Adrian Phoenix - In the Blood

Despite the hard knot in her belly, Heather laughed. “Exactly.”

She had five hours to drive back to Seattle and, although that should be enough time even after dropping Lyons off at the Portland field office parking lot, she’d have to cancel her surprise visit to see Annie at the treatment center. She’d also be cutting it too close to swing by her house once she hit Seattle to change from jeans into office appropriate slacks and blouse.

Maybe that wouldn’t matter. Be prepared for the possibility of additional debriefing .

The knot in her belly kinked tighter. Maybe they’d found out about her and Dante. If so, that’d give them enough reason to fire her, the hero they’d created. And a chance to transform her into another tragic figure like the ME in Pensacola, a suicide in her tub. Or maybe the victim of an auto accident or a burglary gone wrong.

Heather inhaled deeply, drawing in a breath of Drakkar Noir. Get a grip, Wallace . If the powers that be wanted her dead, they wouldn’t wait to fire her first. She’d already be on an autopsy table.

Maybe her father was behind this sudden medical status update. Maybe he’d caught wind of her cold case investigation. “Can I ask a favor?” she said.

“Shoot.”

“My father is James Wallace—”

“James William Wallace? The fearless leader of our West Coast lab?”

“The same.”

Lyons whistled.

“If he should contact you about what I’m doing—about this case, I’d appreciate it if you’d keep him in the dark.”

Heather looked at Lyons and something lit in his ocean-green eyes, a connection, an understanding. He nodded. “Can do. I’ll keep your old man in the dark.”

“Thanks,” she breathed, relieved he didn’t ask why. “I appreciate it.”

“Not a problem.”

For the last twenty years, James William Wallace had kept Heather in the dark. About how her mother had died, about how she’d lived; about Annie’s illness. She’d had to dig for every little bit of truth, sift it from lies and willful denial. She intended to return the favor. In spades.

Seattle, WA—FBI Field Office

March 22

HEATHER KNEW HER LIFE depended on how she answered the question just posed to her by ADIC Monica Rutgers. If she said yes, she’d be little more than a marionette for the Bureau to stage and pose—albeit a well-paid, breathing marionette. If she said no, they’d find a way to strip the truth from her mind, and then, in one way or another, she’d die.

“I’m honestly stunned,” Heather said, managing to curve her lips into a smile. “And honored. But a decision this important deserves careful consideration.”

“Of course,” Rutgers replied from the large-screen monitor nestled into the west wall. Graying curls framed a stoic face weathered by decades of subterfuge. “How about Monday? That gives you four days to mull it over.”

“Monday would be fine, ma’am,” Heather said.

She sat in one of two plush chairs positioned in front of what used to be Stearns’s oak desk and his office. His energy still seemed to permeate the room, steady as granite. And, at times, she thought she caught glimpses of him from the corners of her eyes—behind the desk, standing at the rain-ribboned window looking down into the street. Imagined she smelled coffee and Tums.

“We believe you’ve more than proven your merit and mettle,” Alberto Rodriguez said from behind Stearns’s desk.

“Thank you, sir.” Heather said. She glanced at the interim SAC and flashed him what she hoped was a winning smile. “Still, it’s a big decision…”

“You’ll make a fine SAC.” The shitty sound system rendered Rutgers’s voice as thin and flat as her face. “I believe this is a move Craig Stearns would’ve approved.”

Heather doubted that, considering the truth Stearns had learned in New Orleans.

You’ve been marked for termination. Me too .

How high up does this go?

I think it’s best to behave as though it goes to the top .

“I appreciate your confidence, ma’am,” Heather murmured, throat tight.

Rutgers folded her hands on the polished surface of her desk, an ill-fitting smile glued to her lips. She studied Heather from the D.C. side of the webcam. Heather forced herself to relax into the chair.

“The latest report from your doctor states that you’re fit for duty,” Rodriguez said.

Heather swiveled her chair slightly so she could see both him and the monitor.

He tapped a finger against a folder in front of him on the desk, his angular, clean-shaven face thoughtful. “Though, frankly, he’s amazed by your recovery. It’s nothing short of a miracle.”

“I was lucky, that’s all,” Heather said. “If the bullet had been a centimeter to the left…” She shrugged. “I wouldn’t be here. No miracle, just luck and prompt medical attention.”

“We still have a few questions—” He looked up when the door opened, then snicked shut again. He nodded his head in acknowledgment.

Just as Heather glanced over her shoulder to see who’d joined the meeting, she caught a whiff of Brut aftershave.

I knew it .

He looked older than she remembered—thinner, hair streaked gray and white, more lines etched into his face.

“I apologize for being late, ma’am,” SA James William Wallace said, nodding at the monitor. He stood just inside the door, his rain-spattered, tan trenchcoat draped over his left arm. “The traffic was bad.”

“No apology necessary,” Rutgers said. “You came up from Portland on very short notice.”

“If I may ask, ma’am—why was my father asked to attend?” Heather straightened in her chair. “We’ve never worked together. He couldn’t possibly assess—”

“He’s here as an advocate for you,” Rutgers said, leaning forward against her desk. “We don’t want any misunderstandings. And you need to know what’s at risk.”

A chill iced Heather’s spine. “At risk, ma’am?”

James Wallace folded his trench over the back of the remaining chair and sat down beside Heather. With a wink and a smile, he swiveled his chair around to face the com-con monitor and Rutgers.

“She’s ready to get back into the saddle,” her father said.

“My father does not speak for me. Just so we’re clear,” Heather said.

“Relax,” James Wallace murmured. “I’m on your side.”

Heather refused to look at him. “Ma’am, you mentioned a risk?”

“That’s correct. A few other things for you to consider while you contemplate your decision.”

Rodriguez flipped open the file, thumbed through the pages. Special Agent Bennington mentioned during his debrief in D.C. that he believed Dr. Moore had intended to use you as ‘psycho bait,’ but he wasn’t sure if you were meant to lure Jordan or Prejean.” He looked up at Heather. “Any thoughts as to why in either case?”

Heather forced her hands to remain open and relaxed in her lap. She frowned, then shook her head. “I really think Bennington would know more about Dr. Moore’s motives than I would.”

“And you maintain that when Dr. Moore shot you,” Rutgers said, “she was aiming at Jordan? Are you certain she hadn’t intended to kill you along with Jordan?”