Chasing Frost by Isabel Jolie

Twenty-Four

Sydney

The dark shadow of a male figure rummaging in my bedside table sends me from drowsy to high alert within two seconds. Not wanting to alert the intruder that I’m now awake, I lie perfectly still, muscles tense, ready to pounce. He reaches into the drawer, where I keep one of my handguns. I crouch, weight on my knees and the palms of my hands, ready to leap onto him if he clutches the gun and gain the element of surprise.

He picks up a ballpoint pen. My eyesight adjusts. Details fill in of the sub-six-foot male. “Chase. Holy shit, you scared me.”

“Sorry. I was trying not to wake you, but I wanted to leave you a note. You have no paper anywhere. I should’ve just texted you. I’ll see you at the office, okay?”

“What time is it?”

“A little after five a.m. I need to get in a run this morning. Shhh. Go back to sleep, sexy. I’ll see you later. And don’t forget, we have plans after work. We’ll go straight from there, okay?”

He pulls the comforter back up around my shoulders, kisses my forehead, and I watch his shadow depart. I close my eyes and try to drift back to sleep, but it doesn’t happen. Too much adrenaline pumped through me when I thought a bad guy was rifling through my drawer, searching for my handgun.

I stretch, put on my workout clothes and running shoes, and head out for a run. New York City never sleeps, it’s true, but there are times of day when it’s sleepy and slow. 5:30 a.m. qualifies. The people who are out and about are mostly delivering goods to bodegas or stores, or setting up their sidewalk food carts. The city cacophony, the humankind, rises as the sun does, and beams of light bend around buildings in sharp rays. I round out my run by jumping over the spray of a man’s water hose as he squirts the stretch of sidewalk in front of his deli. He smiles as I do so, and for one brief second, we acknowledge each other. I run on, and he continues, whistling as he sprays.

When I return to the apartment, I check my personal phone before going back for a shower. Sweat pours down my neck, along my chest. My shirt’s drenched. There’s nothing better than the post-run high, the feeling I’m checking everything off my list today, crushing every goal.

I have one text from Hopkins, sent around 11 p.m. last night, telling me to call him. Shit. I press his name, and he answers on the second ring.

“Morning.”

“You alone?”

“Yeeesss.”

“Maitlin didn’t stay at his apartment last night.”

“I know.” I run my fingers through the sweat-drenched hair at the base of my neck and wait.

“Wondered if you’d cop to it.”

“He’s not a suspect.”

“And he’s given us everything we need. He came in through tips.”

“He told me. Did he meet with anyone from Operation Quagmire?”

“No. He and his legal team were long gone before Tips connected his info to us. Unless you want him to end up in WITSEC, you may want to find a way to encourage him to keep his mouth shut.”

“WITSEC? What’s happened?”

“You’ll get a full debriefing tomorrow. So far, everything we’re uncovering is in Chicago. Did you notice anyone or anything suspicious yesterday?”

“No. I walked around on every floor except the executive floor. No one looked at me suspiciously. I didn’t see anyone acting strangely. Have you located Garrick?”

“No. At this point, we’re pretty sure he’s flown the coop.”

“What about his sick calls to the office?”

“He’s probably making them from the Caymans or some tropical locale without extradition. We’ve got an indictment for him, but he’s the one guy I don’t expect to locate tomorrow. Anyway, today’s your last day UC. So, one more day to keep an eye on your lover boy.”

“Ha.” He’s ribbing me. I deserve it. Don’t have a defense. Getting involved with someone while UC doesn’t look good. Hopkins, as my handler, could be making a much bigger deal about this.

“Keep an eye out today for anyone packing up files. Anyone watching you. Indictments go out tomorrow, and I want you here, in our offices, got it?”

“Yeah. Are Bennett and Mitchell still in Chicago?”

“Yes.”

“Has surveillance picked up on any of their meetings?”

