Page 5

“Not here,” he said, grabbing me by the hand to lead me through the vast lobby of the Bureau. We were well into the parking lot by the time we reached his car. Only there did he let me go and turn to face me with concern in his eyes.

It wasn’t until I was staring into them that I realized just how much I’d missed him.

“Who else knows this?”

“No one,” I replied, still shaking a little from the shock of it all. “I literally just found out.”

He noted my tightly clasped hands, and his expression softened slightly. “And Dr. Chin? How did she react when she told you?”

“She definitely seemed confused. On the fly, I told her it was Gramps that had made the call, to smooth things over and avoid suspicion,” I explained. “I think she bought it. Lying on my feet is something I’ve gotten pretty expert at as of late.”

“No doubt,” he muttered under his breath, the tension in his face increasing as he worked through the moving parts of this revelation. “We need to go somewhere else and figure this out.” His car beeped as he unlocked it and walked toward the driver’s side door. “Get in.”

“Where are we going?”

“My place.”

“But my car—”

“I’ll bring you back later. Let’s go.”

With a sigh that let him know I was too exhausted to argue, I opened the passenger door and climbed in. “Listen, I may be toeing the line of total mental collapse, but I can still drive,” I said as I fastened my belt. When Dawson didn’t make a punchy retort, I turned to find him staring, and I instantly knew I’d messed up. “Before you go freaking out, I was just—”

“Is that what Dr. Chin said when you met with her?” He couldn’t have looked more serious if he’d tried.

“Not exactly, but she was definitely fishing in the depression end of the diagnostic pond at one point.”

“Danners, depression isn’t something to joke about.”

“But I joke about everything.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t.”

“So, what, you want to take my coping skills away from me? When I’m grieving? How’s that helpful?”

“ Grieving ? What do you mean?”

“That’s the conclusion Dr. Chin came to. That I’m suffering from grief.”

“Grief for what?”

“Oh, I don't know…my lost childhood…my absent mother…the fact that I’ve worked so hard to get my father out of prison and probably never will…”

He exhaled in exasperated fashion, then started the car. “Maybe this is a bad idea.”

“No,” I snapped at him, “do not try to cut me out again. You promised you wouldn’t.”

“I know I did,” he said, “and I’m really wishing I hadn’t right about now.”

“Listen, whether I’m depressed or grieving or something else, it isn’t going to change the fact that someone sabotaged my meeting with Dr. Chin, which feels a lot like they wanted me to be there without her or anyone else around. So can you please put the car in drive and take me to your house so we can figure this shit out before what’s left of my sanity starts to wane?”

The leather wheel let out a tortured sound as he gripped it so tightly his knuckles blanched. “Just tell me that you’re okay—that you’re going to be okay.” The way he looked at me when he turned those hazel eyes filled with worry and determination my way told me that he needed me to be all right, or he most certainly wouldn’t be. Something in my stomach ached at the thought.

“ Dawson ,” I said softly as I placed my hand on his forearm, “I swear to you that I’m okay. Maybe a little down and adrift at times, but I’m not going under. If I thought I was, you would be the first to know.” I smiled slightly to drive the point home. “I promise .”

His gaze didn’t waver until I pulled my hand away, retreating from the silent battle of wills we were apparently having. The engine roared to life, and he put the car in gear. “Good. Then I won’t bring it up again.” With that matter as settled as it could be, he pulled out of the parking lot and headed west.

He’d told me once where his apartment was when we were deeply embroiled in a verbal smackdown he’d tauntingly wanted to escalate, but I couldn’t remember the address. We drove in relative silence toward the unknown destination, the tension in the vehicle ratcheting up with every block we passed. When I couldn’t take it any longer, I asked the question that had been burning in my mind since I saw him walk into that office with Special Agent in Charge Wilson.

“What were you meeting with Wilson about on a Saturday?” That strange creaking of the steering wheel leather echoed through the car again. “Dawson?”

“I had to fill out some paperwork.”

“ Paperwork ? That’s random. You couldn’t have just done that on Monday?”

“I could have, but Wilson wanted it done today.”

“Must be important, then. Was it for a case?”

