The Black List (6 page)

“Do you think that’s who fired the shot?”

“I don’t believe so. I saw him drive off when I went back down to get my mail.”

He heard the police radios outside in the hall. “I don’t suppose Dorian or this man mentioned any names?”

“No, but I gathered the man might have worked for Dorian at the charity,” she said, just as there was a knock at the door. “More officers?”

“Probably. May I use your bathroom, Mrs. Davis?”

“Of course. Just down the hall, to the right.”

“Thank you. Don’t forget to look out the peephole.”

“Who’s there?” she called out.

“Police.”

He heard the sound of the door opening, then Mrs. Davis saying, “I was just talking to one of your detectives.”

“What detective? We haven’t called them yet.”

“The one in the bathroom,” she said. “I’m sure he’ll be out in a moment.”

9

It was well after
ten
P.M.
by the time Sydney made it to the police department and asked to see the watch commander. Tired from her flight out from California, she wasn’t sure that she was the best person to try to pull this off. First, she was technically still on administrative leave for the shooting in California, and would be until the Bureau’s psychiatrist cleared her for duty. Second, she had no way to explain why a covert agent that didn’t exist on paper was allegedly on the FBI payroll. She only hoped the ID Tex had provided her, once he made his way out the neighbor’s fire escape, would pass muster, since she really didn’t have time to look at it. Her only saving grace was that she knew a number of MPDC personnel from her years working in the capital.

When she saw Lieutenant Thomas Sanchez standing at the counter, it was one of those Thank God moments, and she searched her memory banks for a thread of something pleasant to break the ice. He owned a pristine 1960 Cadillac, last she recalled. She smiled and held out her hand. “Lieutenant Sanchez. Good to see you. How’s that pink Cadillac of yours?”

“
Champagne
pink.”

“Right. How could I forget?”

“Running like a dream,” he said, shaking her hand. “What brings you to my humble digs?”

“Heard you’ve got one of my people in custody.”

“He’d be the guy they caught running from the building? The one working undercover?”

“Correct on both counts.”

“Interview room down the hall. Don’t suppose you have ID for him?”

“Of course,” she said, figuring he wasn’t going to simply let Griffin walk out of there without an explanation. Now all she had to do was think of one, and she slid the packet Tex had given her across the counter.

He opened it, pulled out the FBI credential and badge. Looked like the real thing. Hell, it probably was, knowing ATLAS. “So,” he said, examining the ID. “Why didn’t he have this on him?”

“Deep undercover. So we’d appreciate it if his name didn’t pop up in your report. Or mine, either, for that matter.”

Lieutenant Sanchez took a drawn-out breath, as though weighing his options, then handed the packet back to her. “We’re running a homicide investigation. You realize that?”

“You did talk to the witness across the hall, the old woman who verified that they came
after
the sound of the gunshot?”

“They?”

“We had another agent. Also undercover.”

“You’re killing me here, Sydney. Anything else you want to spring on my investigators?”

“No. I think that should do it. About the neighbor . . . ?”

“Yes, we did talk to her, and yes, she mentioned
two
cops
were at the door, with guns out, so thanks for clearing up that inconsistency. Then again she also said Veronica Lake was there, so I’m not sure we can put much store in her testimony.”

“Veronica Lake?”

“Yeah. Apparently the woman’s an old movie buff. Everybody took on a description of a character to her. I think your guys were from
L.A. Confidential.
The corrupt cops, if I remember correctly. But back to this second officer she
allegedly
saw. Let’s say he was your agent. I don’t suppose you have a reason as to why he didn’t come forth while we’ve got his partner downstairs at gunpoint?”

“Like I said,
deep
undercover.”

“What sort of operation you running here?”

No goddamned idea, she wanted to say. What came out was, “Huge embezzlement case. You know what a cluster these things can be.”

“Next time, maybe have one of your guys waiting in the wings, give us some warning, so we don’t shoot the hell out of each other.”

