“We can do this, you know,” I said. “Travis will be free. He can stay home with his new wife, and he’ll have a good job. It’ll all work out.”

“It’d better. God owes me one, more than one.”

He wasn’t in my living room. He was miles away from me.

“We just have to stay focused,” I said. “This has to be the best damn thing either of us has ever pulled off.”

He nodded, considering my words.

“And what about Camille?” I asked. “Do you have that handled?”

Thomas walked toward the door, putting his hand on the knob. “Another time. I think we’ve had enough truth for one day.”

When the door slammed, my shoulders flew up to my ears, and I closed my eyes. After the few decorations Sawyer had nailed to the walls the night before stopped rattling, I sat back against the couch cushions in a huff. Thomas was supposed to make it easier to hate him, and after what he’d shared with me, it was impossible.

I wondered who at the Bureau knew about his personal conflicts—with his brother and the Vegas case, and keeping his career from his family—maybe Marks, likely the S.A.C., and definitely the director.

Thomas had made me his partner on this. For whatever reason, he trusted me, and just as inexplicably, that made me want to work that much harder to wrap up this case.

Val had said before that Thomas had a loyal circle and to be careful what I said. Now, I was part of that circle, and I was curious if it was because he needed to use my talents like he did Sawyer’s or if it was just that he needed me.

I covered my face, thinking about his lips on my skin, and I knew that I was hoping for both.

Chapter Eight

“ABSOLUTELY NOT,” I said to Agent Davies.

She gritted her teeth, sitting stiffly in my office.

“You’re not getting three million dollars of taxpayer money for some half-cocked scheme.”

“It’s not a half-cocked scheme, Lindy. It’s right there in the file. If we wire three million to that account, we’ll have Vick’s trust.”

“You know how much a middleman’s trust is worth to me?”

“Three million?” Davies said, her big eyes only half hopeful.

“No. Stop wasting my time.” I continued typing on my laptop, checking my schedule.

Val and I had a lunch meeting at Fuzzy’s, and then I had to ask Thomas if I could speak with the other language expert¸ Agent Grove, about some discrepancies I had found in his FD-302.

Davies slapped my desk and stood up. “Just another goddamn bossy…” Her grumbling trailed off as she got closer to my door.

“Agent Davies,” I called.

She turned around, her long brown ponytail flipping as she did so. The annoyed expression on her face hardened when her eyes met mine.

“You need to get one thing straight. I am not bossy. I’m the fucking boss.”

Davies’s stern look softened, and she blinked. “Have a nice day, Agent Lindy.”

“Likewise, Agent Davies.” I motioned for her to shut the door, and as it closed, I put on my headphones and listened to the digital file Thomas had sent me this morning.

The file Agent Grove had translated a few days before was accurate, except for a few key elements. I’d meant to ask Thomas about it earlier, but something felt off. It was mostly a number here and there, but then Grove had listed a suspect by the wrong name and begun leaving things out altogether.

I pulled off the headset and walked out into the squad room, noticing Grove wasn’t at his desk. “Val,” I called, “have you seen Maddox?”

She walked over to me, holding a small bag of potato chips in one hand and licking the salt off the other. “He’s interviewing someone over at the Taliban Welcome Center.”

I frowned. “Really? We’re really going to call it that?”

“It’s what everyone calls it,” she said, shrugging.

Val was referring to the million-dollar building that sat in front of our multimillion-dollar building. It served as a security checkpoint for visitors, and it was where we would question persons of interest. That way, if they or their friends attempted to bring explosives in, the main building wouldn’t be at risk.

Someone had dubbed this checkpoint as the Taliban Welcome Center, and for some bizarre reason, the nickname had stuck.

I flicked my ID badge—habit to make sure I had it on before I left—and I headed out. It was normally a nice jaunt across the parking lot to the checkpoint building, but low gray clouds were rumbling across the sky, and huge raindrops began to fall a few moments after I’d stepped onto the concrete.

The air smelled metallic, and I breathed in deep. The last week had been spent mostly indoors. That was something I hadn’t prepared for. It was easy to work behind a desk in freezing Chicago temperatures. Working so much when it was downright balmy was proving to be more difficult as the gorgeous days came, one after another.

I looked up at the sky, seeing flashes of lightning at the edge of the city. It would be easier to be at work in stormy weather.

I pushed through the glass double doors, flicking my hands and spraying the carpet with rainwater. Despite being soaked, I was in a good mood.

I looked to the agent at the desk with a broad smile. She wasn’t impressed with my positivity, my manners, or the fact that I’d walked that far in the rain.

My smile fell away, and I cleared my throat. “Special Agent Maddox?”

She took a long look at my badge and then nodded behind her. “He’s in interrogation room two.”

“Thank you,” I said. I walked over to the security door and bent over a bit while holding my badge to the black box on the wall near the door. I felt ridiculous, and someday soon, I would have to find a retractable badge holder.

The bolt lock clicked, and I pushed through. I walked down the hall and then through a door before seeing Thomas standing alone, watching Agent Grove question an unknown subject—also known as an unsub—a sullen, lanky Asian man in a bright track suit.

“Agent Lindy,” Thomas said.

I crossed my arms, aware that my white blouse was wet and I was cold. “How long has he been at it?”

“Not long. The subject has been cooperating.”

I listened to them conversing in Japanese. Immediately, I frowned.

“What made you come this way?” Thomas asked.