Second Chances: A PAVAD Duet Page 26

  “We’ll just have to wait and find out.” Georgia shrugged, slinging the backpack that carried her laptop and various other necessities over her shoulder. The backpack went with Georgia everywhere.

  They rounded the corner, looked through the window into the largest conference room in the St. Louis field office. “I don’t think this is going to be good.”

  “I think this is the whole field office.” Georgia’s tone was just as puzzled. “Something must be going on.”

  Some of the people Ana recognized. Some she didn’t. Holding court in the center was one of the Assistant Directors of the Directorate of Intelligence. Georgia’s father.

  Ed Dennis looked a lot like his daughter, Ana thought again. The man was cold, imposing, larger than life. And terrifying. Until you got to know him, then you realized he was just very reserved.

  He nodded in his daughter’s direction, and Ana caught the small smile. Ed Dennis loved his daughter—there was no doubt about that in Ana’s mind—and that was the only thing that made him appear human at first.

  “Wow. They called out the big cheese on this one,” Special Agent Whitman said from behind the two women. “Isn’t that the...”

  “Assistant Director?” Georgia asked. Ana smirked. Whitman was young, obnoxious, the newest transplant to their unit in the CEPD, and both women enjoyed tormenting him whenever possible.

  “I heard he was a real cold bastard. Heard he fired this SA for messing up his lunch order last week.”

  “I don’t think he’s cold at all,” Georgia said. “Daddy’s always been shy.”

  “Daddy?” Whitman’s blue eyes widened and he paled. Georgia didn’t advertise her relationship to the assistant director, though Ana thought most people knew.

  “Hmm, Whitman, Dr. Ed, Director Ed—you think they’re related?” Ana widened her own eyes at Whitman. “Wouldn’t that be just awesome?”

  Whitman said nothing, just moved away.

  “You know, we probably shouldn’t tease him that much,” Georgia said as they took their seats on the left side of their field intelligence leader. Whitman, Tompkins, and Royal took the seats on the right. Chalmers took the seat on Ana’s left. “One of these days he’s going to take us seriously.”

  “You’d think he’d know to take you two seriously to begin with. Ana, love. You’re cheek is swelling slightly.” Brockman frowned at the two women. His glasses were gone but that didn’t detract from how attractive her dark-headed, blue-eyed boss actually was. She sniffed discretely, taking in the warm mint-tinged cologne he favored. She favored it, too; one of the reasons she always tried to sit by him.

  She was in deep for Malachi, but would never act on it. That would be too weird—and could potentially ruin her career. But that didn’t mean she didn’t enjoy him thoroughly whenever given the smallest chance.

  “Georgia beat me up, boss. This time. I’ll take her next time.”

  “Sure you will.” Tompkins leaned forward to look at the two women. His black-rimmed glasses slid down his nose and he pushed them up with one finger. He was such a skinny little nerd, with his blond hair uncombed and his shirt stained and untucked, but Ana loved him. Fiercely, the way one loved a younger brother, or particularly lovable little puppy. “You two still running neck and neck?”

  “Dead even. Ana beat me last week,” Georgia said, as the conference room door opened and one more team entered. The man in front was large, tall and muscular—at least six-foot-five, broad shouldered, with auburn hair and a handsome face. She’d seen him before but couldn’t place him. He was followed by several other agents, including a young redhead, with hair nearly as dark as Ana’s and a gorgeous blonde woman. The redhead was a bit odd, but someone Ana knew well enough to say hello to in the elevator. The blonde made Ana feel even more self-conscious in the pantsuit she’d filched from Georgia’s donation pile a few weeks ago when the other woman had done her ritual spring closet cleaning.

  The man glared fiercely at Ed Dennis. Ana’s gaze moved to the older man. The assistant director’s return look was pure ice. “Uh, Georgia...”

  “What?” Georgia turned, and Ana knew she saw what she did.

  “Who is that?” Ana asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Georgia said softly, her eyes trained on the auburn-haired giant. “But whoever he is...I don’t think he likes my father very well.”