“Will do. Thanks, Lieutenant.” A moment later she saw Griffin walking down the hallway. And though it hadn’t been that long since she’d last seen him, a couple weeks, maybe, she found herself looking forward to the contact. Silly, she thought. She had a high school crush on someone who did
not
return the feeling. He was, however, easy on the eyes, tanner, and if anything leaner, and she justified her crush as merely having good taste. Perhaps because they were in the midst of the police department, neither spoke. Outside, though, when etiquette suggested that she should have asked how he’d been, or mentioned that it was good to see him again, what came out of her mouth was, “FBI? Really?”

“I was facing down the barrel of two large-caliber weapons. You’re not flattered I thought of you?”

“Not when it’s
my
job on the line.”

“You’re not going to lose your job over this. I might, but yours is pretty safe.”

“Where to?”

He gave her the address of Dorian’s building, then leaned back in his seat, a vacant look about him as he stared out the window. They were stopped at a red light. A man and a woman stood on the street corner, laughing, both having just emerged from a nearby bar where a red neon light advertised beer on tap.

“How was your Christmas?” he asked out of the blue.

“It was nice. How about yours?”

He didn’t respond, and she heard the low hum of his cell phone vibrating.

Griffin answered it, listening, then told Tex, “She’s dropping me off now.”

She parked in front of his black SUV, and he opened the door, waved at her, his attention fixed on whatever it was Tex had to say.

She sat there in the dark a few moments, waiting until he started his vehicle before she drove off. And as she headed in the opposite direction toward home, she wondered if she and Griffin were ever going to be on the same page. Maybe if she had the guts to tell him exactly how she felt?

That’d be the day . . .

10

The following afternoon, Sydney
looked up from her desk in the basement of the FBI Academy at Quantico, surprised to see Carillo standing there, since he was also still on administrative leave because of the shooting, and hadn’t mentioned he was flying out. And then she thought of the envelope he’d given her, the BICTT numbers she had locked in her file at home. “Has Doc found anything on the—”

“Look who’s with me,” he said, pulling both Sheila and Trip into her office.

Definitely not here because of the numbers. She waited for him to fill her in.

“Cafeteria?” he said. “Sheila and Trip haven’t eaten lunch yet. Sort of a whirlwind flight out, once we found him.”

“Perfect,” Sydney replied. “I was just about to take a break.”

They walked down the hallway to the elevator, then rode it up, Carillo silent, his hands shoved in his pockets. Sydney had a million questions, but it was clear he wasn’t willing to talk in front of the other two.

“So,” Sydney said, once the elevator started its ascent. “How was the flight?”

Trip answered, his English accent not as heavy as she expected. “A bit rocky.”

And Sheila said, “A bit? I’ve got a bruise on the top of my head from the luggage that fell out.”

The cafeteria was nearly deserted, since most FBI recruits were home for Christmas break. A few command staff lingered at some tables in the corner but basically ignored them as they walked in. Carillo dropped two twenties at the register, telling the cashier, “I’ll pick up the change on my way out. Cover whatever they’re having.” He looked at Trip. “You two good with that? Pick a table, have a seat. I need to talk to Sydney for a few minutes, go over the details.”

“Very good,” Trip said, and he and Sheila each took a tray, sliding them along the buffet counter.

Sydney and Carillo got their coffee, then took a seat near the windows. Outside, large soft flakes swirled down onto a vast white countryside. “I
thought
you were trying to keep this below the radar,” she said.

“Not like there’s anyone around here to see,” he replied. “This place is like a graveyard over the holidays.”

“So what gives?”

“Griffin didn’t call you, I take it?”

“No.”

“He and Tex want to interview Trip. I figured I’d bring them here to burn some time. One thing I did learn was that Trip apparently went so far as to ask the jailer to tell his attorney that he was being released two hours
after
his actual release time, all so he could avoid him when he got booted. He thinks his attorney is part of the plot.”

“And do we know exactly
what
this plot is?”

“Not yet. But I asked Doc to do some digging. Apparently his attorney is from some high-powered international law firm, which makes me wonder why they’d be interested in defending a sleazy embezzler like Trip, guilt or innocence notwithstanding. Which means the guy’s either really big on the pro bono stuff, or someone with the funds is taking a very deep interest in Trip’s extracurricular activities. Which is why I need to ask a big, big favor. I need you to put the lovebirds up for a few nights.”