His hard expression gave nothing away. “No.”

“Was it about the AD?”

“No.”

I stared at his profile, awaiting further explanation—which never came. “Do you want me to keep guessing or do you want to just tell me?”

“No, I don't.”

“Don’t want me to keep guessing or don’t want to tell me?”

“Yes.”

“Not a yes-or-no question, Dawson.”

The warning in my tone seemed to loosen his tongue. “I want you to drop it, that’s what I want you to do.”

“You do know me, right?’

He sighed heavily. “Indeed, I do—”

“So you know that’s never going to happen now.”

“I am well aware.” He made a left onto Laplante Road and proceeded through the rows of fancy new condos lining the street while I stewed.

“This isn’t exactly how I wanted our reunion to go—”

“Then that makes two of us—”

“—but if you want to be a stubborn ass about it, I will make your life miserable until you tell me.”

“Of course you will.” The car slowed as we neared the end of an overwhelmingly white building. Dawson pulled into the final driveway with a single car garage and parked the car outside. He killed the engine but made no move to get out. He just stared at the black-paneled garage door in front of him and inhaled deeply. “Agent Wilson wanted me to come in to fill out return-to-work papers,” he said in a controlled tone that belied a note of anger brewing just beneath. “He needed them so I could start back first thing on Monday.”

“Start back?” I replied, the weight of the confusion I felt sounding in my voice. “I don’t understand.”

“I’ve been on a fifteen-day suspension,” he said, finally turning to face me, “for hitting Jamieson—that’s why I was called back from the east coast so quickly.” Guilt washed over me as reality settled in. Dawson had been suspended for defending me against the agent I’d encountered the day I was supposed to meet with Dr. Chin; the asshole who’d detained me against a wall before Dawson went apeshit on him with a right cross that would have made the Muay Thai boys proud. And because of that, he’d been reprimanded— harshly . “And that look on your face right now is why I didn't want to tell you.”

“Dawson, I…I’m so sor—”

“I know you’re sorry,” he said, cutting me off. “I know that you feel awful and responsible and a million other things. The problem is, I don’t want you to.”

“But how could I not? I got you suspended—”

“Without pay.”

“ Without pay ?” I replied in an octave my voice hadn’t achieved since childhood. “Jesus, Dawson. Did you beat him up more after I left?”

“Tempting, but no, I didn’t. Though I kind of wish I had. Might have made it feel more worthwhile.”

“Then what the hell kind of bullshit punishment is that? I mean…did you know this would happen as a result?”

He looked at me in his periphery as though I’d said the dumbest thing he’d ever heard. “Do you really believe I didn’t know what the punishment for hitting him would be before I did it?”

No . No, I didn't. Dawson had probably memorized the FBI handbook on his first day at Quantico like a good little overachiever.

“Well, at least tell me that piece of shit got some kind of comeuppance for his part in all of it.”

For the first time since I’d seen him that day, the rookie agent smiled. “He sure did.”

I mimicked his expression. “Good, because if not, I planned to go back and kick his ass—for both of us. Because I, unlike you, can’t get suspended.”

“No, you’d just get arrested, and I’m not sure that would be an improvement,” he argued with a rationality I couldn’t. “Besides, he’s not there at the moment anyway.”

“That’s fine,” I blustered, folding my arms across my chest. “I can wait.”

“Until Monday?”

His incredulous tone was duly noted. I shrugged in response. “Stubborn ass, remember?”

“As if I could ever forget.” He held my gaze for a moment before the amusement in his eyes slowly died, leaving little more than concern in its wake. “We should go inside. We need to talk about Dr. Chin.”

With his usual efficiency, he was out of the car and up the walkway to the door in seconds with me chasing behind him. He opened the heavy black door, then stepped aside to let me in. The foyer was small and what you’d expect from a townhome: beige and boring. A quick scan of the adjacent hall and living room divulged more of the same. Apparently, Dawson hadn’t done much decorating. The whole place screamed builder-basic.

He pushed past me as I slipped off my shoes and flipped on the light. “You want something to drink?”

