name?"
"Damian Wright," Caitlyn supplied helpfully. "A few things have come up. New evidence. Wright may be innocent of the Hopewell murders."
"What kind of new evidence?" Logan asked, his gaze settled on a point past her shoulder as if he were bored and only asking to be polite.
Caitlyn smiled. "Sorry, Jack. You know the rules."
He focused on her face, mirrored her smile. "You didn't drive all the way up here simply to inform me that an old case was being re-opened. You want something from me. What's the game, Caitlyn?"
She remained silent, watching him carefully. His voice had tightened, taken on a new edge. The small wrinkles near his eyes Botox hadn't totally erased had deepened. Definitely hit a sore spot.
If what she suspected was true, she wasn't surprised.
"I can't help you without more information," he continued in a genial voice. The well-versed mentor showing the newbie the ropes. Roles that suited neither of them anymore.
Hadn't in a long time. Not since two and a half years ago when he'd almost gotten her killed.
He gazed out the window at the late morning sun, his ankle circling once more. "Let's see. Hopewell. Ahh, I remember now. The night you got sick on the drive down. Then you antagonized the local police chief and almost made the vic's mother collapse with a nervous breakdown." He slanted another smile in her direction. "Not your finest moment, Caitlyn."
Unlike the moment when he'd sent her backup team to the wrong location, leaving Caitlyn and her partner alone in the fight of their lives. A vision of glass breaking, the look of terror on Santore's face as they both plummeted out the window, the stomach lurching feeling of free fall, the pain when she'd hit the ground—these all raced through her mind at whiplash speed. She kept her face and her voice neutral, meeting his gaze effortlessly. "Maybe that's why I'm anxious to set the record straight."
"Hmpf. I remember the crime scene. It was raining monkeys and we had to hike half way up a mountain. The local yokels had tried to protect the scene as best they could, but the wind and the rain left us slim pickin's. But we had blood samples from the Unsub and one of the vics."
Caitlyn shook her head. "Wrong again, Jack. The blood didn't match."
He jerked up at that, acted startled, his mouth dropping open. But there was no crease in his brow, no other signs of surprise. "Really? You don't say? Whose blood was it, then?"
Caitlyn decided to let him think she knew nothing of Richland. "Some guy named Stanley Diamontes. Name ring a bell to you at all?"
He pursed his lips, frowned in thought. "Maybe, maybe."
"He testified against a Russian name of Korsakov. After that we lost track of him. It was a miracle we matched his DNA at all."
"Korsakov, yes, I definitely remember him. Who could forget? Crazy fucker, had two hobbies: making movies and torturing people. Can't say I'm surprised a witness against him took off, got lost in the mountains with a new name." He straightened up. "So, mystery solved. I can try to find my old case notes on Korsakov if you like. Free of charge for old time's sake."
He slid to his feet, began walking to the door, obviously expecting her to follow him. "Sorry I don't have more time for you, Caitlyn."
She took her time, not moving from her chair until he'd already reached the door and held it open. Only then did she stand and stroll past him, coming to a stop in the doorway. "Thanks, Jack. I knew you'd have the answers I needed. I'd definitely like a look at those files. Especially since Korsakov is getting out of prison today."
His eyes widened and tiny droplets of sweat sprouted on his forehead before he could hustle her out the door. "Fine. No problem. I'll have Margery fax them down to Quantico by the day's end."
He tried to close the door but she blocked him. "It'd be better to scan and email them to me, Jack. I'm on my way to Hopewell."
She breezed out the door and through the reception area before he could
"Damian Wright," Caitlyn supplied helpfully. "A few things have come up. New evidence. Wright may be innocent of the Hopewell murders."
"What kind of new evidence?" Logan asked, his gaze settled on a point past her shoulder as if he were bored and only asking to be polite.
Caitlyn smiled. "Sorry, Jack. You know the rules."
He focused on her face, mirrored her smile. "You didn't drive all the way up here simply to inform me that an old case was being re-opened. You want something from me. What's the game, Caitlyn?"
She remained silent, watching him carefully. His voice had tightened, taken on a new edge. The small wrinkles near his eyes Botox hadn't totally erased had deepened. Definitely hit a sore spot.
If what she suspected was true, she wasn't surprised.
"I can't help you without more information," he continued in a genial voice. The well-versed mentor showing the newbie the ropes. Roles that suited neither of them anymore.
Hadn't in a long time. Not since two and a half years ago when he'd almost gotten her killed.
He gazed out the window at the late morning sun, his ankle circling once more. "Let's see. Hopewell. Ahh, I remember now. The night you got sick on the drive down. Then you antagonized the local police chief and almost made the vic's mother collapse with a nervous breakdown." He slanted another smile in her direction. "Not your finest moment, Caitlyn."
Unlike the moment when he'd sent her backup team to the wrong location, leaving Caitlyn and her partner alone in the fight of their lives. A vision of glass breaking, the look of terror on Santore's face as they both plummeted out the window, the stomach lurching feeling of free fall, the pain when she'd hit the ground—these all raced through her mind at whiplash speed. She kept her face and her voice neutral, meeting his gaze effortlessly. "Maybe that's why I'm anxious to set the record straight."
"Hmpf. I remember the crime scene. It was raining monkeys and we had to hike half way up a mountain. The local yokels had tried to protect the scene as best they could, but the wind and the rain left us slim pickin's. But we had blood samples from the Unsub and one of the vics."
Caitlyn shook her head. "Wrong again, Jack. The blood didn't match."
He jerked up at that, acted startled, his mouth dropping open. But there was no crease in his brow, no other signs of surprise. "Really? You don't say? Whose blood was it, then?"
Caitlyn decided to let him think she knew nothing of Richland. "Some guy named Stanley Diamontes. Name ring a bell to you at all?"
He pursed his lips, frowned in thought. "Maybe, maybe."
"He testified against a Russian name of Korsakov. After that we lost track of him. It was a miracle we matched his DNA at all."
"Korsakov, yes, I definitely remember him. Who could forget? Crazy fucker, had two hobbies: making movies and torturing people. Can't say I'm surprised a witness against him took off, got lost in the mountains with a new name." He straightened up. "So, mystery solved. I can try to find my old case notes on Korsakov if you like. Free of charge for old time's sake."
He slid to his feet, began walking to the door, obviously expecting her to follow him. "Sorry I don't have more time for you, Caitlyn."
She took her time, not moving from her chair until he'd already reached the door and held it open. Only then did she stand and stroll past him, coming to a stop in the doorway. "Thanks, Jack. I knew you'd have the answers I needed. I'd definitely like a look at those files. Especially since Korsakov is getting out of prison today."
His eyes widened and tiny droplets of sweat sprouted on his forehead before he could hustle her out the door. "Fine. No problem. I'll have Margery fax them down to Quantico by the day's end."
He tried to close the door but she blocked him. "It'd be better to scan and email them to me, Jack. I'm on my way to Hopewell."
She breezed out the door and through the reception area before he could
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