Page 12

Five years ago, Boston …

“You’re too close to this, Missy,” Cavateral—the DAAG, or Deputy Assistant Attorney General at the DOJ—the man who’d stuck with her so far throughout Cobble’s entire case, lamented. He was currently sitting behind Director Baskins’ desk at the FBI office where she’d been working undercover. “You did stellar work, finding the identity of the CIA operative working with El-Umar.”

Right. It had taken the better part of a year to convince her bosses that she should be allowed to go to South Sudan. And they’d capitulated only because they’d unsuccessfully exhausted every other avenue open to them to find out who was behind everything.

“But because of what recently came out at the trial,” Cavateral continued, “and the subsequent debacle, you no longer have deniability that you’re not still intimately involved with this investigation.”

Yup. Missy had finally, after making her case for a stupid amount of time, gone to South Sudan undercover. She’d then followed El-Umar for two and a half years, off and on, until finally, finally , she’d caught Intelligence Officer Veegal of the CIA on camera, taking a bribe from the murderous man.

Another two months of clandestine tailing, and Missy determined Veegal was the only rotten egg involved from the CIA. So, with Cavateral and Baskins giving her the proper backing, they’d arrested Veegal and brought him back to the States to be tried.

The CIA in South Sudan had been briefed to leave El-Umar at large until they could identify the remaining players in the US.

“I give you huge kudos of course,” her DAAG continued, “but since it’s now well known that you were instrumental in Veegal’s capture, and he was brutally assassinated in the process of transferring him to prison, the danger to you is significant.”

Missy didn’t like where this was going.

“I couldn’t have asked for a better operative, here and working hand in gloved-hand with the FBI. But having talked to Director Baskins and Agent Smalley, we’ve decided your days with the various departments must come to an end.”

Missy didn’t know whether her mouth actually fell open, or if, in her shock, she just imagined it. But…

“Youze two are firing me?” she responded incredulously, her accent on full display with the unwelcome blindside.

“Not without regrets,” Cavateral told her. “But as long as you remain employed by the DOJ or even bogusly for the Bureau, you’re going to be a target. If, however, the remaining smuggling faction sees that you’ve been…dismissed, especially with some trumped up accusations of dishonesty in your records, it’s our belief they won’t come after you.”

“But, sir, the threats haven’t interfered with my work,” she argued, then bit her tongue. Shit . She shouldn’t have let that slip.

Baskins, her FBI director, chose that moment to walk in.

“You’ve been getting threats?” Baskin’s face turned red. “And you didn’t report them to us?”

Missy hedged. She had received some pretty explicit warnings up to and including during the trial.

“Well, they were more like…suggestions that I back off and not testify,” she told him, then changed the subject, desperate to drop that hot-button topic and to alter his mind-set. “Listen, Boss— Bosses . You need me. We’re getting so close to finding all the players involved with this. Please don’t take me out.”

Missy wanted to scream when Cavateral and Baskins both shook their head. She realized that anything else she said would be futile. It was clear they’d made up their minds.

“Fine,” she clipped. “When do I leave.”

“Today,” Baskins apprised, rare compassion rising in his eyes. “I’ll start a ruckus in a minute or two, where I start yelling at you for making up line items in your latest expense reports; trying to skim from the Bureau and this Department during your time in South Sudan.”

Missy snorted angrily. “You really think that’s gonna fly?”

“Watch me,” Baskins said, reaching for a file on his desk. “This,” he tapped a finger on the manilla folder, “is a long laundry list of your infractions. It will be left somewhere semi-visible in Cavateral’s office after having been aired loudly, here, so that both offices will be aware of your dishonesty.” He gave air quotes to dishonesty, as if that would make her feel better. “With this, along with the condemning language included in your termination letter, which you will sign, the information should convince whoever is watching that you’ll never work in a federal job again.”

“Excuse me for saying so, boss guyz, but this sucks.” All she could think about were her years of hard work and dedication. They were blowing up in her face.

But her invective didn’t sway them.

The DAAG went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “I also suggest a change of address. Let’s not make things easy for those who might have been keeping an eye on you. If they get a hair across their asses, figuring that going after you might still be a piece of cake, they could try to eliminate you despite the fact that you’ve been terminated.”

Baskins agreed. “Where you live now is too far out in the suburbs; too remote. People there tend to keep their noses out of anything that might be happening to their neighbors. Consider, instead, buying a condo in the city where busy-body locals will be all over it if they see someone sneaking around your place. Start fresh, Missy. Find a well-trafficked location. Take a nice, safe job. We’ll make sure you have stellar references.”

