into a meeting. A task force wanted to consult with him. A Special Agent was working a particularly challenging case and hoped Rebel could infiltrate the group.
At one point, he was working six cases simultaneously. He had different legends, different names. Once, he almost blew his own cover when he introduced himself to a group of Wall Street scumbags using the wrong name.
