necessary to uncover the truth here. You will have all the resources you need to do a thorough investigation into the congressman’s every move for the past eighteen years. All we ask is that you keep your inquiries discreet, and not share your task with anyone. Even your bosses.”
Bianco was leaning forward, and the top of her blouse was gaping just the tiniest bit. He caught a hint of lace and cream, dutifully looked away and went back to his coffee.
“Well?” Bianco asked.
He sighed. “This could be a suicide mission, Andi . Can you imagine the headlines if we fuck up?”
“Can you imagine the headlines if you don’t? You’ll be a hero. Some would say this was a gift.”
He saw what she’d done. We to you. This is your problem now, Fletcher. We’re going to wash our hands of it and let you take the heat, keeping the JTTF’s nose clean in case somewhere along the way, someone else screwed up. Some would say this was a gift . He caught her meaning—who was he, a lowly homicide dick, to look a gift horse in the mouth? A huge story, earth-shattering news, at least a couple of weeks in the news cycle, Fletcher’s name and fingerprints all over the bloody mess.
It was a setup. He felt it immediately. There were stakes he wasn’t aware of.
Worse, what had he done to deserve this? He’d pissed someone off. Two years from his twenty, a decent career under his belt, and he was being thrown to the wolves on a case that looked damn close to a foregone conclusion.
Something else was up. Something big.
“I have to think about it.”
Bianco actually sat back in her chair and smiled. She had a nice smile, her parents had sprung for some orthodontics and her teeth were even and white. She ran her bottom lip up over the edge of her top teeth. The effect made her lips fuller, a move that he associated with prolonged use of a headgear. His son, Tad, had the same habit.
Stop thinking about her lips, Fletch.
He looked down at the file before him. What a mess.
“Of course you do. Go on home and get some rest. I always find a good night’s sleep helps me think clearly.” She stood then, stretching her back a little, almost as if to say, See, I’m tired, too. I’m working hard. I’m all kinked up and I know, I understand, what you’re going through, and shook his hand, effectively but kindly dismissing him.
He found Inez back at their respective desks. She had her nose deep in her laptop.
“Anything new?” he asked.
“No. Everything cool with you?”
“Sure,” he replied. “I’m going to go home and catch some z’s. You should, too. Meet me back here at nine, okay? We have a big project to tackle.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Inez?”
“Sir?”
“You can call me Fletch.”
* * *
Fletcher left the JTTF office buzzing with adrenaline. Hand chosen to handle a fuck-all dog of a case that could wind up being his death sentence with Homicide. He wanted out, sure, but not like this. Not on a case that smelled to high heaven.
He lived in a row house on a quiet Capitol Hill street, catty-corner to the Longworth House Office Building, the very place he’d spent the better part of his afternoon trying to glean enough detail from the monosyllabic answers of Leighton’s staff to figure out what the hell was going on.
He kept a light on in the foyer so it looked like someone was around, though the neighborhood itself was very safe, and most of his neighbors knew he was a cop and kept an eye on his place in addition to their own. But tonight it was off. He had to think back—had he turned the switch off when he left God knows how many hours earlier? No, that was impossible, he never did. Maybe the light was out...but he had one of the new long-lasting compact fluorescent bulbs in there that was supposed to burn for five years or more. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d changed it, but it certainly wasn’t five years ago.
Curious.
He put his hand on the butt of his Glock and slid his key in the
Bianco was leaning forward, and the top of her blouse was gaping just the tiniest bit. He caught a hint of lace and cream, dutifully looked away and went back to his coffee.
“Well?” Bianco asked.
He sighed. “This could be a suicide mission, Andi . Can you imagine the headlines if we fuck up?”
“Can you imagine the headlines if you don’t? You’ll be a hero. Some would say this was a gift.”
He saw what she’d done. We to you. This is your problem now, Fletcher. We’re going to wash our hands of it and let you take the heat, keeping the JTTF’s nose clean in case somewhere along the way, someone else screwed up. Some would say this was a gift . He caught her meaning—who was he, a lowly homicide dick, to look a gift horse in the mouth? A huge story, earth-shattering news, at least a couple of weeks in the news cycle, Fletcher’s name and fingerprints all over the bloody mess.
It was a setup. He felt it immediately. There were stakes he wasn’t aware of.
Worse, what had he done to deserve this? He’d pissed someone off. Two years from his twenty, a decent career under his belt, and he was being thrown to the wolves on a case that looked damn close to a foregone conclusion.
Something else was up. Something big.
“I have to think about it.”
Bianco actually sat back in her chair and smiled. She had a nice smile, her parents had sprung for some orthodontics and her teeth were even and white. She ran her bottom lip up over the edge of her top teeth. The effect made her lips fuller, a move that he associated with prolonged use of a headgear. His son, Tad, had the same habit.
Stop thinking about her lips, Fletch.
He looked down at the file before him. What a mess.
“Of course you do. Go on home and get some rest. I always find a good night’s sleep helps me think clearly.” She stood then, stretching her back a little, almost as if to say, See, I’m tired, too. I’m working hard. I’m all kinked up and I know, I understand, what you’re going through, and shook his hand, effectively but kindly dismissing him.
He found Inez back at their respective desks. She had her nose deep in her laptop.
“Anything new?” he asked.
“No. Everything cool with you?”
“Sure,” he replied. “I’m going to go home and catch some z’s. You should, too. Meet me back here at nine, okay? We have a big project to tackle.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Inez?”
“Sir?”
“You can call me Fletch.”
* * *
Fletcher left the JTTF office buzzing with adrenaline. Hand chosen to handle a fuck-all dog of a case that could wind up being his death sentence with Homicide. He wanted out, sure, but not like this. Not on a case that smelled to high heaven.
He lived in a row house on a quiet Capitol Hill street, catty-corner to the Longworth House Office Building, the very place he’d spent the better part of his afternoon trying to glean enough detail from the monosyllabic answers of Leighton’s staff to figure out what the hell was going on.
He kept a light on in the foyer so it looked like someone was around, though the neighborhood itself was very safe, and most of his neighbors knew he was a cop and kept an eye on his place in addition to their own. But tonight it was off. He had to think back—had he turned the switch off when he left God knows how many hours earlier? No, that was impossible, he never did. Maybe the light was out...but he had one of the new long-lasting compact fluorescent bulbs in there that was supposed to burn for five years or more. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d changed it, but it certainly wasn’t five years ago.
Curious.
He put his hand on the butt of his Glock and slid his key in the
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