  “That’s Michael Hellbrook, ladies. From the Complex Crime Unit two floors up. Wonder what he’s doing here?” Mal asked. “He usually steers clear of any cases or anything involving your father, Georgia.”

  “I’ve heard Daddy grumbling but I’ve never met the man. I’m not so sure I want to, now.”

  Ana couldn’t blame her. Rumor had it that Michael Hellbrook had earned his nickname of ‘Hell’. They said he was hell to work with, and had one hell of a temper. “What’s the deal, Mal?”

  “A case, nearly fifteen years ago. Hellbrook’s first, I think. Two agents were killed. Rumor has it Hellbrook blames your father, Georgia.” Malachi shook his head as if he couldn’t understand it.

  “Even after all this time?” Georgia asked. Both women watched the man and his team as they settled into the last row of seats. “Must have been horrible. We’d just moved to St. Louis, then. Daddy had his choice of regions. He chose this one.”

  Ana suspected the man had also pulled strings to get his daughter in the St. Louis field office, where he’d worked for over fifteen years, as well. Georgia had spent her entire career in St. Louis. Ana had jumped around more. She’d started in Washington four months before the events of 9/11 in Hostage Recovery. Then she’d transferred to Chicago’s branch of Violent Crimes, before finally coming to Malachi’s notice. He’d handpicked her around the same time he’d filched—as he liked to call it—Georgia from a Child Abduction Rapid Deployment team. Tompkins was their computer analyst, and he did a phenomenal job. Chalmers and Royal had been with the CEPD just as long as Ana and Georgia.

  They worked well together. Even Whitman, who’d not been picked by Malachi, served his purpose well. Of course, that purpose was basically that of errand boy—he’d yet to earn more. Ana sent him for her lunch at least twice a week. He did it, too. Without much complaint.

  “If I may have your attention, please.”

  Ana focused on the stage as the room quieted quickly. Ed Dennis stepped to the front center, immediately commanding attention. The room quieted.

  Georgia was capable of that. She’d seen her friend draw attention her way with just the tone of her voice. Georgia didn’t do it often. But when she did, it was highly effective.

  Not Ana; Ana preferred to do her work behind the crowd. She was the strategy specialist, the one who planned extraction maneuvers. Ana had grown up in a world far removed from Georgia’s. Ana’s father had been nomadic, dragging his small family everywhere. They’d stayed nowhere more than two months.

  Her family—her, her mother, father, and older brother—had made their living as peddlers, hocking junk they’d collected from yard sales and selling artwork her mother and older brother would create. Ana had been almost forgotten about, artless and untalented in the ways her family had prized. It had hurt her the way they’d ignored her.

  It had surprised them when Ana had chosen the FBI as a career. She’d deflected, defied the family tradition of being artists and nomads and searched for security in a world they wanted no part of. She’d not spoken to her family since she’d told them she’d been accepted to UK at the age of seventeen.

  Georgia was her family. Matthew, Georgia, and Brockman. Tompkins, Royal, Chalmers, even Whitman. And to Ana, her new family was everything.

  Chapter 2

  Fin McLaughlin eyed the crowd of agents with the experienced eye of a behavioral analyst. Some of them would be his new team. And it burned him that he’d not be allowed to pick which ones. Fin was very particular in who he wanted at his back, yet for the first time since he’d become a Unit Chief six years ago, he’d have no say.

  That p
rivilege rested with Director Ed. And like the older man had said, he had a definite list in mind.

  “Funding has been approved,” Ed said. “For a new division. It will be based here in St. Louis, separate from this field office. Primary focus will be on a new age of crime. Crimes don’t just cover one area anymore. We have pedophiles committing cyber-crimes, we have sex crimes blending into violent crimes, we have terrorism intermingling with gang activity. This new division will seek to address all those overlaps by the blending of specialists in every area. Calls to us—this division—will be special requests that only our teams can solve.”

  Fin scanned the crowd, beginning in the front two rows, and tuning out the political words. One hundred plus people crammed the room. Seventy percent were male. Most were in their thirties, forties, or fifties. A handful were younger. Half a dozen were older.

  They all had the jaded look of law enforcement in their eyes. It was a look McLaughlin saw in his own eyes whenever he’d look in a mirror.

