A Glimpse of Evil (12 page)

I sat back in my chair and looked at him critically. “What aren’t you telling me?”

His eyes met mine. “Yesterday was a very bad day,” he said softly.

“Duh,” I snapped. I’m not my most congenial in the morning.

Dutch ignored that and continued. “And IA is going to take issue with several things, so be warned.”

I glared hard at him. “Would you just tell me, already?”

My sweetheart closed his eyes for a moment. I could tell I was trying his patience, but as a kid I’d always been terrified of being sent to the principal’s office. “First of all,” Dutch began, “the fact that Rodriguez wasn’t following protocol by investigating a case that should have been assigned by Harrison is an issue.”

“For God’s sake, Dutch! He was the original investigating agent!”

“Yes, and a year ago he had declared the case officially cold. When it showed up in our office, it should have been audited by you or one of the other agents, and given to Harrison, who then would have had me follow up with the lead.”

“But it scored so low that you guys would have tossed it out!”

“Not if you had audited it,” Dutch argued. “You’re the one who got the tow truck connection, right? You would have determined there was a lead to follow up on and it would have gone to me or Harrison to investigate.”

I folded my arms across my chest and pouted. Stupid smart boyfriend making his usual stupid good point. “Fine. What else will they have an issue with?”

“Well,” he said, and I could tell his patience was wearing thin, “Rodriguez was told not to take you out in the field except to find the car in the hit and run. Once you guys found that car, he should have taken you back to Austin immediately. In other words, he disobeyed a direct order from me.”

“We were only going to
ask
a harmless old dude a question! We didn’t even know Clady’s
had
a tow truck! Don’t you think if we’d known that particular fact, Rodriguez would have dumped me off back home and taken another agent with him?”

“It doesn’t matter what you
thought
, Abby!” Dutch shouted, finally fed up with me. “It only matters what happened. And yesterday, what happened is that Rodriguez disobeyed protocol, took a civilian profiler with
no
field experience out to interview a possible suspect, and subjected them to a shoot-out where that civilian profiler then had to shoot a man in self-defense!”

Dutch’s voice cracked a little as he finished shouting, and I didn’t think I’d ever seen him so angry in all the time I’d known him. Wisely, I waited until he composed himself again to say, “It wasn’t Oscar’s fault, Dutch. I swear to God, it wasn’t.”

But he didn’t seem even remotely convinced. “Rodriguez put you in danger, Abby. It’s only a miracle that you weren’t killed. And I can’t let him off the hook for that. I’m sorry, but I just can’t.”

I reached out for his hand, but he pulled it away and stood up. “Come on,” he said gruffly. “We’ll be late.”

An hour later I was thrown to the lions. And, just like you would imagine having a fun little romp with hungry man-eating beasts would be, I came out on the losing end.

The lions in question were two stern- looking IA Feds with no sense of humor and what I could only assume was a severe case of constipation caused by the giant stick up their butts. And they made it clear: Everything I told them was probably a lie. They even had me take a polygraph . . . the bastards.

They also kept me all day with only one break for the ladies’ room. By four o’clock it was obvious that even with the polygraph they didn’t believe me. They kept asking me the same set of questions over and over and over. It was really annoying.

But at last I figured out how the game was played and I crossed my arms and refused to answer any more questions. I also threatened to get an attorney. I didn’t know if I was allowed one or not, but I think I might have played that just right, because they stopped asking me questions and wrapped up the interview.

I was left alone for another hour when Dutch opened the door of the conference room and said, “Can you come to Harrison’s office?”

I tried to read his expression for any sign of what IA had determined, but he had his cop face on, and there was no telling. “I’m thirsty,” I said. “And I have to go to the bathroom.”

A crack in the granite appeared and his eyes softened. “I’ll get you something to drink, and you can hit the ladies’ room on your way to Harrison’s office.”

I got up wearily and moved to the door. “If you can also locate some cookies or chips to go with that drink, I’d owe you.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” he promised.