They had a point, but…

“What about Cobble?” she asked. Yeah. Where would that leave her long-time protectee, and now, lover?

“He’ll be well cared for,” Cavateral admonished, lowering his brows. “I’m turning all the DOJ’s records over to Baskins and Smalley at the FBI for safekeeping. Then I, personally, will assist with anything they might need in the way of help with Mr. Blue. But Missy, as of now, this is no longer a case on our books.”

“ Officially speaking you mean,” Missy insisted with narrowed eyes.

He nodded succinctly in answer, then leaned forward, steepling his fingers.

“ Always one step ahead of me,” he chuckled. “ Unofficially ,” he said, and hope rose in Missy’s chest, “if you agree to this, you’ll still be in charge of what’s happening with Sawyer Blue, and we’ll use you on any other cases that arise that look like they could benefit from your remote and clandestine touch. Yes, we’ll surreptitiously use you—off the books, of course—as an asset. Because you are just that good. The only thing missing for you will be your title, an office, and a steady paycheck. What do you say?”

Missy thought about it for a nano-second.

“I’m in.”

The DAAG leaned back with a nod, and Baskins was all smiles. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

Missy huffed. “Okay. Now that we’ve sorted that out,” she told Baskins—who everyone not in the know thought she actually worked for, “chew my ass.”

****

Fifteen minutes later, after a huge blowout that had to have been heard in even the farthest corner of the most remote office, Missy grabbed a packing box from the supply closet, went into her office, and threw her meager belongings inside.

She thought ahead as she left the building, taking her final steps away from a place where she’d been proud to serve. Money wouldn’t be a problem. She’d saved judiciously, and could probably last quite a while. But… Nine years with various Federal agencies flushed instantly down the tubes? That was harder to swallow.

And what the hell was she going to do with herself to stay busy?

****

A month after her abrupt termination, Missy, both upset and preoccupied, looked around the large living room of her new second floor, triple decker condo in the city, feeling overwhelmed. All the freaking boxes. Packing materials strewn everywhere. Her sofa in the wrong place. Normally she’d deal with it all in her no-nonsense way, but after the personal shit that had gone down yesterday…

Missy had to swallow back a frustrated scream.

She’d moved to South Boston to be closer to her twelve-year old niece, Rory, knowing that her sister and brother-in-law were screwing up and that Social Services were looking to take away their custody. She, as next of kin, had let the social workers know that she’d be willing to take her niece in, in a heartbeat. What she hadn’t expected was that her first visit to Rory would take her to the hospital, and that when she arrived, the girl would be missing.

In a panic, Missy had called Smalley, who’d reminded her that since Rory had disappeared less than twenty-four hours ago, he wouldn’t be able to dig into it, but he’d given her the name of a start-up search and rescue outfit of which he’d heard nothing but stellar things.

Even though it was well after hours, Missy had called the number and reached the answering machine of one Delancourt Songen Agency. After leaving a detailed message, she hoped they’d send someone by to start an investigation at their first opportunity.

Missy had remained on pins and needles all night. Sleeping on her mattress on the floor, with no curtains, and the city lights glaring in across her naked walls, hadn’t helped. And now, well into the morning, Missy was jittery, having downed far too much coffee. She was worried for her niece, while at the same time being uncustomarily bewildered at the unpacking task ahead of her as she waited for the rescue firm to return her call.

A knock sounded on the door, and Missy jumped.

Before she could get her feet to move, there was a second knock.

“Impatient, much?” she muttered under her breath as she went to the door and yanked it open.

“Missy Andriopolos?”

“Yeah? Whaddaya want?” she barked, staring up at the chiseled guy.

Way, way up.

And damn . He was a tall one. Not that she was the least bit intimidated by his towering presence. He could attack if he wanted, but she’d been well trained and could hold her own, even with a behemoth like this.

The man scowled. “You know you shouldn’t open your door to just anybody before you’ve checked to see who it is,” he chastised gruffly.

“Yeah, well, I know everybody,” she sassed back, “so I’m not worried. Who the hell are you?” she questioned, negating her previous statement, even though she was aware he had to be Delancourt’s man.

Instead of answering right away, the guy glanced at the boxes piled high in a state of disarray. “You’re…moving?”

“ Who wants to know?” she asked again. If he didn’t give his name up immediately, she was going to slam the door in his face. She was in no mood to play cute.

“I’m from the agency you called for a search and rescue,” he told her. “S.O.S.”

“SOS, huh? Bizness card?” she demanded, holding out her hand.

“Uh, we don’t have any yet. We just settled on the company name today.”