“No. They’re acting like people who are fully aware they’re being monitored. It doesn’t matter. This case was never about BB&E, anyway. They were more of a piece to understand how everything was happening. Maitlin gave us everything we need yesterday, although we suspect additional businesses may be implicated, so we’ll be bringing him back in. He agreed to testify. His lawyer basically agreed to him doing anything at all to help our case.”

“In exchange for indemnity?”

“Of course. He’s got a damn good defense team already lined up. If we hadn’t already determined he was innocent, I’d be suspicious.”

“He’s not a party to any criminal activity.”

“I know. How’s he gonna take it when he finds out you’re FBI?”

“Crossing the line, Hopkins.” He chuckles, but a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach tanks my runner’s high.

“Did you already tell him you’re FBI?” The question bears no semblance of the earlier friendliness. I understand. This is mission-critical.

“No. I would not jeopardize the operation.” I pronounce each word with care, slow and precise.

Hopkins is on the phone, but I can visualize his shoulders relaxing as his business-as-usual voice returns across the line. “Well, my advice is you wait. See if you still feel the same about him after you’re not seeing him every day.”

“I won’t tell him until I get clearance.” I tell Hopkins what he needs to know, and nothing more. He’s a good colleague, but that doesn’t mean I want his relationship advice.

After we end our call, I drop the phone on the kitchen table, and it clatters, the sound ricocheting through the barren white-walled apartment. How is Chase going to take finding out I’m UC? I shake the thought out of my head. It’s my job, my career. He can’t be mad at me for doing my job.

Last night, the early-in-the-dating-process nerves dissipated. He wouldn’t have been sitting on my doorstep waiting for me if he didn’t feel something. But Hopkins is right to a degree. There’s no guarantee we’ll still work when I’m not seeing him every day, and when we’re struggling to find time to see each other at all. I’ve tried to be as honest as I can with him, but I wouldn’t blame him if he decides I’ve told too many lies.

By the time I’m dressed to go to the office, I have an entirely different set of disconcerting emotions rolling through me. That’s another reason I shouldn’t date when on the case. I’m not good with relationship emotions, and I prefer to not have them. I’m also nervous about Chase’s safety, and I don’t feel like I can express that to Hopkins without him thinking it’s because I have feelings. It’s all a mess.

Frustrated with myself for putting myself in this situation, I focus on my gun options. The gleam of the metal has a calming effect. My slim Smith and Wesson M&P Shield calls to me. It’s too bulky to fit in the suit jacket unnoticed, and I don’t treasure the idea of it resting all day on my inner thigh.

Since we’re going to a club tonight, I choose a black sheath dress and a black suit jacket. Kitten heels for the office, and black stilettos for night. The outfit works for going from work to a club, but it’s not great for concealing a gun.

Yesterday was the first day I carried into BB&E’s office. Maybe that’s why I’m on edge. We’re close to issuing indictments, which always generates a whir of excitement and nerves. I don’t see any of these guys, almost all of whom are dads with pictures of kids on their office desks, attempting to off an FBI agent, but you never really know how someone will react when they’re facing incarceration. It’s a piece of training they drill into us.

It’s doubtful they’d have Chase followed. Highly doubtful. His suspicion they might plan to use him as the fall guy is probably spot on. But if it occurred to them a lawyer might encourage him to step forward as a preemptive measure, well, it’s not an inconceivable scenario they’d want to track who he was talking to. If they saw him enter the FBI building, then at the very least, Chase dialed up the heat yesterday.

If only he could’ve waited until later in the week to play the role of an informant. I don’t like running through possible scenarios, but I can’t shut my mind down. And if they’re aware he’s talked to the FBI, then that would foil their plan. But the team has probably already thought of this. If they thought Chase was in danger, they’d pull him off the street, and he’d be in WITSEC right now.

I hold the slim graphite gun, the metal cool on my palm. It’s not my favorite weapon, but it’s discreet. I slip it into my briefcase, in the interior side zipper compartment with my FBI issued cell. That will work for the day. It’s better than having it between my thighs all day. The bag will be sufficient. Better to have the safety than to end the day in regret.