Page 13 of Cold Target

Jenkins came in behind them, closed the door, and set his jacket over the back of a chair before leaning against the edge of his desk.

“This shouldn’t take long,” Jenkins said. “This is one of those situations where the decision gets made somewhere else and lands in our lap. We just have to deal with it.”

“Everyone wants a piece of Joe,” Ivy said with a small smile.

“Yes,” Jenkins said. “I got the call wanting to know whether Treasury could live without him for a bit.”

Joe nodded. “Guessing that was less of a question than it sounded.”

“Good guess,” Jenkins said.

Ivy watched Joe. “That’s what your meeting was about?”

“Yep,” he said. “It was a surprise to me, and not the only one.”

Jenkins nodded. “They described it as a special investigation, which I’ve learned is a phrase that means ‘don’t ask follow-ups.’”

“Curiosity kills the cat,” Ivy pointed out.

“Let’s hope there’s no killing,” Jenkins said. “Now, let’s talk about Miami.”

Ivy straightened slightly, and Joe knew she was already guessing what Jenkins would say.

“Ivy, you’re going to take lead on that case,” Jenkins said. “Effective immediately.”

“All right,” she replied.

“You’ll get everything,” Joe said. “Contacts, notes, loose ends.”

“I assumed,” she said, a faint smile touching the corner of her mouth.

Jenkins hesitated, then added, “For what it’s worth, I don’t enjoy losing people midstream, but this wasn’t optional and you’re the right person to absorb it without the wheels coming off.”

“I appreciate that,” Ivy said. She turned to Joe. “If I may ask, how long is this special project going to take? And are you staying here in DC? Or traveling abroad?”

Joe said, “I’m not going overseas.”

“So whatever this is, it’s domestic.”

“As far as I know,” Joe said.

Jenkins nodded. “That matches what I was told, though I wouldn’t carve it in stone.”

He pushed off the desk and opened the door. “All right. That’s it. Let’s keep this inside Treasury until it’s officially not ours anymore.”

They stepped back into the hallway together, the building quiet enough now that their footsteps carried farther than usual. It felt almost like the end of a normal day, which made the conversation feel stranger than if alarms had been going off.

They walked a few yards before Ivy slowed and turned to Joe.

“So,” she said, “want to tell me what you’re really doing?”

Joe shook his head. “I can’t.”

She studied him, then sighed, not angry, just resigned. “I figured you wouldn’t, but I had to try.”

“I know,” he answered. “Good luck with Miami.”

“Thanks. Keep me posted and let me know if you need help. I can do more than one thing at a time.”