He took the hand she was holding out, into his own, turning the gesture into a shake. “I’m Prez.”

“Well geeze-Louise. It took yah long enough,” she snarked. “Don’t just stand there, Mr. President,” she continued sarcastically. “Get your pretty ass in here.” She yanked him forward, which wasn’t easy with the man-mountain, but she had determination on her side. “I want to know where the hell my niece is. Have you found her yet?”

“No ma’am.” It looked like he was trying to maintain his stoicism, but that something about her tickled him. He coughed back a rusty sounding chuckle. “I just got your case this morning. I thought I’d start with a visit to you, and find out what you know.”

“If I knew anything, would I need you?” she growled, then huffed before relenting. Pissing the man off wouldn’t do her any good. “Okay. Relax your tush if you can find a spot, and don’t trip over the boxes.”

Without budging, Prez gazed around and asked again, “Moving in or moving out?”

“In.” Missy picked a box up off a chair and deliberately dropped it. She wasn’t sure, but she might have heard the tinkle of breaking glass as it hit. She didn’t so much as blink. Right now, personal possessions were the least of her worries, except…

She eyed Prez up and down, then sent her gaze toward her sofa.

“Do me a favah,” she ordered “You’ve definitely got some muscle. That heavy-assed sofa ovah theah needs to be five feet closer to the windows, doll. Do that for me, then we’ll talk.” She indicated the chair she’d emptied, offering it up to him in exchange for his brawn-services.

Prez bit the inside of his cheek, and it was obvious to Missy he was trying not to laugh.

She was glad he found her amusing.

“I’ll be happy to move your couch,” he nodded. “But you take the chair. I’m good standing.”

He moved to the sofa in question and didn’t even grunt as he picked up and put it exactly where she’d indicated.

That was all good, but she didn’t need any additional gentlemanly gestures.

“Take the chair. I have more than one,” she snarked, and to prove her point, she dumped another box from the seat of a second and plunked her jean’s clad ass down on it with a sigh to wait him out.

Prez, still clearly trying to maintain a straight face, took the seat she’d first proffered and judiciously attempted to start over. “Okay. Tell me what you know about your niece’s disappearance.”

She gave him a shake of her head. “Didn’t you get everything I said on your answering machine?” she asked.

“Uh, we’re currently without a receptionist,” he admitted. “The wife of my boss is doing double-duty taking phone messages from home, and sometimes things don’t get passed down exactly right. So, to cover everything correctly, I’d like to hear the intel directly from you.”

Missy suddenly sat up straighter. “Youze are without a receptionist?” she questioned, and before he could answer she jabbed herself in the chest with her thumb. “I’m without a job.”

She regarded him with renewed attentiveness. “I might be just the person you need. Your firm is right up my alley, I never screw up passing on information, and I’m a damned good employee. Nothing gets by me,” she assured him.

Prez looked like he was having some kind of internal debate with himself. Like, how much he could trust her, whether she was right for the job, and if she was as accomplished as she purported to be.

“Uh, Del, the boss, says he’s already got a likely candidate coming in to interview early this afternoon. But…”

Missy could see the minute he made up his mind.

“Okay. I’ll make you a deal. You tell me everything you know about your niece’s disappearance, and I’ll tell you when and where to apply for the job. Deal?”

“Deal.” She stuck out her hand, and with a big smile plastered on her face, they shook on it, and she began to talk.

****

“There’s no way you’re the receptionist,” the large man spouted in a baritone that would have terrified a lesser person. But Missy wasn’t the least bit ruffled as he angrily continued. “I have an interview in ten minutes.”

“Well, fuhgeddaboudit,” she snapped. “You can turn that well-toned butt right around and go home buddy. The position is taken.”

Left index finger jab to the chest. Boom.

Another large man, whom Missy immediately pegged as Del, the boss, stepped into the reception area from a back hallway, followed by Prez and a couple other men.

Del eyeballed Missy with a quirked brow. “I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me what’s going on here?” he inquired diplomatically, but with a hint of steel in his voice. “Since this is my company, I think I’d be aware if I already hired a receptionist.”

Without even blinking her eyes behind what people referred to as her Harry Potter glasses, and without taking said eyes from her job-nemesis who’d gone into a military “at-rest” stance, Missy hooked a thumb in Prez’s direction. “He told me about the job, and I decided to take it.”

“What?” Three voices raised at the same time. Del’s, Prez’s, and the subverted applicant’s.

There was a distinct chuckle, some coughing and shuffling behind Prez, but she ignored the men she didn’t know as the head of SOS continued.

