“Hmm.” I put a hand lightly on her leg under the table. “With exceptions, of course.”
“Of course.”
Any more than that would have to wait, and not just because the bathrooms at Ben’s Chili Bowl were definitely not an option. We did in fact have somewhere important we had to be that day.
After lunch, we strolled hand in hand up U Street to Sharita Williams’s jewelry store. Sharita was an old friend from high school, and she also happened to do outstanding work on antique pieces.
A dozen tiny bells tinkled over our heads as we breezed in the door.
“Well, don’t you two look in love.” Sharita smiled from behind the counter.
“That’s ’cause we are, Sharita,” I said. “And I highly recommend it.”
“Just find me a good man, Alex. I’m in.”
She knew why we were there, and she removed a small black velvet box from under the case. “It came out beautifully,” she said. “I love this piece.”
The ring used to belong to my grandmother, Nana Mama, she of the impossibly small hands. We’d had it resized for Bree. It was a platinum deco setting with three diamonds across, which struck me as perfect—one for each of the kids. Maybe it’s corny, but it was like that ring represented everything Bree and I were committing to. This was a package deal after all, and I felt like the luckiest man in the world.
“Comfortable?” Sharita asked when Bree slipped it on. Neither one could take her eyes off the ring, and I couldn’t take my eyes off Bree.
“Yeah, it’s comfortable,” she said, squeezing my hand. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
I PUT IN A late-afternoon appearance at the Daly Building. This was as good a time as any to catch up on the flood of paperwork that never seemed to stop flowing across my desk.
But when I got to the Major Case Squad room, Chief Perkins was just coming out into the hall with somebody I didn’t recognize.
“Alex,” he said. “Good. You’ll save me another trip. Walk with us?”
Something was obviously up, and it wasn’t good. When the chief wants a meeting, you go to him, not the other way around. I did a one-eighty, and we headed back over to the elevators.
“Alex, meet Jim Heekin. Jim’s the new AD at the Directorate of Intelligence over at the Bureau.”
We shook hands. Heekin said, “I’ve heard a lot about you, Detective Cross. The FBI’s loss
was MPD’s gain when you came back over here.”
“Uh-oh,” I said. “Flattery’s never a good sign.”
We all laughed, but it was also true. A lot of new managers at the Bureau like to shake things up when they start, just to let people know they’re there. The question was, what did Heekin’s new job have to do with me?
Once we were settled in Perkins’s big office, Heekin got a lot more specific.
“Can I assume you’re familiar with our FIGs?” he asked me.
“Field Intelligence Groups,” I said. “I’ve never worked with them directly, but sure.” The FIGs had been created to develop and share intelligence “products” with the law enforcement communities in their respective jurisdictions. On paper, it seemed like a good idea, but some critics saw it as part of the Bureau’s general passing of the buck on domestic criminal investigation after 9/11.
Heekin went on, “As you probably know, the DC group interfaces with all police departments in our area, including MPD. Also NSA, ATF, Secret Service—you name it. We’ve got monthly conference calls and then face time on an as-needed basis, depending on where the action is.”
It was starting to seem like a sales pitch, and I already felt pretty sure I knew what he was selling.
“Generally, police chiefs represent their departments with the FIGs,” he continued with his steady, well-paced speech, “but we’d like you to take over that position for MPD.”
I looked at Perkins, and he shrugged. “What can I say, Alex? I’m just too damn busy.”
“Don’t let him fool you,” Heekin said. “I spoke with the chief here, and with Director Burns at the Bureau before that. Your name was the only one that came up in either meeting.”
“Thank you,” I said. “That’s very nice, but I’m good where I am.”