Best Laid Plans (10 page)

But first, they needed to find her.

“Send the photo to Tia Mancini at SAPD and see if she knows the girl,” Barry said. “I need to call Juan.”

“We’re going to talk to Everett, right?”

“Not tonight. It’s six o’clock. Neither of us is at the top of our game after thirteen hours in the field. After I talk to Juan, I’ll call you and let you know what the plan is.”

“I want to be in on it, Barry.”

“You want it too much, Lucy.”

“I’m pretty certain Juan called me in to work with you on this because of my experience working with victims of the sex trade. I can’t help this girl unless I know exactly what’s going on, and that means I need to be part of the conversation with James Everett.”

Barry didn’t say anything for several minutes as they crawled through traffic. Lucy sent the image Jackson had clipped from the video to Tia Mancini with a note that this was the girl they wanted to question about the death of Harper Worthington.

“I know I can be a little intense,” Lucy said. “I have a hard time lightening up. I wish I could be more fun like Kenzie or compartmentalize better like Ryan. But I am good at my job. All I want is to be part of this investigation. To contribute and not feel like I can’t say something or ask a question.”

Barry hesitated, then said, “I’m used to working alone,” he said. “When I get a rookie to work with, they usually don’t have much experience in the field. That probably wasn’t fair to you today.”

She hadn’t expected an apology, but she appreciated it. “If I mess up, tell me. I’m still learning.”

Barry turned into the secure FBI parking lot and shut off the car. “Will do. Go home. Relax. I’ll call you tomorrow if anything pops up. Likewise, if Mancini gets back to you about that girl, call me. If it seems best to interview Everett tomorrow instead of Monday, I’ll call you in. Fair?”

She nodded. “Thanks, Barry.”

*   *   *

Barry finished briefing Juan Casilla on the case. He hadn’t been lying to Lucy that he didn’t like working weekends. The squad rotated who was on call, and it was his weekend, but he didn’t have to like it. It wasn’t that he didn’t like his job; he did. He liked the authority and power that came with being a federal agent. He was good in the field, and the AUSAs loved him because he gave them prosecutable cases with no potential issues like illegal searches. In fact he worked so well with the AUSAs on cases that Juan usually assigned him to work anything legal. Plus, he did well with public relations. He’d been offered the position of public information officer a few years back, but declined it because it would have meant erratic hours.

He supposed his predilection for a regular eight-to-five schedule was the primary reason SAC Ritz Naygrew had brought in Juan Casilla as the SSA three years ago instead of promoting Barry. For a while, Barry was disgruntled and had considered leaving the Bureau, or at least San Antonio. Especially since Casilla rarely worked weekends because of his large family. Five kids under twelve with another on the way. Yet Juan had a solid management style that Barry respected, firm but flexible.

“What do you think?” Juan asked. “It seems clear that Worthington was murdered.”

“It appears that way, but I’m not going to make assumptions, not until the morgue comes back with the test results. The big hiccup here is how this girl connects with Worthington and Everett, and why she was in both hotel rooms on the same night. Aside from the obvious.”

“But your report indicated that Worthington hadn’t had sex with the girl.”

“Honestly, the whole case seems fishy. It appears that Worthington was set up to look like he was in a compromising position, but we still need to interview his daughter and find this prostitute. And I can’t shake the fact that he made this unscheduled trip to San Antonio and didn’t tell anyone.”

“I’ve fielded two calls from Jolene Hayden—one from her, and one from her husband.”

“I had Zach call her to set up a meeting for Monday morning. Kincaid and I have been going nonstop since before dawn. We’ll miss something if we talk to her tonight. Other than the taxi driver, she may have been the last person to see her father alive. She also may know why he left Dallas for San Antonio, but she wasn’t in town earlier for us to talk to.”

“I agree—talk to her fresh. Zach said she was amicable to meeting Monday morning once she knew that we were serious about the investigation and that we wouldn’t have any results from the coroner until Monday.”

“Is that what you told her?”

“I’m not going to give her the preliminary results over the phone.” Juan leaned forward. “Tread lightly with the congresswoman. That’s why I wanted you on this case, Barry. You understand the sensitivities of a potentially political investigation.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Which brings up Lucy Kincaid.”

“I’ve been watching her closely like you asked,” Barry said. He hadn’t been surprised by Juan’s request, and he didn’t feel guilty about it, either. The only way they could function in the law enforcement role established by Congress was to have good agents under the command of a strong leadership. He’d often assessed rookie agents, especially since joining the San Antonio office.

“She’s focused and has good instincts,” Barry said. “She took my direction, even when I could tell she was frustrated that I wouldn’t let her pursue something or ask questions. Though she’s only been here a few months, she’s already built relationships with local law enforcement, including the deputy coroner, Julie Peters, and SAPD detective Tia Mancini which, honestly, made the crime scene this morning go smoother than I would have expected after we took over the investigation.

“Lucy is like the Energizer Bunny—she doesn’t stop,” Barry continued. “Not in the same way as Kenzie, who simply can’t sit still, but her mind is continually turning over evidence and information. She wanted to continue working tonight, but I sent her home. It’s clear to me that she’s going to burn out quickly. She seems to recognize this in herself, but she doesn’t know how to turn off the job. And—to be honest—I don’t think she wants to turn it off. That would be my number-one concern.”

“I knew that when she was assigned to San Antonio,” Juan said.