“Uh, Ma’am? That’s not how things work around here.” Del gave her his best, boss-like look, but she’d worked for some tough cookies in the past, so she rolled her eyes in response before conceding semi-graciously.

“Fine. I’ll listen.” She made a hand motion as if to zip her lip.

Dark, penetrating eyes moved from her to the disgruntled applicant, then back again before he extending his hand to her pissed off opponent. “I’m Delancourt Songen. I’m the principle here at SOS.”

The guy brought one hand out from behind his back and took the grip Del offered. “George Seingold,” he said, but not happily.

“And I see you’ve met Missy Andriopolos,” Prez butt in, mentioning her name for the benefit of all.

George looked as if he still wanted to growl. “Yeah. We’ve met.”

“Good.” Prez turned to Missy. “And just to clear up what might have been a misunderstanding, Miss A,” It seemed that Prez was already tired of her five-syllable last name. “I said there was a job opening . And like with every normal application process, you need to prove you’re right for the position.”

“Fine,” she snapped back at him, and moved alertly to the desk she’d already populated with her pocket book, a flower pot and a mug that read “get your own damned coffee”. She extricated a sheaf of paper from said purse.

“Here’s my resume.” She marched over and thrust the document into Del’s hands. It had taken a few phone calls to her old bosses first thing this morning, but each had agreed she could use them as references.

At the same time, Mister Seingold reached into his back pocket for some folded up papers of his own. He, too, offered them to Del. “This is mine.” He sent a glower in Missy’s direction.

“Thank you both,” Del allowed, tactfully. “And now if you’ll each have a seat and behave yourselves for a few minutes, I’ll go back into the conference room with my associates and review these.” He flicked the pages he held.

“Perfect,” Missy agreed with a self-satisfied smirk, and before anyone could stop her, she rounded the desk and plunked herself down in the receptionist’s seat as if it was already hers to take.

A big smile lit her face. She doubted whether Mister Seingold’s credentials could stand up to hers.

****

Thirty minutes later the door opened and the team of men walked out.

Missy held up one index finger, requesting silence as she finished up a call. She cheerfully assured the person on the other end of the line that she’d have someone get back to them as soon as possible, then hung up and gestured the boss closer, handing Del a neat stack of messages.

“Three of these are viable sounding calls that came in during the last half hour while youze guys had your thumbs up your asses,” she stated succinctly.

“Three?” Del looked dumbfounded. “That’s usually the total of what my wife gets off the machine at the end of the day.”

“That’s because folks would rather tell their troubles to a human being than a machine,” she sent back with a snippet of attitude. “And a sweet, caring voice makes them all want to spill their guts,” she added while eyeing the baritone across the room.

Del coughed to focus everyone’s attention on him.

“Right. And in that regard, I have a solution to our…situation,” he said to the room in general.

He turned toward Mister Seingold first. “Why did you apply for the receptionist job when you’re clearly qualified for fieldwork?” he asked.

The man looked sheepish for a moment.

“I heard about the open position from my mother who works for another firm in the building,” he told them. “But you weren’t advertising for operatives. You were looking for a front desk person.” He shrugged. “I thought if I applied and made myself useful on the phones, you might give me a chance in the field once you got to know me.”

Del looked satisfied. “Your hired,” he nodded swiftly.

“Wait. What?” Missy came to her feet and postured. All five feet of her. “Just like that he gets the job?” Her eyes narrowed indignantly.

“No. I mean yes. Wait.” Del held a hand up, stopping her impending tirade. “You’re hired, too.” He clarified. “You’re both hired.”

“Huh?” The single syllable popped from Prez’s mouth, beating everyone else in the room to it.

“Look at these.” Del told his team as he waved the messages around. “More jobs. We’ve spread ourselves ridiculously thin lately. So much so, that I’ve dreaded the thought we’d have to turn down assignments.”

Everyone waited.

“Another associate,” he thrust his chin in George’s direction, “will take the heat off.” He turned all his attention to the big man. “Are you interested in accepting a job as an operative, instead of as office help?” he questioned.

“Hell, yes.” George’s reply came rapidly off his tongue, without hesitation.

“Yes!” Missy went on tip-toe and high-fived Prez, who was standing closest to her. “That means I’m your front-woman,” she concluded with satisfaction. She thrust her celebratory hand out toward Mister Seingold. “No hard feelings, then?” she asked.

The big man stuck his massive paw out and enveloped hers in a gentle pump. “No hard feelings.” His face lit up with his change in his luck. “If it weren’t for you, I might have gotten stuck behind a desk.”

Missy gave him a grin. “Uh, huh. I understand. But big guy, believe me, there are much worse places to be.”