Michael Prescott - Mortal Faults

“You’re wound up tight,” Wyatt said.

“Yeah. I guess.”

“I thought you would have climbed down off that adrenaline high by now.”

“Maybe I like it. The adrenaline, I mean.”

“Do you?”

“Ordinarily, yes.”

“But not this time?”

“This time it’s different. I’m kind of-I don’t want to talk about it.”

She did, of course. He waited.

“I’m in sort of a tight situation,” she said.

“Tell me.”

“Can’t.”

This was only partly true. She could tell him some of it, but she didn’t think he would understand. She knew she would tell him, anyway.

He didn’t coax or pressure her. He just reached out to stroke her hair, a slow, loving gesture that soothed her.

“Things are falling apart,” she said. “I mean, not completely, but

… enough.”

“How?”

“I have to rely on myself. And I’m not sure I can.”

“You always have before.”

“Maybe not this time.”

“What’s different?”

“Me. I’m different. I’m losing it.”

“Losing what?”

“Control.”

“We all feel that way sometimes.”

“Not me. I’ve never felt it. Not until now.”

“What happened to get you thinking like this?”

“Nothing happened.” An obvious lie. She could lie to Tess, but Wyatt knew her better. With him it was harder.

“Does it concern those bikers you were interested in?”

She didn’t answer.

“Did you find them last night?”

“That’s something I really can’t talk about.”

He propped himself up on one arm. “What did you do, Abby?”

“Got myself in a jam.”

“That’s pretty vague.”

“It’s as clear as I can afford to be.”

“When did you start dealing in ambiguities?”

“I’ve always dealt in ambiguities. That’s who I am. The woman of mystery. Not like you.”

“I’m not mysterious?”

“You have procedures to follow. You have a manual. There’s no manual that comes with my job.”

“That’s because you invented your job from scratch.”

“Sometimes I wish I hadn’t.”

“What happened last night?”

She ignored the question. “You have rules and regs to keep you in line. I don’t. All I’ve got it is my own judgment.”

“Isn’t that the way you wanted it?”

“Yes. Except maybe my judgment isn’t enough.”

“You have good instincts, Abby.”

“I have animal instincts. Fight or flight. Usually fight. Now I think…”

“Yes?”

“I think it’s an instinct that may push me too far.”

He withdrew his hand from her hair. She had become unconscious of his stroking, and noticed it again only once it had stopped.

“You’re not going to give me any details,” he said. It was not a question, merely the acknowledgment of a fact.

“I never do. Some things aren’t good to share.”

“If I make inquiries about the Scorpions in Santa Ana, what am I going to find out?”

“Don’t make inquiries.”

“If I do?”

“Don’t.” Her voice was hard.

There was silence between them. The TV next door was playing a commercial. The jingle vibrated through the wall, ridiculously cheerful.

“I’m worried about you,” Wyatt said.

Abby closed her eyes. “Me, too.”

At four thirty she left him. “Got an errand to run,” she said lightly, but he wasn’t fooled.

Wyatt kissed her. “Be careful.”

“Always am.”

“Not always,” he whispered.

She couldn’t argue with that. She left him at the door. When she looked back from the stairwell, he was gazing after her, as if watching her go for the last time.

It felt like a bad omen. She took the stairs quickly, relying on physical exercise to clear her mind and lift her mood.

Driving away, she called Andrea’s cell number. The woman answered on the second ring. She’d been keeping the phone close, as instructed.

“Guess who,” Abby said. She made herself smile. She was of the opinion that a smile could be sensed in a phone call. “Wait, don’t answer that. Don’t mention my name. What part of the house are you in?”

“The kitchen.”

A microphone could have been planted there. It would pick up Andrea’s end of the conversation. “Go into the bathroom and shut the door.”

“Okay,” Andrea said after a few moments.

“Turn on the water-the sink or the shower. And the fan, if there is one.”

Another moment passed. Abby heard a hiss of background static, then Andrea’s voice. “I’ve done it.”

“All right. I don’t think anyone can hear you now. So how’s that garlic genius working out for you?”

“To tell you the truth, I haven’t tried it. I don’t have any garlic cloves in the house.”

“Then how do you keep the vampires away? Anyway, your new toy will have to wait. We’ve got things to do. You ready for action?”

There was only a brief hesitation. “Ready.”

“I want you to put on that wig you wore the last time you went to one of Reynolds’ campaign events. Your car got a pretty full tank?”

“Sure.”

“Good. I’m on my way over to your neighborhood right now. When I get there, I’ll call back. Then you’ll get in your car and roll.”

“Roll where?”

“I’ll tell you later. First you have to lose your pursuit.”

“I’m a little scared, Abby.”

I’m a little scared, too, Abby thought, but what she said was, “Don’t be. It’s a cakewalk. You do trust me, right?”

“I trust you.”

“Then just follow my lead-and enjoy the ride.”

Tess arrived at the field office in Westwood at four thirty and parked in the underground garage. She showed her creds to the Protective Service staff who guarded the parking area, then took the elevator to the FBI suite, trying to decide what she was going to say and how she would say it.

Sugarcoating the story was impossible. She had made her own choices, and some of those choices had been bad. Now there was a price to pay.

The elevator hissed to a stop. The temporary key card issued to her was already in her hand. It let her into the reception area, then the suite of offices beyond.

She traversed the labyrinth of hallways to Michaelson’s office. Distantly she was surprised she remembered where to find it. It had been a year and a half since Michaelson had offered her the post of deputy assistant director-DAD, in the Bureau’s disconcerting acronym. It was an offer he had made only because of pressure from Washington. He had been openly relieved when she turned him down.

She wondered how things might have turned out if she’d accepted the opportunity. She would have been in on the reactivated MEDEA case from the start. She might have been able to keep Abby from getting involved. She might not be facing the end of her career today.

On the other hand, she might have killed Michaelson by now. Set him on fire or thrown him out the window or something. It was hard to say.

The thought raised a brief smile to her lips, but the smile vanished when she approached the ADIC’s corner office. It was situated across the hall from the media office, where two media liaisons helped Michaelson stay in the news. They might be busy soon, and not in a good way. Or perhaps her misconduct could be kept entirely under wraps, another of the Bureau’s many secrets.

She entered the anteroom and faced Michaelson’s secretary.

“I’m Agent McCallum,” she said. “I need to see the director.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but-”

“It’s usually advisable to schedule an appointment, especially on a Saturday.”

Tess knew that Michaelson was always in on Saturdays. “Just tell him I have something important to speak to him about.”