Sydney, about to take a sip of coffee, lowered her cup to the table. “What happened to putting her up at a hotel?”

“Hey, it was Griffin’s idea, not mine. He didn’t want to risk a paper trail.”

“Scotty, then.”

Carillo raised his brows and simply looked at her.

“Okay, bad idea,” she said, knowing that once her ex-fiancé, Mr. By-the-book-Scotty, found out some crime was involved, he’d never let them stay—at least not without notifying his superiors. “If it was Griffin’s idea, why not at his apartment?”

“Maybe it’s not big enough. Besides, it’s just for a few days,” he said. “Until we find out what’s going on. And, hey, look at it this way. He’s thinking about you.”

Not quite what she had in mind, she thought, trying for a semblance of a smile. “Fine. They can stay.”

She and Carillo finished their coffee, then walked over to where Sheila and Trip sat eating their soup and salad.

“Good news,” Carillo said. “We can all stay at Sydney’s place.”

Sheila reached out and squeezed Sydney’s hand.

“Brilliant,” Trip added.

“Anytime,” she replied. Her cell phone vibrated. She pulled it from her belt. “I need to get this,” she said, grateful for the interruption, which gave her a few moments to get past the idea that someone else was running her life. “Fitzpatrick.”

It was Earl, who worked security in the lobby. “You have a couple visitors here to see you. From the
Recorder
, apparently.”

“Thanks, Earl. I’ll be right there.” To Carillo, she said, “Tex and Griffin are here.”

“I told them I was heading over from the airport. I think they want to talk to Trippy, here.”

Sheila frowned. “
Quit
calling him that.”

“So eat up. It’s not polite to keep them waiting,” he told them. He gave Sydney an apologetic look, adding, “Hope you don’t mind. I volunteered your office.”

“Anything else you forgot to mention?”

“Hard to say. I was a bit jet-lagged.”

“Bring them down when you finish your lunch,” she said, then left to meet with Tex and Griffin.

Tex gave her a welcoming smile when she walked into the lobby. “Hello, darlin’.”

“Always nice to see you.” She looked over at Griffin, not even sure what to say to him. His poker face gave her no clue as to how he felt about this turn of circumstances. She decided, however, that it was high time to set things straight with him. In the elevator, she said, “Carillo’s bringing Trip and Sheila down once they finish lunch, so that should give us plenty of time to go over the details.”

“Details?” Griffin said. “We just want a drawing.”

The elevator door opened and the three stepped out into the basement hallway. She looked over at Griffin. “A drawing? Why am I the only one who doesn’t know what’s going on?”

Tex looked from her to Griffin, saying, “I’ll, uh, wander down to Sydney’s office and let you two hash it out.” He hesitated, then added, “Which would be where?”

“Third door to the right.” She waited until he disappeared into her office before turning her attention to Griffin. “Every time you guys walk in here looking for me, something bad happens. And now you want me to put up one of your witnesses in my apartment?”

“First off, they’re really
Carillo’s
witnesses. Second, all we’re asking is a few days. Until this blows over.”

“They tried to kill Carillo because they thought
he
was Trip. They killed someone last night, almost beneath your nose,” she said, making an effort to keep her voice low.

He looked at her for a full second. “We’re helping Carillo and you’re mad at me? What’s this really about?”

“You could have called and asked me, not Carillo.”

“I’m sorry. But for God’s sake, it’s just a drawing.”

“It’s
never
just a drawing with you, Griffin. Or I’d still be sitting in my office blissfully unaware that ATLAS even existed.”

She turned away, feeling like a fool, not even sure why she was blowing up at him, and she walked down the hall and stopped in front of her door, only to find Tex sitting on the edge of her desk, pretending exorbitant interest in an outdated copy of the vehicle code that a previous agent had left behind. “How much did you hear?”

“Pretty much all of it, darlin’. But I’m on your side. He should have called you. Not nice. He does, however, need your help.”