  Ed droned on. Fin flexed his prosthetic hand, readjusted it a bit. There was a thread or something between it and the stump that was his forearm. He’d have to remove it later. “Our only order of business is team restructuring.”

  There were discontented murmurs from the crowd then. Fin straightened. He hadn’t known Ed would be screwing with the teams that severely. People were bound to be unhappy having their teams jerked around. He would be. One man stood and glared at the platform. “The Complex Crimes Unit is not part of your directorate; there will be no changes to my team.”

  “I’m not finished.” Ed’s words were frozen.

  The man sat, though with obvious reluctance. Fin studied the two men and the looks that passed between them. Definite history, bad history. Interesting.

  “With all due respect, sir,” another man said from near the middle of the room. “Our teams are highly functioning as they are. My unit has an incredibly high solve rate. I’m not sure rearranging that will be in the best interest of the Bureau.”

  “Dr. Brockman, thank you for your input. That brings up another thing. For those of you who are part of a highly functioning team, you will most likely not be affected significantly. Some of you may be reassigned to cover any other holes. We will still have the field intelligence groups and the investigative services groups and the undercover operations formative group. They’ll just be under my jurisdiction instead of Lewis Whiler’s. In the office we’re having built two blocks from here. I’m sure you’ve all noticed the construction? And the Complex Crimes Unit—you’ll be moving. You’ve been reclassified. Len will be calling off a list of names of agents to be reassigned. We will also be forming a master task force, under my direct leadership. This team will be the front leaders. They will be the best and brightest this office has to offer and will set the future course for this division. When SSA Len calls your name, please stand.”

  Fin watched as the first set of agents were reassigned, most having very unhappy expressions on their faces. Another five minutes passed and nearly every agent had been reassigned or told to stay with their current unit.

  Ed stepped back to the front. “Those of you who’ve been reassigned, you’re dismissed. You will be relocating to the PAVAD building in one month. Instructions will follow. The rest of you, please stay seated. You’ll receive instructions shortly.”

  The majority of the crowd filed out. Eleven people remained: Fin, Ed, the two men who’d spoken—Hellbrook and Brockman, three other men, two brunette women, and two redheaded women.

  This was Deputy Ed’s elite team, Fin realized. His new team. He straightened. Looked them over carefully. Hellbrook was furious, it was in the way his shoulders were rigid. The young redhead on his right wasn’t even listening. She had headphones in. The three younger male agents were all waiting somewhat impatiently. Fin just glanced over them. The two brunette women were on opposite sides of the room, and seemed opposite in personality, from Fin’s first impressions. One was Hispanic, seemed a bit edgy, squirming in her seat near the front. The other was small, attractive, businesslike. Cool and calm. She turned and said something to the redhead on her left.

  Fin’s gaze followed her movement. The hair was dark red. Warm. Straight. It tugged at him, familiar. The body was small. Delicate. She moved a lot, her foot tapping, arms crossing and uncrossing. She didn’t want to be there. Brockman reached behind the brunette and squeezed the redhead’s shoulder. She turned, became more visible.

  Fin’s hand tightened as a rush of remembered pain shot through him. Starting with his prosthetic. Psychological remembrance of the morning in June eight years ago, when he’d lost the hand, and of the woman who’d been with him at the time.

  Anastacia.

  ***

  “I don’t like this,” Ana whispered to Georgia. “The teams were fine the way they were.”

  “I know,” Georgia whispered back, as Malachi stood and approached the front of the room. Ana and Georgia followed. “But my dad knows what he’s doing.”

  “Gather round,” Ed Dennis ordered. “We’ll make introductions and I’ll explain a bit more about this task force.”

  “We’re it, Dad?” Georgia looked at her father with clear surprise on her usually calm face.

  Director Ed nodded.

  Hellbrook looked at Georgia appraisingly. Ana shifted in front of Georgia. Her friend didn’t need to be pulled into the trouble between her father and the other guy.