“Bit early for that, isn’t it?” He looked back over his shoulder with a scowl, and I threw my hands up in surrender. “I was kidding! I’ll take a water… please .” I followed him into the galley-style kitchen with white cabinetry and matching stone counters. Fancy, but sterile. He pulled a glass off a shelf above the sink and pressed it to the filter on the outside of the stainless steel fridge. “How are there no fingerprints on this thing?” I asked, marveling at the silver sheen. “Do you even have food in there? Oh, wait…I bet you’re one of those takeout bachelors and this is just to impress the ladies.”

“Appliances do carry a lot of weight with certain demographics,” he deadpanned as he handed it over, “but I’m a little young for most of them.”

An image of an older woman cradling his face flashed in my mind, and I tried to ignore the irrational wave of anger that followed in its wake. “Don’t count yourself out yet, Dawson. I’m sure there’s a cougar out there who’d love to scoop you up and tear you apart.”

Not taking the bait, he leaned his hip into the counter and folded his arms across his chest. “Tell me exactly how things went down with Dr. Chin.” I quickly rehashed the little bit there was to tell verbatim—or as close as I could come—while he listened intently. “So someone called her to cancel on your behalf.”

“Yes, but why? To what end? I mean, nothing happened while I was there, aside from the Jamieson incident, which could be something, I guess. But he seemed genuinely surprised to find me wandering the hallways alone.”

The set of Dawson’s brow told me he was far from convinced. “Jamieson is a talented actor, Danners—he’s great at undercover work.”

“Okay…so let’s say, for argument’s sake, that it was him who made the call. What was his big plan? Take me to the AD? Kill me in the hallway of the Bureau, where I can only assume there are cameras everywhere?”

“There are blind spots everywhere, too. And if memory serves, I found you in one.”

“But you just said they’re everywhere—it could have been by chance.”

“Or it could have been intentional.” He pinned me in place with one of those serious looks that unnerved me. “I don’t like Jamieson, and I haven’t since I started with the FBI. He’s a chameleon and loves the idea of power. He already has his sights set on Wilson’s job, a position both your dad and Striker would have been up for long before him.”

“I hear what you’re saying, but ambition plus a side of sociopathy hardly equals him trying to assassinate me at the FBI.”

“Maybe, maybe not. What it does do is make him an easy target for someone with a lot of power and connections and no moral code—like the AD.”

I couldn’t argue with that.

“Is he a dick? Yes. But we have zero evidence beyond that. What we do know is that someone privy to my comings and goings made that call for a reason—a bad one, no doubt.”

“And they’re either in the Bureau or have access to FBI info.”

“Or Dr. Chin’s schedule book.” None of those possibilities sat well with me.

“I’ll look into her secretary, but Jamieson is still on the short list.”

“Agreed.”

Silence.

“So,” he said, hesitating slightly, “now that we have that sorted…how’s school?”

“Well, my chances of graduating are about as good as my dad’s of getting released from prison, so not stellar at the moment, if I’m being honest.”

“You’ll graduate. Worst case scenario, you’ll have to finish some classes over the summer.”

“Which would be a travesty. It’s my last summer with my friends before college.”

“Ah, yes, I almost forgot that you’re Ohio State-bound—for free, if memory serves—courtesy of an anonymous benefactor.” His self-satisfied grin practically beamed through the room, and I remembered how much I used to want to slap it from his face—and noted how that reflex seemed absent now.

“‘Benefactor’ seems like a stretch,” I said, looking away. “I think you mean thanks to a meddlesome agent who strong-armed his former professor into pulling some strings.”

“Maybe.”

“Hopefully you didn’t call in every favor you were owed to get that for me. Seems a waste if I don’t graduate,” I said before a morbid thought crossed my mind. “Or die before then.”

I looked up in time to see something dark flash in his eyes. “That’s not going to happen.”

“I think I’ve used up like four of my nine lives, if we’re working off the feline model.”

“Danners—”

“Coping mechanism,” I said, putting my hands up to thwart his incoming rant. “Just let me use it for now. It’s all I have.”

“ Wrong . You have Dr. Chin, your friends, Gramps…” He hesitated for a fraction of a second. “And me. We’re all going to help you get through this.”

