“Do you think he knows more than he’s letting on?”
I shake my head. “No, I don’t think so, but ask Evan. River was his team leader, and he knows him better. I only know him through Evan and what I read in that file you gave me before River blew the house up. I’d like to think he’s not involved, and he did kill Frannie.”
“Maybe to keep her quiet?”
Cara’s question gives me pause. “I don’t buy it. I think he killed her because of what she did to him and his team.”
She sets her glass in the sink and turns to me. “We need to talk to Evan. He needs to know what I found. It may be nothing, but I’d rather him know than be surprised later.”
“McCoy too,” I add. “Claire is... young.”
Cara nods. “Carter?”
“We can give him a heads up. So far, Grace hasn’t been on anyone’s radar.”
“That doesn’t mean she’s not.”
“True.”
I step forward and pull Cara into my arms. “Someday, none of this will be a topic of conversation. We won’t spend our days and nights worrying about who lurks around the corner or who is trying to hurt our family.”
“It’ll always be my job,” she reminds me. “But you’re right. Someday it won’t be our family involved.”
Just someone else’s family.
“How long are you here for?”
“A couple of days,” she says. “I have a meeting with the Bureau chief on Monday at the field office in San Diego.”
“What for?”
She shrugs. “He didn’t say, and I didn’t ask. I’m almost afraid to know.”
I hate her job.
“Come on, let’s walk downtown and get some dinner.”
“Sounds perfect.” Cara kisses me deeply, and instead of heading out for dinner, we head into the bedroom. With her on a mini vacation, it’s time we reacquaint ourselves.
CHAPTER 2
CARA
Today is one of those days when I don’t want to work. Between the sun, the blue sky, and the sound of freedom flying overhead, the thought of opening my email or going into the field office to talk about sex trafficking and crimes doesn’t sit high on my list. To make matters worse, Nate only has a few more days until he returns to active duty, and who knows how that will go. We haven’t really talked about him retiring, but I know we’ve both thought about it. I don’t trust the Navy, not with everything going on, and I definitely don't trust the government even though I work for the FBI. The sheer number of cover-ups I come across blows my mind. Every politician is dirty, and everyone lies. The term passing the buck doesn’t even scratch the surface for these people. The truth could stare them down in an alley, and they’d still say it was someone else.
The San Diego branch of the FBI sits in front of what I suspect is supposed to be a grassy knoll, but it’s more like a dirt knoll if there is such a thing. The campus consists of three buildings, made mostly of glass. It makes you wonder why an entity like the FBI doesn’t covet privacy a bit more. Granted, security is tight, but it’s like the feds are screaming for the criminals to, “come and stare in our windows.”
I show the guard my badge. He checks the log and then raises the barrier to let me through. The San Diego branch focuses mostly on homeland security and anything significant in California, like fraud or corruption. Of course, the team here lends a hand whenever additional special agents are needed. I’m not sure why I’m here, to be honest. My division is special crimes, and while I go where I’m needed, my office is based out of Quantico.
After checking in at the front and having my weapon checked, I head to Special Agent in Charge Suzanna Trey’s office. We met once in passing when she was the assistant director in charge of training. A colleague introduced us, but we’ve never had a face-to-face until now.
When I get to her office, her assistant instructs me to go to the conference room where I find Ms. Trey and three other agents: Pamela Skinner, Hank Granger, and Jess Turner. After introductions, we sit down with cups of coffee and let the awkwardness settle in.
“I’m going to cut to the chase, Agent Hughes. I like you. I like the work that you’re doing, and I think you’re the perfect person to head up our new sex crimes unit for this office.”
I let her words sink in and replay them in my head. With anything as of late, I want to know why. It’s become a habit, almost like second nature, to ask. “Why am I the perfect candidate when there are so many more qualified agents in Quantico?”
The other agents in the room look uncomfortable with my question, but not Agent Trey. “Qualifications mean nothing if you’re not passionate about what you’re fighting for.” She moves a large file in front of her and places her hands on top. “This is your file on Senator Lawson,” she says. “And when I look through here, do you know what I see?”