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"So do I. I'm also hoping that the killer's frustration in losing the painting will lead to a mistake, something that could break this case wide open before anyone else dies."
"I hope so, too. Your eye looks better today, but I can still see the bruise."
"This is nothing."
"Which means you've probably been hurt a lot worse. Your job is dangerous, isn't it?"
"It can be, but it's worth it."
"You love it, don't you?"
"More than I imagined I would. I started out just wanting to bring my dad down, pay him back for what he did to me and my mother, but it became a lot more. My work hasn't really been about him in years. It's about doing my part to keep people safe. And if I can't keep them safe, I can find out who hurt them and make sure it doesn't happen again."
"I'm impressed."
"I'm not trying to impress you," he said, his blue gaze meeting hers.
"Maybe that's why you're impressive. Your mission is clear in your head, and it's a selfless, generous mission. You put your life on the line for strangers. You probably don't get much credit for anything you do."
"I don't look for credit. In my job, staying in the shadows is a good thing."
"I've noticed that you don't wear a uniform or an FBI jacket. Why is that?"
"My task force operates in a more surreptitious manner. We go undercover a lot. We move through cases in ways that our more public agents cannot. We become whoever we need to be to get a job done."
"That sounds intriguing. Tell me more."
He gave her a speculative look. "Is my job that fascinating, or are you stalling a little, Callie?"
He was really a little too perceptive at times. "I do find your job interesting, but I guess I'm stalling, too. I want to see my mom, but I'm also afraid."
"That she'll hate you for putting her in the hospital?"
"There's that, but it's more that I'm afraid of how she'll be. I don't want to see her lost and confused and sad. I've seen her that way too many times. I want her to be who she was last week, before all this happened."
"I get it. Maybe she will be."
"I doubt it. It always takes time for her to recover, more time than I ever want or expect."
"Who stayed with you the last time, when you were sixteen?"
His question took her back to a very unhappy and lonely time. "I stayed by myself. When concerned health officials asked who I was with, I lied and gave them a neighbor's name or the names of my friends' parents. I was old enough that no one was too concerned. They were worried about my mother more than me."
His expression turned grim. "That's not right."
"I was fine. I could drive by then. I could cook for myself, and I'd always done the shopping and the banking. I knew all the credit card numbers and the passwords. I was perfectly capable of being alone."
"But you were alone and that had to be hard."
"It wasn't easy," she admitted. "But I got through it."
"Were your friends there for you?"
"I tried not to tell anyone. Eventually, it came out. Most of my friends were there for me. Some just wanted to make fun of my mother behind my back. But I survived and my mom got better, and we moved on."
"You're a very strong woman."
"I don't often feel that way," she murmured, not sure why she was revealing so many of her secrets. "I just fake it. It's easier. When people ask you how you're doing, they don't really want to know. They just want to hear you say you're fine. So, I'm fine."