The weight of his words combined with his earnest stare was too much, so I washed my emotions down with half the glass of water he’d just given me. Once I thought I could trust my voice, I changed the subject. “So…if you haven’t been at work for the past couple weeks, what exactly have you been doing? You know, the big reason you couldn’t get away to come see your partner down in Hicksville?” I tried to conceal the hurt in my tone, but clearly didn’t succeed.

Dawson’s expression softened. “I thought it might be better if I gave you some space after everything that happened, but now I’m realizing that was the wrong move.” He exhaled hard as he ran his fingers through his tousled hair. “I’m sorry, Danners.” The sincerity in his tone was piercing, and my chest tightened in response.

“It’s okay. You clearly had your own shit going on…” I said as I struggled to hold his intense gaze, “...that you were just about to show me.”

His lips pressed to a thin line as he contemplated something before he pushed off the counter. “Follow me.”

He led the way downstairs to the basement and flipped on a light. The finished space was devoid of furniture and decoration entirely, except for a sideboard of sorts with a suspect wall above it. Papers and sticky notes and pictures adorned the canvas that stretched nearly ten feet wide. I walked up to it slowly, in awe of the detail and nuance it contained. Mine looked like a kindergarten murder board in comparison.

Dawson really had been a busy boy.

“You remember Agent Dean Franklin, my buddy back east? The one who took down the Vollero family the night of the pageant?”

“Yes…”

“Well, I’ve been helping him with his case and attempting to find ties back to the AD through it.”

“ And ?”

He shook his head. “Nothing yet, but Dean thinks he’s found a couple of weak links in the chain. He thinks that Jimmy Barratta and another higher-up can be leveraged to turn state’s evidence on the Vollero boss, who we can then lean on to get information about the AD. They’ve given him enough for him to be sure they know things that could help.”

“Well, Manny knew things too, and that didn’t end so well for him. Tell me Dean’s got them under lock and key and heavily guarded.”

“He’s seen to those details already. He’s handling it all personally. No cars going into rivers this time.” His words sent a chill down my spine, and in true observant-agent fashion, he was quick to notice. “Do you want to talk about that night?”

“I most certainly do not, but thanks for asking. It just…it haunts me. I mean, I saw Mr. Matthew die. I watched the light leave Luke’s eyes. But for some reason, staring down at that car as it sank into the darkness…”

“It’s unsettling because you know the end result but didn’t see it,” he continued for me, “which leaves so much to your imagination.”

My gaze drifted over to find him staring at the board with the same vacant look I knew I’d sported more times than I could count in the past couple of weeks.

“Yes,” I whispered, “exactly. And those two officers…they were collateral damage. I can’t wrap my head around humans being so disposable.”

He turned his head to face me, eyes narrowed. “I felt that way too, until I did some digging.”

“What did you find?”

“I searched the phone records of the officer driving the cruiser that night. Steven Edwards.”

“Let me guess, he got a call right before the car went through the guard rail.”

He nodded slowly. “After the lab analyzed the car and found no signs of foul play, I knew something else had happened to send it over the bridge. So I immediately started investigating.” He reached over toward the wall and pointed at a picture labeled S. Edwards. Just below it was a sheet of phone numbers and times. “This was the last incoming call before the accident.”

“Whose number is it?” I asked, hoping it might lead somewhere.

“A burner. The car went off the road exactly two minutes later, after the one-minute phone call—just long enough for someone to give him exact instructions and to remind him of whatever leverage they had that could force someone to do something like that.”

I shivered at the thought. “Dawson, are you saying that the officer was ordered to drive that car off the bridge?” He nodded once, and my mind started spiraling in an instant.

“You already know the power the AD has over people, Danners. You’ve seen it in action more than anyone else.”

And man, was that the truth, but it didn’t make it any easier to swallow. How anyone could force himself to knowingly bury himself (and his partner) in a watery grave was beyond my comprehension, even knowing how motivating the AD could be. Whatever leverage he’d had over that officer, it had to be unthinkable. I shuddered at the thought. “I told Agent Wilson about this, so between our debrief after the accident and this new information, he’s fully up to speed on the AD situation. He’s beginning to question your father’s guilt, too—or at least to realize that there’s more going on here than anyone fully understands.”