When I made it to Harrison’s office, a Coke and a bag of Oreo bite-sized cookies waited for me. “Thanks, cowboy,” I whispered as I took my seat. I then popped the lid on the Coke, drinking thirstily for a moment before diving into the cookies. I wanted to eat and drink as much as I could before I lost my appetite, because I was pretty sure I was about to get fired.

“You’ve been suspended,” Harrison said.

I sighed and set down the bag of cookies. I’d gobbled down only two. “Gee, Agent Harrison, don’t beat around the bush or anything. Please, tell me where I stand.”

“It’s not my choice, Abby,” he explained, and I was grateful for the kindness in his eyes at least. “It’s standard operating procedure whenever there’s an agent involved in a shooting.”

“But I’m not an agent.”

“Yes,” he said, “but for these proceedings, we’re going to act as if you are. You’ll be suspended with pay until IA clears you.”

“How long will that take?”

“Given the amount of forensic evidence found at the scene, including the two bodies in the oil drums, the amount of ammo we pulled out of your car, and Rodriguez’s shoulder, I’d say two weeks to a month at the most.”

“And Rodriguez?”

“Also suspended.”

I looked from Harrison to Dutch and back again. “So . . . what? I’m just supposed to go home and sit around waiting for those bozos to decide if I acted in self-defense?”

Harrison looked me square in the eye. “Yes.”

My shoulders drooped. I felt like my parents had just grounded me. “Well, that sucks.”

Dutch looked at me sympathetically. “At least you’re being paid while you’re away from here,” he offered.

I had an idea then and I asked, “Can I at least take a couple boxes home and audit some files for you guys?”

Dutch and Harrison exchanged a couple of uncomfortable glances. “No,” Brice said. “I’m afraid you can’t touch any new case until you’re cleared by IA.”

I turned in my seat and regarded the whiteboard behind me. There were now five cases in the “Solved” column. In barely a week I’d gotten us almost all the way to our goal. “Seems like we were just starting to get some momentum,” I muttered.

“We still have those cases you gave us to work on until you return,” Brice said confidently. “And two weeks isn’t so bad. You’ll be back here before you know it, Abby.”

“Fine,” I said, feeling like all the wind had been taken out of my sails. “I’ve got some files at home. Do you want me to go get them?”

Dutch smiled. “That’s okay,” he said. “I can bring them back tomorrow.”

Harrison stood then, effectively ending the meeting. “I’ll call you as soon as we hear from IA. In the meantime, try not to worry. I’m convinced you acted appropriately given the situation you found yourself in.”

Dutch walked out with me, and we headed for home. Or so I thought.

I was really so worn-out from the afternoon with the jerks from IA that I didn’t notice where we were until gridlock hemmed us in and we slowed to a crawl. Looking around, I asked, “Is this the right way?”

“We’re taking a detour. I’m treating you to something I think you need.”

I smiled. “Got something special in mind, hmm?” What a great boyfriend I had. Taking me out for a nice dinner and, hopefully, a humongous glass of wine.

Dutch pulled off onto an exit without elaborating. I continued to think nice, happy thoughts about him right up until we pulled into the parking lot of Red’s Indoor Range. “Pit stop?” I asked as Dutch parked and shut off the engine.

“I’m going to teach you how to shoot.”

I blinked at him stupidly. “Excuse me?” Where was my fancy dinner and that giant glass of vino?

“Abby, there are times in every relationship when a man has to decide if his girlfriend is a magnet for trouble. And you, dollface, are like trouble’s Mecca.”

I felt heat sear my cheeks. “I am
not
!”

But Dutch just inhaled deeply, let it out slowly, and said, “Excluding what happened to you yesterday but within the relatively short time that I’ve known you, you’ve been attacked by a serial killer, kidnapped by the mob, stalked by a madman, shot by a psychopath, trapped in a prison riot, pursued by a renegade agent, and just four months ago, you barely escaped being a deranged killer’s science project.”

Crap. Stupid smart boyfriend had another stupid good argument. “None of that was my fault!” I yelled defiantly.

“Exactly my point, sweetheart.”

I folded my arms across my chest and glared angrily at Dutch. “I do
not
want to learn how to shoot a gun, Dutch.”