  Malachi must have thought so as well. He moved to block Hellbrook’s gaze, a challenging look on his own face. Ana knew then this wouldn’t be good—not if the normally placid Mal’s protective streak was aroused. Not good, not at all. She knew it wasn’t. And Ana always listened to her instincts.

  Malachi spoke. “I’ll begin. I’m Dr. Malachi Brockman. I head the Child Exploitation Prevention Division. These are three of my team—SSA Dakon Royal, Dr. Georgia Ed, and SSA Anastacia Sorin. Royal’s a former demolitions expert from ATF. Dr. Ed is our team profiler. Ana’s our tactics expert and victim advocate when needed."

  ***

  Fin watched the man look toward Hellbrook. Hellbrook’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “Michael Hellbrook. of the Complex Crimes Unit.”

  “I’ve heard of you,” Brockman said. Fin had heard of Hellbrook as well. The CCU was the stuff legends were made of. A small team of agents—the unit only had five people in it—who took the cases nobody else wanted, or could solve. Hellbrook was legendary, his intra-Bureau fame rising in the last four years.

  Fin thought he’d be older, instead of around his own thirty-six. Hellbrook continued, motioning to the young redhead at his side. “This is my agent, Special Agent Carrie Sparks. She’s our computer forensic specialist.”

  Another man, younger than either Hellbrook or Fin spoke up. “I’m Lucas Armitage and this is my partner Maria Angel. We’re with Stephenson. I’ve training in anti-terrorism and hostage negotiation, and Angel comes from Crimes Against Children.”

  “Reece Ramirez,” Another man said, with touches of a New York and Hispanic accent mingling beneath his words. “I’m with Violent Crimes, as well.”

  “Fineas McLaughlin. I’ll be heading up C-CAP now that it’s been moved from Whiler’s section to this new division, transferred in this morning. My recent assignment was with the National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime’s serial murder division, located in DC,” McLaughlin said, moving from his seat partially behind Ed. His gaze locked on hers. “Hello, Anastacia.”

  Her eyes widened as she backed away from him slightly. “Fin.”

  Fin didn’t miss the fear or panic that hit the green eyes he remembered so well. She’d not forgotten him, either. He’d doubted she would. He felt the blood heat his cheeks. “How are you?”

  “Good.” She said the word softly, her eyes darting to the dark-haired woman beside her with a clearly pleading look on her face.

  “You two know each other?” Brockman asked, and Fin heard the suspicion in his words.

  Sh
e stepped back again, the movement one he recognized as a fear reaction.

  His gut twisted. She was still frightened of him, then. Just like six years ago. She slid half behind Brockman, her action shouting to him that she viewed the other man as safety. And viewed him as a threat. Drs. Ed and Brockman moved closer to her side, a move that told him much about their team.

  So many years later and she still managed to make him feel like the lowest form of bastard. He stepped back, deliberately relaxing his body, trying to convey non-threatening signals. He didn’t want her frightened of him anymore. She didn't deserve that.

  Her gaze jumped to the prosthetic protruding from his right sleeve. She released a small sound, her eyes stricken. Fin doubted anyone had missed it. He turned away, not wanting to make her any more uncomfortable than he already had. He owed her that much. And so much more.

  Fin turned to Ed and nodded, the signal to begin.

  “Please. Everyone have a seat. Files have been provided for each of you.” The older Ed led the way to the table near the front of the room. “I’ll be blunt. This wasn’t my idea; it came from much higher than me, than this field office. Funding is iffy at this point; we’re in severe competition with the Counterintelligence Division. If we can’t prove a success, we’re losing both Hellbrook’s and Brockman’s sections, plus half of the rest of the division. Agents will be reassigned to more mainstream units around the country. It’s up to the ten of you to make this work.”

  Nobody responded. Everyone paid attention. Fin felt the tension thicken around the room’s occupants.

  “Sir, I can understand why Agent Brockman and Agent Hellbrook were chosen, but what about the rest of us?” Angel asked.

  “I’ve carefully reviewed backgrounds, performance reviews, and psychological evals—even on Georgia, my own daughter—you’ve all got exactly what I need to make this work. All of you will bring something unique to the table. I’m telling you, we’re all on the line here.”