“But you didn’t say anything about Striker, right?” I asked, worry coursing through me. “Telling Wilson about Striker would put his family in jeopardy if the AD found out.”

The condescending look he gave me was answer enough. “No, I didn’t tell him. And Dean is also keeping that quiet for now. Striker should be in the clear, but I can’t promise it will stay that way if the Vollero family acquires more information that compromises the investigation.”

“So, at this point, all we have is Jimmy Barratta and this other guy, and the hope that they’ll spill what they know before somebody gets to them.”

“Basically. But as Agent Franklin works through the others they have detained, it’s possible that more information will come to light that will lead to more arrests or more potential mobsters with information about the AD. And if Dean applies enough pressure, over time, a few of them will crack.”

“And we might finally learn who this fucking psychopath is.”

A wicked smile cut through his serious expression. “ Exactly .”

A sense of hope I hadn’t dared to feel since I watched that car disappear into the darkness spread through me, slow and cautious. Maybe this really was it. Maybe we really had him where we wanted him.

“My dad,” I said, my voice breaking. “He really could get out, couldn’t he?”

“Yes,” he said, taking a step closer, “he really could.”

Without thinking, I launched myself at Dawson and wrapped my arms and legs around him monkey-style, squeezing as tightly as I could as tears ran down my face. “Thank you,” I whispered against him. “For everything.”

Expecting him to peel me off, I was surprised when his arms wove around my back instead and held me firmly in place. “I don’t want to ruin this moment for you, but he isn’t out yet.”

I pulled away to find an impish smile on his face.

“It kinda feels like you do want to ruin it when you say shit like that,” I said as I climbed down off him more reluctantly than I would have expected. Being held by him felt better than I had remembered. “You couldn’t just take the personal W could you, Dawson? Had to be all Captain Details about it.” I smiled as I wiped the tears from my face, hoping he knew I was joking. Judging by his continued amusement, he did.

“What can I say? I’m a details kinda guy.”

I opened my mouth to give him shit about the OCD crime board, but the ringing of his phone cut me off. He pulled it from his back pocket and frowned at the screen before answering. “This is Dawson. Agent Wilson, what can I do for you?” Silence stretched out for what felt like an eternity, and I stepped closer, hoping to overhear whatever had Dawson so entranced. “Yes, sir. I’ll see you shortly.”

The line went dead but Dawson remained still, phone to his ear.

“Dawson,” I said gently, hoping to pull him from his stupor, “what did Wilson want?”

“I have to go,” he said, grabbing my hand to lead me up the stairs at a frantic pace.

“I heard that, but why?”

“Wilson is calling an emergency briefing,” he said as he raced through the kitchen to the front door.

“Would you please just tell me what’s going on?” I demanded, stepping in front of the door to bar the way.

The wild look in his eyes only set me further on edge. “Something happened back east,” he said in a voice too devoid of emotion to be comforting.

“Something like what , Dawson?”

“The unnamed mafioso Dean was hoping to turn on Vollero—and possibly identify the AD—is dead.”

“ How ?” I asked, my voice so faint even I barely heard it. “You just said that Agent Franklin was handling it personally.”

“He was—”

“This doesn’t feel very handled.”

As if my terror pulled him from his own, his wide eyes narrowed to menacing slits. “This has the AD written all over it.”

I felt the chill of truth in his words. Time and again, we’d seen that he could get to anyone, anywhere. I shouldn’t have been surprised by this turn of events, and yet there I stood, images of someone shanking him in a holding cell playing over and over in my mind. Then the generic face of the man I’d never seen before morphed into my father’s in my mind, and all the air seemed to leave the room.

“My dad,” I whispered as we stopped in the foyer. “Dawson…what about my dad?”

He looked me dead in the eyes. “You have to pray he doesn’t know enough for the AD to bother silencing him.”

I thought about that all the way back to the Bureau, and the entire hour and a half ride home to Jasperville. If the AD was cleaning up anyone with incriminating evidence, then surely my father was on that list. And possibly me, too.