In Deep with the FBI Agent (2 page)

Thus far, Casey had had it easy with them. They'd been a great resource in volunteering with the school auction and staffing various booths at the annual spring alumni soccer game. Other school administrators, such as the curriculum specialist and the food services staff, had worse run-ins with the Mothers, and a big part of their job description was finding the balance between actually running the place and letting the parents think they ran the place.

Casey had no idea why a faction of the Mothers was at her door now, but they'd contacted her to request a minute of her time. Directly, of course, in the parking lot at dismissal time when she'd been running out early to a doctor's appointment. They didn't like jumping through hoops and going through her admin. “Nothing big,” they'd said. Which, of course, meant that hours of Casey's nonexistent free time would be spent dealing with whatever request they made.

“Mrs. Forrest, Mrs. Cho, thank you for coming in.” Both women looked pleased she knew their names without needing a reminder.

“Please, call me Beth,” Mrs. Forrest said.

“How can I help you today?” Casey gestured for them to sit on the small couch in her office she kept specifically for this purpose. When potential donors came in to chat, it was friendlier to have it feel more like a living room than an office. She rolled her desk chair around the desk to face them.

“We're here to talk about the auction.”

As head of the development office—aka the fund-raising office—the auction fell under Casey's purview. Most of her workdays in the spring were taken up by the event, which raised money for the school's operating budget. A little-known fact about private schools was that most operated at a shortfall. The tuition did not cover the costs, which was why most schools solicited donations and held other large campaigns to pay for things like STEM labs and scholarships. Neither of these women was on the auction committee.

“What about the auction? Our weekly update meeting isn't for another three days; perhaps you should join us there?” she suggested.

“It's the caterer.”

Casey's stomach tightened. “What happened to our caterer?” she asked and waited for some tale of disaster highlighting why their usual dependable caterer wasn't going to do the party and she'd be scrambling for another caterer three months out.

“Nothing happened to the caterer.” Both moms looked at each other. “We've been talking.”

“Not just us,” Mrs. Cho added. “Others, too.”

Casey could imagine that the kind of “talk” that had been circling the tight-knit group of perennial volunteers was nasty in its nature. Many of the mothers at this school had advanced graduate degrees and were formerly high-level executives who left the work force and now donated their skills and energy to their children. Sometimes, Casey wished they'd all lean in and get back to their own offices and out of hers. But they were also the lifeblood of the PTA. Nothing extracurricular would happen at the school without them.

“We feel the food our usual caterer serves isn't up to par.”

“Friendship Academy had a conveyer belt sushi bar at their auction.”

“I hear what you're saying,” Casey said slowly, trying to think diplomatically. “I'm open to exploring other options, but we must remember that the owner of the catering company we've used for years is a parent at the school. Not only that, he provides the company's services and food at a significant discount. If we switch caterers, the new company would have to meet the pricing, otherwise the auction wouldn't make as much money. That would be disappointing.”

Since the bottom-line dollar amount the auction made each year was a point of competition among the yearly chairs, Casey knew she'd hit upon a hot button. “Why don't you two get some proposals from other companies and then present your findings to the auction committee when you have some new data?”

Mrs. Cho and Mrs. Forrest glanced at each other. It wasn't the answer they'd wanted, but Casey refused to spend hours of her day calling caterers only to discover an answer she already knew. No one else was going to meet the price of their existing contract.

“All right,” one woman said slowly as they rose and prepared to leave.

Casey opened her office door to usher them out and was startled to see Matthew Melles waiting outside. Matt was a man she'd met through work, and they'd gone out for drinks a few weeks ago. She'd only received one text from him after their date, so she was surprised to see him. “Hi, Matt. What are you doing here?”

“Ms. Cooper, introduce us to your friend,” Mrs. Forrest said in a flirtatious tone as she eyed Matt's tall frame.

