Page 1 of Concluded (The Bureau #13)

L os Angeles

“Agent Spanos, you need to get back in that bed and?—”

Ignoring the nurse, Achilles Spanos continued looking around the little room for his clothing. He knew his wallet, phone, badge, and gun were in a little cabinet near the sink, but there were no signs of his other belongings. “Where’s my pants?” he demanded. “And my shoes?”

The nurse, a formidable-looking man named Kyle, shook his head. “Everything you were wearing was destroyed. We threw it all away.”

Although Achilles hadn’t felt any particular attachment to that suit, he frowned. “Fine. Get me new ones.” And then, because Kyle had taken good care of him, he added, “Please.”

Kyle didn’t budge, however. “You don’t need them. You’re still recovering. The doc says?—”

“ Another couple of days . I know. I don’t care. I want my own bed in my own apartment. And I want to get out of this goddamn building.”

Since Kyle didn’t seem willing to give in, Achilles grabbed the sheet off the bed and wrapped it toga-style.

Together with the hospital’s johnny and bright-blue socks with grippy treads, it would have to do.

He gathered his belongings from the drawer and, well aware that he was not following protocol regarding weapon handling, marched to the door.

He was afraid that Kyle would try to stop him—they were a good match in size—but in Achilles’ current condition, he knew he wouldn’t win.

Fortunately, Kyle simply sighed, muttered something under his breath, and let him go.

The little hospital occupied its own wing of the West Coast Bureau HQ, which meant Achilles had a long walk down the hall to the main lobby.

His wounds hurt , especially the long slash across his abdomen, but hell if he’d turn back.

He simply gritted his teeth. When he reached the expanse of the white-marble lobby, he ignored the agent gaping at him from the reception desk and continued to the bank of elevators, letting out a sigh of relief when the nearest doors immediately slid open.

As he rode to the top floor, he resisted the urge to lean against the wall.

Someone was bound to be watching on the security cameras.

There was another long trek after he exited the elevator, and midway he had to stop and catch his breath. Normally he could run for miles without being winded; he wondered if he would manage to achieve that level of fitness again. Maybe he’d always ache when he moved.

Finally, he flung open the door to the reception area of the chief’s suite. Probably with a little more drama than necessary, which caused him to pull his stitches and hiss with pain. He hurried inside… and faced a demon.

“Where’s Holmes?” Achilles demanded. Victor Holmes had occupied the chief’s outer office for as long as Achilles could remember. Not that Achilles particularly missed the guy—he was terrifying—but the absence threw him.

The demon Tenrael sat on the desk, black wings neatly folded. He would have looked almost demure if he weren’t naked. But at least that meant Achilles wasn’t the least professionally dressed person in the room.

“Agent Holmes is on assignment.” Tenrael’s face didn’t betray any emotion.

“But… he’s in a wheelchair.” And had been for years, ever since he’d been injured on assignment. Very much like Achilles, except Achilles could still walk.

“Agent Holmes is a valuable Bureau employee.”

“Of course he is. But whatever. I need to see the chief.”

Tenrael’s red eyes didn’t blink. “My master is busy.”

“I’m sure. This’ll be quick.”

After a moment, Tenrael shrugged and gestured to the closed inner door. “He is not in a good mood.”

“Is he ever?”

Without waiting for a response, Achilles limped to the door, knocked once, and entered.

When the previous chief had been in residence, the office had always smelled strongly of cigarettes and whiskey.

Those scents had disappeared with the new tenant, who brought instead a medley of sweet aromas.

Today the office smelled like a donut shop.

The chief sat behind his battered wooden desk, gaze fixed on the open pages of a thick book. “What?” he barked without glancing up.

Achilles set his badge and gun on the desk. “I quit.”

Now Chief Grimes did look at him. His eyes were an odd green color that always unsettled Achilles for some reason. “You’re too young for retirement,” he said.

“Not retiring. Quitting.”

“The doctor told me you’ll be fit for duty in a week or so. I’ll give you some less active assignments for a while.”

Achilles started to cross his arms but had to stop and readjust the makeshift toga. All of which spiked a sharp pain through his chest. “I quit . I wish to no longer be employed by the Bureau.”

