time.”
“Yes, of course.” Gwen signed the sheet as she noticed the badge. It had her name printed on it-Dr. and even Ph.D. at the end-instead of the standard Visitor. Okay, so Maggie was trying hard to make her feel at home. Gwen still wasn’t convinced, though, she’d be much help with the investigation.
That Cunningham had even agreed to Maggie’s request for Gwen to be a part of the case meant he was feeling desperate. He usually didn’t call in outsiders. In the early days, yes, but not now, not since the FBI had come under considerable scrutiny. Gwen knew Cunningham well enough to detect a hint of desperation in his voice yesterday when he called. He had asked if she would share her new research and expertise. Her response was that he had some amazing agents in his Behavioral Science Unit, including Maggie, who could tell him just as much, if not more, about the criminal workings of the adolescent male’s mind. She told him she wasn’t sure she could add much to the investigation.
“As an outsider, you might be able to point out things we’re missing,” he countered. “You’ve done that with some of our cases in the past. I’m hoping you’ll be able to work your magic on this one.”
Flattery. Gwen smiled as she clipped on her badge. The man could be charming as hell when he wanted to be. Then she read the words on the badge under her name and immediately frowned: Member, Special Task Force.
Supposedly, it was one of the reasons they were meeting at Quantico instead of in the District. The murder of a senator’s daughter-let alone having it occur on federal property-warranted a federal investigation. Yet, it surprised Gwen that Cunningham had been asked to head the task force. Now she wished she had been able to get ahold of Maggie last night. Her friend may have answered some of the questions Cunningham wouldn’t.
“Gwen, you’re here.”
She leaned around the counter to find Maggie coming down the hall. She looked good, dressed in burgundy trousers, matching jacket and a white turtleneck sweater. Only now did Gwen notice that her friend had finally put back on some of the weight she had lost last winter. She looked more her athletically trim but strong self rather than the emaciated waif Albert Stucky had driven her to become.
“Hi, kiddo,” Gwen said while she managed a one-armed hug, her briefcase and umbrella occupying her other arm.
She knew Maggie only tolerated the gesture, but this morning she felt the younger woman hugging her back. As Maggie pulled away, Gwen kept a hand on her shoulder, keeping Maggie from escaping too quickly. The hand moved to Maggie’s face, gently lifting her chin for a closer inspection. Maggie put up with this, too, even managing a smile while Gwen examined the red lines in Maggie’s eyes and the puffiness underneath that was concealed with makeup to fool those who were less adept at reading this intensely personal and private woman.
“Are you okay? You look like you didn’t get much sleep.”
This time she casually shifted away from Gwen’s touch. “I’m fine.” There went the eyes-someplace, anyplace, as long as they could no longer be scrutinized.
“You didn’t return my call last night,” Gwen said, treating it like no big deal and trying to keep the concern from her voice.
“Harvey and I didn’t get back from our run until late.”
“Jesus! Maggie, I wish you wouldn’t go out running that late at night.”
“It’s not like I was alone.” She started back down the hall. “Come on, Cunningham’s waiting.
“I figured as much. I can feel him frowning at me through the walls.”
As they walked, Gwen found herself absently patting at her hair, which felt in place, and smoothing her skirt, which began the day without a single wrinkle, but after an hour-long drive…She caught Maggie watching her.
“You look sensational as always,” Maggie told her.
“Hey, it’s not every day I meet a United States senator.”
“Oh, right,” Maggie said with just enough sarcasm for Gwen to smile.
Of course, Maggie wouldn’t let her get away with a comment like that. Gwen’s past and present clients included enough embassy, White House and congressional members to start her own political caucus. Okay, so her friend was not getting enough sleep. Probably still upset about her fallen colleague-a certain amount of depression could develop from such a circumstance. But that Maggie was feeling up to some repartee was a good sign. Maybe Gwen had been worried for no reason.
Two blue-polo-shirt academy recruits held a set of doors open for them. Gwen smiled and thanked them. Maggie only nodded. They started down one of the walkways. Gwen knew they had a long way to go. What would it hurt to make another attempt at finding out if Maggie was, indeed, okay?
“How did breakfast go with your mom yesterday?”
“Fine.”
Too short, too easy. This was it. She knew it.
“It was fine? Really?”
“We didn’t actually have breakfast.”
A group of law enforcement officers in green polo shirts and khakis moved to the side of the walkway and let the two women pass. Used to living in the hustle and bustle of the District, Gwen always felt the treatment she received at Quantico was over the top on the polite-and-courteous Richter scale. Maggie waited for her at the next door before they started down another hallway.
“Let me guess,” Gwen continued as though there had been no interruption, “she didn’t show up.”
“No, she showed up. Boy, did she show up. But I had to leave early. For this case, as a matter of fact.”
Gwen felt that annoying maternal instinct begin to stir-the one that only reared its ugly head when she was feeling protective of her friend. She didn’t dare ask the question for fear she’d get the answer she expected. She asked, anyway. “What do you mean, boy, did she show up? She wasn’t drunk, was she?”
“Can we talk about this later?” Maggie said, then greeted a couple of official-looking men in suits.
Gwen recognized them as other agents. Yes, this probably wasn’t the best place to air the family laundry. They turned a corner and approached another walkway, this one empty. Gwen took advantage of it.
“Yes, we can talk later. But just tell me now what you meant, okay?”
“Jesus! Did anyone ever tell you you’re a pain in the ass?”
“Of course, but you must admit, it’s one of my more endearing qualities.”
She could see Maggie smile, though she kept her attention and her eyes ahead and safely away from Gwen’s.
“She wants us to have Thanksgiving together.”
It was the last thing Gwen expected. When the silence lasted too long, she felt Maggie glance over at her.
“That was sort of my response, too,” Maggie said with another smile.
“Well, you’ve been saying for some time now that she’s trying to change.”
“Yes, her friends and her clothes and her hair. Reverend Everett seems to have helped her change quite a few things in her life, many of them for the better. But no matter what she does, she can’t change history.”
They got to the end of the walkway, and Maggie pointed to the last door on their right. “We’re here.”
Gwen wished they had more time. If she wasn’t eternally late, maybe they would have. As they entered the conference room, the man at the end of the table stood, though it took effort and he leaned on a walking cane. His gesture prompted the other men around the table to stand, as well; Agent Tully, Keith Ganza, whom Gwen recognized as the head of the FBI crime lab, and Assistant Director Cunningham. Detective Julia Racine shifted impatiently in her chair. Maggie ignored her colleagues’ clumsy attempt at courtesy and walked ahead, directly to the senator, her hand outstretched to him.
“Senator Brier, I’m Special Agent Maggie O’Dell and this is Dr. Gwen Patterson. Please excuse us for being late.”
