Page 63 of Devil's Azalea

“Tell me about it.” I sigh as well. “But I’ll be fine.”

“Yes, yes, you will be.”

Katie’s cryptic words about someone secretly keeping tabs on me in the bureau has me paranoid as hell, and I find myselflooking over my shoulders every few minutes as I make my way to the records room, doing my best to look casual—as unsuspicious as possible.

Nothing to see here. Just a hardworking federal agent, going about her daily duties. Totally normal.

I throw one final glance behind me before slipping inside the room.

I tried accessing information on my father’s case through the online database but hit a wall. For some unexplainable reason, the information was classified—and even my rank as a special agent and one of the agency’s best wasn’t enough to unlock those sealed files. Which was weird enough to raise serious red flags.

Usually, my login credentials clear just about any barrier, especially with older cases. Since most of them have already been solved, security tends to be lax. But not this one. I’m hoping I can find something here, in this physical repository of secrets.

If not, I'll have to go straight to Stacey and ask to borrow her login. As the director, there’s definitely nothing out of reach to her. Perfect timing too—she arrived in the city last night for a meeting with the governor, so I won’t have to fly to Virginia to speak with her face-to-face.

I glance briefly at the security camera mounted in the corner of the room before shifting my attention back to the rows upon rows of drawers filled to the brim with case files dating back as far as the 90s.

Technically, the files for every single case solved in this city should be stored here, buried among thousands of others. All I have to do is find the needle in this bureaucratic haystack.

I sigh as I walk past the drawers, carefully studying the dates, only stopping when I’m at the year I need. Fifteen years ago. I stare at the long column of drawers filled with cases from that year and release another sigh, heavier thistime, my shoulders slumping under the weight of the task ahead.

“Would it kill them to organize by month instead of throwing everything together like a tornado hit?” I grumble under my breath as I pull open the first drawer.

Well, here goes nothing.

I flip through dozens of case files, waving away clouds of dust as I scan the names on each folder. Outside, the sun dips lower, and eventually I have to stop to roll out my neck and back, then switch on the overhead lights just to see properly.

My stomach growls ferociously, as it has for the past four hours, but something keeps me glued to this spot. Deep in my gut, a nagging feeling warns me that if this file is indeed here and I take even a short break to go eat or pee, it will mysteriously vanish before I return.

Paranoid? Absolutely. But I’ve learned never to ignore my intuition.

I roll my neck again and reach for the final drawer in the column.Finally. One more. Just one more, and then I’ll?—

The door opens.

Standing in the doorway is Greg. My heart performs a frantic little tap dance, but I maintain my composure, meeting my boss’s steely gaze head-on. I haven’t broken any rules.

No agent is barred from going through these records. In fact, we’re encouraged to study them. Because criminals tend to follow the same patterns, reviewing old cases and seeing how they were solved is believed to help us crack our own.

“Greg. Hi, I–”

“Come with me.” His voice cuts clean through mine, and he turns, already expecting me to follow.

I give the drawer one last longing glance and shut it with asigh. Looks like I won’t be reading that file after all. Unless I ask Stacey.

The thought relaxes me. After I deal with whatever Greg wants, I’ll reach out to my mentor before she leaves New York. She’ll no doubt understand why I want to see the old files and grant me her permission—not that I should need special permission. But I do need her login if the online route is my only option.

Greg and I walk in tense silence through the long, narrow hallways, past the low cubicles, and into another hallway—the one leading to his office. He opens his door and waves me in ahead of him.

That’s new. Greg isn’t exactly known for his manners.

I step in—and stop.

Sitting at his desk like she owns it is Stacey Rodrigues. The new director of the agency. My mentor.Family.

My face lights up once the initial shock fades, and I stride over quickly.

“Stacey! I mean, Madam Director,” I hastily correct myself, glancing furtively behind me, but Greg has closed the door and apparently decided to stay outside.Oh. Weird, but whatever.