Casey had to acknowledge that he was ridiculously handsome in a prep-school way. With his perfectly coiffed black hair that had the right amount of product, and a suit that looked more Manhattan than D.C., Casey could see how he'd appeal to the women. All women. “This is Matthew Melles, and I'm glad you're meeting him because he owns a tutoring and online test-prep company. Maybe you've heard of it? It's called Test Ace.”

Both women shook their heads.

“We guarantee to raise your child's GPA by a third and add one hundred points to their SAT score.” Like a magician, Matt pulled his company card from a hidden breast pocket and handed one to each woman. “The best part is that all services are online so your kids with their busy schedules can find the time.” He gave them a dentist's dream smile. “And you don't have to schlep them anywhere.”

The women each slipped a card into their oversize pocketbooks and smiled at Matt before exiting. When they were gone, Casey rolled her chair back to her business side of the desk, then spun, surprised Matt had followed her. His pale pink shirt was a centimeter away from her lips. Close enough to smell his strong aftershave.

“Oh, um…” Casey was blocked in at her back and side by her desk.

He moved even closer, leaning down for a kiss. Their date had been fine, but she didn't think they were on hello-kiss status yet. She turned her cheek and let him buss it.

“I didn't know you were back in town,” she said inanely. He'd been in Florida last week as he'd explained via the text.

“I got back this morning and couldn't wait to see you.”

“Wow. Really?”

“Of course.” He smiled and gave her space, moving back to lounge on her couch as if he owned it. “I had a great time on our date. I was hoping we could go for dinner tonight, so I stopped by to ask.”

“That's really sweet.” And it was. She'd been iffy on the date. On paper, Matt was the perfect guy and good-looking to boot, but he hadn't pushed Casey's buttons. Perhaps she should give him another chance. Professional, handsome single men were a hot commodity in D.C. It wasn't smart to nix one because she hadn't wanted to jump in bed with him after an hour together. “All right. I should be finished with work around six.”

“Great. I'll pick you up then.” He stood. “Thanks for introducing me to those moms. They're the opinion makers and my bread and butter.”

“It was no problem. Happy to help. Of course the school can't officially recommend one test-prep service over another, but we do keep a list of recommended tutors and prep companies. I can try to find out how you get your name on the list.”

“That would be great.” He came closer as if he were going to try to kiss her again, but instead he glanced at her desktop. “Wow, that's an old computer. I thought at a school like this, you'd be kitted out with the latest tech.”

“They save that for the students. We employees get the old stuff, but the hope is to upgrade everyone's system with money raised at the auction this year, so cross your fingers we raise enough.”

He raised a hand with all his fingers crossed. It looked as though he'd had a manicure. While Casey was an equal opportunist and liked that a man was into personal grooming, she wasn't sure how she felt about
Matt's
fingers being as nice as hers. “Good luck. See you later,” he called as he exited her office.

FBI Cyber Action Team Office, Washington, D.C., Present Day

The invitation to hell popped into Sam's personal email in-box two minutes before he was headed to lunch. His appetite jumped ship as fast as a puppy went after a tennis ball. How had they even gotten his email address? As far as he knew, he'd left his prep school days behind with no plans to return. Ever. Not even for his ten-year reunion.

Agent Suarez peeked over the cubicle wall. “Cooper, you ready to go?” Sam looked up from his screen. Suarez stepped fully into his office space. “Need a rain check?”

“No, why?” Sam asked.

“You look like my pregnant wife does every morning before she loses her midnight snack. Need a bucket?” Jack bent to lift the small trash can in the corner and thrust it toward Sam, who recoiled.

“I'm not going to vomit. Put my trash can down.” He rose and grabbed his jacket. “Let's go.”

As the men wound through the maze of cubicles and private offices toward the exit, Jack asked, “What put that look on your face? Work or personal?”

Sam unconsciously patted the phone in his pocket. “I got an email invitation to my ten-year high school reunion.”

“So?” Jack asked. “What's terrible about that? No date, and you want a hot woman on your arm?”