“Because you were hurt? You’ve been hurt before.”

“Exactly!” With effort, Achilles moderated his voice.

“I get banged up pretty often. I’ve been clawed, bitten, punched, stomped, burned…

. We all have. And what about Santiago? He was killed this time.

” The bear shifter had ripped Santiago to shreds while Achilles lay on the ground, too badly injured to help but still plenty capable of hearing Santiago’s anguished screams.

“I’m well aware of Agent Bautista’s death,” Chief Grimes said gravely. “It’s a serious loss to the Bureau. Are you quitting because you’re afraid to die?” He cocked his head as if fear of death was something odd.

“I’m not— Well, yeah, I’d like to remain alive. But that’s not my reason. It’s just… what’s the point ? We go out to deal with monsters, maybe we get our asses kicked or we end up in a coffin. And still the world is full of monsters. We’re using an eyedropper to bail out a sinking ship.”

Chief Grimes leaned back in his chair, looking weary. Rumor had it that he was over a hundred years old, and while most of the time he looked close to Achilles’ age—early forties—right now there was something ancient about him.

“How many lives have you saved, Spanos?”

“No idea. But it doesn’t matter because?—”

“It does matter.” Grimes leaned forward, brow furrowed.

“Every damn life matters . Every human and NHS, staying safe in their homes, loving their families and friends, sharing a meme or running through the forest or dancing among the waves. And not only that. Every act of kindness matters. Every exercise of justice, of empathy, of shared joy. Every. Fucking. One.”

Achilles, who had never heard the chief give a speech, had to think how to respond. Finally, all he could say was, “I don’t have it in me. Not anymore.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“There are lots of other agents. Even with Santiago gone. Lots of them are better agents than I am.”

A soft sound came from behind Achilles. “But what if you are the one?”

Twisting around, Achilles saw that Tenrael had entered the room. He was always an imposing figure, but now his wings were spread, the glossy black feathers glistening in the overhead lights.

“What ‘one’?” Achilles asked.

“All living things—and some things which are no longer living—are connected. We are all part of a puzzle that has existed for millions of years and constantly reshapes itself. A single piece, even a tiny one, affects the whole. You may be the piece that shifts the balance in what is to come.”

Achilles had never been a spotlight sort of person. As a student, he’d always sat in the middle of the classroom, earning good grades but never exceptional. As an agent, he’d been content to follow his superiors’ orders and operate as part of a team, not as a lone hero.

“I’m not that piece. I’m not important.” And dammit, if he stood here any longer he was going to collapse, which he didn’t want to do in front of Grimes and Tenrael. Somebody would certainly drag him back to that hospital bed.

“I quit,” he said again. Firmly.

Nobody stopped him when he walked past Tenrael and out the door.

He made it all the way down to the lobby before remembering that his car wasn’t here. And even if it had been, he was in no shape to drive. At least he’d been able to keep his phone charged while he recovered. He ordered a Lyft.

A young woman in a Toyota pulled up to the main entrance a few minutes later. She goggled at Achilles—likely due to both his attire and his obviously rough condition—but didn’t comment as he collapsed into the back seat. A few minutes later, however, she couldn’t help herself. “Are you okay?”

“Don’t worry. I won’t get any bodily fluids on your upholstery.” Achilles closed his eyes and gritted his teeth against the stabs of pain caused by the car’s jostling.

“Well, I appreciate that. But do you need medical help or something?”

“I’ve had more than enough of that. I just need to get home.”

“Well… okay.” She sounded skeptical but fell silent and continued driving.

Luckily, traffic was light and his condo was only a few miles from HQ, on a tree-lined street just off Ventura Boulevard.

She pulled up in front of the building, and he mumbled his thanks before shuffling toward the door.

Most of the neighbors were likely at work, and he didn’t care if those who remained might be staring.

His code let him into the building, and he again had a moment of gratitude for elevators as he rose to the third floor.

Normally he loved his home, which he’d chosen and furnished with care.

But today it smelled stale and slightly fusty, probably because he’d been gone long enough for food in the fridge to go bad.

The fact that his loft bedroom was accessed by stairs was a nice architectural feature, but today he just couldn’t face the ordeal.

Instead he collapsed onto the couch and more or less passed out.