Kate Donovan - Identity Crisis

“I’m sold,” she assured her boss. “From now on, I’m putting a new note in my file. Something like, ‘If you have a nonemergency question between the hours of midnight and 6:00 a.m., please contact my backup.’ How’s that?”

“Six hours off? No way.” Ray leaned forward. “Seven p.m. to 7:00 a.m.—and all day Saturday and Sunday.”

“I’m okay with seven to seven on work nights, as long as the operative is in the same time zone as us. Otherwise, I’ll have to adjust it. And weekends are tricky—”

“Did I mention this isn’t a negotiation?” he asked, clearly struggling not to smile. “But it’s a step in the right direction, so I’ll take it for now.”

“And?”

The smile became a full-fledged laugh. “Yeah, you’re back in my will.”

Kristie sighed in relief. “I really am sorry, Ray.”

“Stop apologizing. You’re a pain in the ass, but you also saved that kid—both kids, actually—so you’re getting another chance. Don’t blow it. And Kris?”

“Yes?”

He walked around to her side of the desk and grasped her chin in his hand, then looked deep into her eyes and murmured, “Nice job.”

She bit her lip, unsure of how to respond, especially in light of David’s remarks.

Then Ray made the decision for her, stepping back and reminding her gruffly, “I’ve got tons of cleanup to do today, thanks to your little prank. And you’ve got a new red folder waiting for you on your desk, so get cracking. Your moment of glory is officially over.”

It was a relief to head back to her SPIN cubicle, tucked in a corner with a view of treetops and clouds. She knew that some people would balk at the industrial furniture and artificial lighting, but to Kristie, this high-tech workspace was heaven.

She checked her messages—three new ones in the last half hour, all complimenting her on the Rodriguez case. Then she reached for the new assignment Ray had left on her credenza, but a ring from her priority line, which was reserved for operative assistance, stopped her.

As always when an operative made contact, her pulse quickened, preparing her for a new challenge. But her voice remained calm, professional and reassuring. “This is S-3. Please identify yourself.”

“This is Special Agent Justin Russo. I’ve got a grateful fourteen-year-old here who wants to talk to Melissa Daniels. Any chance of that?”

“Absolutely. Put him on.”

Randy’s voice was filled with awe. “Hi, Miss Daniels.”

“Hey, sugar. How’s life?”

“Better. Because of you.”

Choking back an un-Melissa-like gulp, Kristie reminded him, “The way I hear it, Lizzie’s big brother was the one who really came through for her. So, fill me in. Have they let you visit her yet?”

“Yeah, we’ve been coloring together all morning. The shrinks want her to draw pictures. To see how messed up she is, I guess. And so far, she hasn’t drawn any monsters or anything. Just our house. And our dog. And us.”

“Those were the images that made her strong during those terrible days. In her heart, she knew you’d find her, some way, somehow.”

“It was you,” the boy insisted. “My mom wants you to come to dinner so we can thank you in person.”

“Tell her I’d love to, but it’s against the rules.”

“Yeah. That’s what Agent Russo said. But I was thinking…”

“Yes?”

“I’ll graduate in four years. Then I’ve gotta go to college. But after that, I want to help you rescue children. I’ll even do it for free, and get another job on the side or something.”

Touched, Kristie murmured, “You’ve got what it takes, Randy. That’s for sure. And you’ve got years to decide the best way to help. Look how many people played a part in saving Lizzie. The cops, the FBI, the witnesses, me, you—and now the psychologists, who are still saving her.”

“Yeah, but I want to do what you do.”

“Sugar, you’d have to get some major surgery before you could do that.”

She could hear him blushing through the phone, and congratulated herself impishly for the Melissaesque quip. “Give Lizzie a hug for me, sugar. And put Agent Russo on again.”

“Okay. Bye, Miss Daniels.”

“Bye, handsome.”

Justin was laughing when he got back on the line. “What did you say to the poor kid?”

“Hmm?”

“Never mind. We’ve got important business to discuss.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I’m taking the next two weeks off.”

“You deserve it.”

“Right. This case has been a killer. So I’m headed for Tahiti, and I want you to come along.”

Kristie sighed. “Take a real girl, Justin. You don’t know anything about me. I could be old enough to be your grandma. Or married. I could even be a guy.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he retorted, then his tone softened. “It doesn’t have to be romantic, Essie. We’re friends, right? I just want to get to know you. To thank you for what you did. Plus, you need a break, too. I’m sure Ortega’ll give you time off after what you did last night.”

“After what I did last night, he gave me a lecture, all about the rules of spinning. I broke most of them, you know. But even I respect the one about socializing with operatives.”

“I socialize with other agents all the time, and that doesn’t keep me from being objective when it counts,” Justin muttered. “It’s a bullshit rule, Essie. Ask Ortega to make an exception, or I might just have to take matters into my own hands.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I know where SPIN headquarters is located, more or less. Maybe I’ll spend my vacation on a stakeout instead of an island. That’s what I do for a living, remember? And I’m pretty good at it. If I want to meet you, I can and will.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” she scolded him. “I know you’re kidding, but the monitors might think you’re serious and get us both in trouble. So just be a good little agent and tell me you’re going to Tahiti.”

Justin growled. “I forgot about that monitor bullshit. Yeah, yeah, I’m kidding.”

“And?” she prompted him.

“And I’m going to Tahiti for mindless sex with beach bunnies.”

“That’s better.”

“You oughta take a break, too. And if any monitors are listening,” the agent raised his voice and warned, “get your own lives and stop listening to ours!”

Kristie laughed fondly. “Have fun in Tahiti, Justin. Drink something frosty and tropical for me.”

“Will do. And I’ll call as soon as I get back.”

“Assuming we have an active assignment together,” she reminded him, still wary of the monitors.

“Stupid bullshit rules,” he repeated in clear disgust. “Take care, beautiful.”

“Bye, Justin.”

As she hung up the phone, she remembered what the agent had said. They were friends. Nothing romantic about it. Just like Kristie and Ray.

Glancing toward her boss’s office, she saw him standing there, watching her through the glass wall, his hands on his hips. Without hesitation, she smiled and waved, and to her delight, he smiled and waved back—his old self again.

So much for David’s lame-brain theory, she told herself happily, then she opened the new folder—red, which meant it was politically sensitive and on a fast track—and settled down to spin.

The street was semideserted on her walk home from work, which suited Kristie just fine. It would give her a chance to mull over the details of her new case, so that she could design just the right cover story for the young female agent who would be infiltrating a posh sorority on an Ivy League campus.

Of course, it would have helped to know the agent’s mission, but as with most red folders, this one came with strings attached. Nowhere in the file did it reveal the nature of the wrong that would be righted, which told the spinner it was either so highly classified, it couldn’t be shared with someone at her level of clearance, or it was some sort of quasi-political vendetta. Perhaps the precious daughter of some high-ranking U.S. government official had become involved in some grade-tampering scandal with her sorority sisters, and SPIN had been enlisted for damage control for fear the episode would reflect on the official’s agency or party.