“Are you having me assess her because of what happened in Hidalgo?” Barry knew Juan hadn’t told the staff the entire story, and Ryan wasn’t talking about it, either. Lucy had rescued a group of kidnapped boys being used as drug couriers, but she’d been put on unpaid administrative leave for two weeks for disobeying a direct order. Yet no one seemed to know what that order was, and the punishment seemed extreme considering what she’d accomplished. There were a few rumors going around about whether she’d violated federal law by crossing the border into Mexico while running an op, but there was nothing in the official record and Barry wasn’t going to ask. It wasn’t his place.

Juan didn’t answer his question, which made Barry think the rumors were accurate. Instead, Juan said, “How is she in the field?”

“Like I said, sharp. She was too confrontational with Congresswoman Reyes-Worthington, but I smoothed it over.”

“Why confrontational?”

“She didn’t think the congresswoman was surprised that her husband was with a prostitute. She thought the woman seemed calculating.”

“Maybe she wasn’t surprised. And politicians can be very calculating, always looking at poll numbers and how something will appear on the news.”

“It just seemed—I don’t know, Kincaid focuses on different things than other rookies I’ve worked with. I’m afraid she projects too much, and sees things that are simply not there.”

“She has a master’s in criminal psychology.”

Barry hadn’t known. “That explains a lot.” Like how she assessed the situation at the hotel, and how she worked through the possible scenarios from a personal point of view rather than simply making a factual summary. But had he known earlier would he have changed the way he investigated this case? Probably not.

“I need to make sure she’s not a danger to herself or others in the field,” Juan said. “I want to know if she has tunnel vision, if she takes unnecessary risks. You’re the most even-tempered agent on this squad, and you understand the regulations better than anyone. You’re also unbiased and the only one I trust with this particular assessment.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll do my best.”

*   *   *

It was after seven Saturday evening when Lucy walked into her house. She was looking forward to brainstorming with Sean—she enjoyed discussing her cases with him. His insight was always sharp, and he seemed to enjoy walking through the facts with her.

She thought about what Barry Crawford had said, that she needed to learn to turn off the job. Easier said than done.

She stepped into the kitchen and was greeted by a mouth-watering, spicy aroma. “Sean?” she called. He didn’t answer.

The kitchen was a mess, with pots and pans in the sink, a couple empty beer bottles on the counter, and remains of chopped veggies on the cutting board.

Her phone vibrated. It was a message from Sean.

Welcome home. Go upstairs and change.

She laughed and responded.

Bossy, aren’t you?

He texted back:

Pretty please.

She went upstairs, dumped her briefcase and gun on the dresser, and then noticed that a dress was laid out on the bed. She picked it up. Next to it was a note in Sean’s writing.

Remember when you bought this?

They’d been in San Diego, right after Christmas, and drove up to La Jolla where there were lots of boutiques. Sean had admired the dress in the window and she’d teased him that he should buy it for himself. He’d asked her to try it on and she did. It was perfect—casual and comfortable and classy all at once, a free-flowing blue silky thing that hung shorter in the front than the back. She’d bought it but had never worn it.

She changed into the dress, touched up her makeup, and brushed out her long wavy hair, then went back downstairs expecting to see Sean. He wasn’t there.

I’m dressed. Where are you?
she texted him.

Pool house.

Odd. She went outside. A warm breeze whipped around her, soothing and cooling after the blistering hot day. The pool looked inviting, and Sean had turned on all the outdoor lights—both the pool lights and the tiny white lights weaving throughout the trees that surrounded their property.

The pool house doubled as a guesthouse. It was L shaped with a small kitchenette, bathroom, eating area, and a living area that doubled as a bedroom when they had company.

Sean had set the table with heavy blue dishes she didn’t know they had, an assortment of candles, and a bottle of her favorite red wine. Faint music played in the background. But she barely noticed any of that. She stared at Sean in disbelief.

“You’re wearing a tux?”

He grinned, revealing his dimples, and bowed. His hair flopped over his eyes and he pushed it back.

She laughed when he took her hand and kissed it. Then he led her to a chair and sat her down. “Thank you,” she said.

He poured her some wine, picked up his glass, and toasted her. “To the woman I love.”

She held up her glass. “To the man I love.”

He took two plates out of the mini refrigerator—salads he’d already prepared. “You spoil me,” she said.

“Your wish is my command.”

“I’m so hungry, and whatever you cooked smells amazing. And here I thought you could only cook breakfast and spaghetti. Not that I’m complaining—you make the best spaghetti I’ve ever had. Don’t tell my dad that.”

“Never. I want to remain on his good side.”

“You are. It’s Jack you have to worry about.”

The brief flash of panic on Sean’s face had Lucy laughing. It felt so good to laugh.

“I’m teasing,” Lucy said through her giggles.

She ate the salad—Bibb lettuce and blue cheese and walnuts and cranberries. “This is—like a restaurant.”

He feigned hurt. “Are you implying I didn’t make it myself?”

“Of course not. I saw the mess in the kitchen.” She smiled. “It just looks like you took a crash course in food presentation. And it tastes as good as it looks.”

When they were done with the salads, Sean retrieved two plates that had been warming in the oven. He took off the lids and presented them.

“You made jambalaya?”

“You loved it when we went to that restaurant in Sacramento. So I researched different recipes and thought this would be spicy enough for you.”

She tasted. “Oh my God, I’m in heaven.”

Sean was certainly pleased with himself. “I thought it was good, but I’ve been nibbling all afternoon.”

“It’s better than any I’ve had. And I’m not just saying that to stroke your ego.”

“More wine?”

She rarely had more than one drink, but smiled and held up her empty glass.