“Why not?”

My jaw dropped. Did he not know me at all? “Because they kill people!” I said, and without warning my eyes filled with tears. “I hate them, okay? I’ve seen too many people get shot, including me. As far as I’m concerned, we should repeal the Second Amendment and learn how to get along!”

I was treading on dangerous territory here. Dutch was a proud card-carrying member of the NRA and I was fairly certain he voted Republican. “We’re not talking politics here, Abby. We’re talking about safety. If you’re ever in a position again where you have to shoot or be shot, I want you to have that option with some sense of confidence.”

“I shot just fine yesterday,” I reminded him.

“You did,” Dutch admitted. “And you have no idea how relieved I am that Rodriguez was conscious and alert enough to talk you through it. But what if he hadn’t been? What if that bullet had taken him out? What do you think would have happened to you?”

I wiped the tears off my cheeks and sniffled loudly while looking down at my lap. Into the long silence that followed his question, I finally shrugged and mumbled, “Dunno.”

Dutch lifted my chin with his fingers and those gorgeous midnight blues pinned me to my seat. “I do,” he whispered. “And that’s what scares me. It’s also why I won’t take no for an answer. Now, we can continue to argue about this, or you can come in with me and get it over with.”

For the record, we did a little of both. The argument continued into the gun shop, through the fitting of ear-plugs and earphones, into the range—where Dutch tried to educate me on the various parts of a gun, how to load the bullets, how to hold a firearm properly—and all during the placement of the paper target.

In the end I got off eight rounds, noticing with satisfaction that seven of those shot nice round holes into the paper target. I then set the gun down and refused to continue. All of Dutch’s efforts to make me feel more comfortable and confident around weapons were just too close to the trauma I’d been through the day before.

I tried to explain that to him on the way home, but he was surprisingly unsympathetic. “Then we’ll get you a therapist to talk about what happened in Waco, but you’re still going to the range with me on a regular basis.”

I believe I broke my no-swearing rule at that point with a few colorfully worded expletives that I’d kept in case of emergency, and after that, we stopped speaking to each other altogether.

When we got home, I didn’t even go inside with Dutch. Instead, I was so pissed off that I got in my own car and headed to Candice’s.

When I got close to her condo, I thought it might be best to call ahead. “Hey,” I said when she answered the phone. “Can I share in your I-hate-my-boyfriend misery?”

“Aww, Sundance, what’s up?”

“Dutch is being an asterisk.” I was already feeling bad about the explosion of expletives from earlier.

Candice chuckled. “And you called to talk about it?”

“Actually, I’m about a block away from your condo. Can I hang out with you tonight?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line and it suddenly occurred to me that Candice might already have made up with Harrison. “Um . . . ,” she said. “Sure.”

My shoulders drooped. “No,” I said, already turning on the blinker for a U-turn. “That’s okay, honey. I can sense you have company, and the last thing I want is to be a third wheel.”

Candice chuckled again. “It’s not what you think, Abs. Come on over. We’d love to see you.”

I struggled with whether to accept her invite now that I knew she wasn’t alone. I hated to intrude, but I had nowhere else to go and I really did need a shoulder to cry on. “Okay,” I said. “If you’re positive I won’t be in the way.”

“You won’t. Plus, I have wine and snacks from the restaurant downstairs.”

“See you in two minutes.” Good old Candice knew just what I needed after a terrible day. I made a mental note to get her to instruct Dutch on how to treat my stressed-out self.

I made it over to Candice’s condo and up to her floor in record time. I pressed her bell and waited. In short order the door was opened and I found myself staring into the twinkling eyes of the last man on earth I expected to see there. Without a second thought I threw myself forward and tackled him to the ground.

“Milo!” I shouted as we tumbled to the ground. “Ohmigod! What’re you doing here?”

“Well,” he said awkwardly as he tried to get up while I hugged him fiercely. “Right now, I’m hoping you didn’t break my back.”

“Sorry!” I said, scrambling off Dutch’s best friend. “I’ve just missed you!”

Milo wheezed his funny laugh and got up stiffly. “You saw me last week.”