He swallowed, hating even to dwell on his teen years. “I was kind of a loser in high school. Those were not remotely the best years of my life, and I have no desire to rehash them with a bunch of people who ignored me then and haven't made an effort to contact me since.”

Jack clapped him on the back. “Got news for you, Cooper. We work in the cybersecurity division of the FBI. We were all losers in high school.”

Sam laughed because it was true. He worked with a bunch of computer geeks. Granted, they were now computer geeks who carried weapons and had the right to arrest bad guys, which upped their cool factor. “At least I've grown an inch or seven since high school.”

“Late growth spurt?” Jack asked.

“I was five-five until my freshman year of college. I had to essentially buy a new wardrobe overnight.”

“I wish that had happened to me,” Jack said almost wistfully. Sam glanced down at his partner, who was five-nine on a good day. “If I were suddenly six feet tall and now an FBI agent, I'd go back to my high school reunion and rub it in the faces of every person who was ever mean to me.” Jack glanced over at Sam and correctly read the expression on his face. “Not going to happen, huh?”

“Never. There were a handful of friends from school who were cool, and I still keep in touch with them.”

“Like the infamous Arianna Rose?” Jack asked with a knowing laugh. It was common knowledge around the office that Sam had gone to high school with last year's biggest scandal in America. Arianna Rose's father had operated a Ponzi scheme to rival Bernie Madoff's and then fled the country, leaving Arianna as the public and only face of the Rose family.

“Yes, like Arianna,” Sam replied, still a little sensitive about the ribbing he'd taken for months defending his flighty but trustworthy friend. Luckily, Arianna had lived up to his trust and helped the authorities track down her father. “There aren't that many other people from Montgomery Prep that I want or need to see again.”

“What about your girl crush? Don't you want see if she put on the freshman fifty? Rub it in her face what she missed out on?”

“Fifteen,” Sam corrected. “I believe the correct term is ‘freshman fifteen.'”

“I know, but in her case, you're hoping for fifty.”

Sam froze silently in front of the elevator bay. His girl crush had never put on the freshman fifteen. She'd kept her killer body all through high school, college, and still had it. At least she had last time Sam had stalked her on social media. “No. She knows exactly what she missed out on and isn't mourning for a second. No high school reunion for me.”

Once his appetite had returned and they found seats in the lunchroom, Sam bit into his sandwich and chewed, listening to the conversation swirl. Gathered around him were two other members of his Cyber Action team, a division of the cybercrimes unit of the FBI. On his left was his partner, Jack, and across from him was Ted Sanders, the special agent in charge of the unit. It was a rare event Ted joined them in the cafeteria, as he was usually meeting with muckety-mucks and other VIPs, trying to convince them their squad needed more funding.

“We got another report from the IC3,” Ted said, and Sam's attention was immediately caught.

The IC3 was the online complaint center for the FBI where people could report attempted hacks, phishing scams, and more. Basically it was a nightmare flood of complaints, some legit, but many from people who had nothing better to do than complain about annoying emails they claimed were spam. For Ted to mention a report from the complaint center meant something valid was happening.

“Another private school, this time in Arizona, logged a complaint that they had suspicious activity, but they're not even sure if money got stolen, credit card numbers or what.” Ted shook his head. “These schools have millions of dollars on the line, but don't invest in their IT. I don't get it.”

Jack piped up, “Sam does. He's from that world.”

Sam swallowed as all eyes turned in his direction. “Not really.”

“Yes, you are,” Jack said and poked him in the upper arm. “Show them. You got invited to your ten-year reunion.”

“That's right,” Ted said. “I forgot you went to Montgomery Preparatory.” Since Ted rarely forgot any details, Sam could only guess he was playing it coy about his own children applying to Montgomery Prep in the next year. Sam had rightly claimed he had no sway with the admissions staff at the school, but Ted must not have believed him. It was going to get uncomfortable at work if Ted thought Sam could help get his kids accepted at the exclusive prep school. Sam didn't make nearly enough salary to make the kind of donations that could gain him traction with the school.