Aside from the faint shadows beneath her lower lashes, nothing in her demeanor matched his expectation. There was no doubt she’d just left a meeting with SAC Keaton. Why else would she be in this part of the building?
More importantly, why was she relieved?
He knew the answer before the question had even finished forming in his head. One way or another, she’d been absolved of Alton Dalessio’s death. Joseph could only guess at the specifics, but her body language was clear. Whatever stress had weighed down on her shoulders like an anvil was gone.
Time slowed to a crawl as she strode past him. Her eyes were fixed straight ahead, but those green embers still smoldered with animosity.
Gritting his teeth, he rounded the corner to SAC Keaton’s door.
Change of plans.
He needed time away from the office to let Amelia’s memory fade and to allow him to consider a new tactic.
With a blank expression that belied none of the turmoil in his head, Joseph stepped into the doorway of the SAC’s office and rapped his knuckles against the drywall. “Morning, SAC Keaton.”
“Morning, Agent Larson.” She gave her computer mouse a couple clicks and turned her attention to him. “What can I do for you?”
He jammed a hand in the pocket of his slacks as he feigned contemplation. “I was wondering if it’d be possible for me to take a little personal time. I’ve got a lot saved up, and now that Agent Storm and I have put this thing with the Kankakee County farm to bed, it seems like a good time.”
Rather than the drawn-out discussion he’d prepared for, he was in and out of Keaton’s office in less than five minutes, his request for time off approved. He was expected to wrap up his paperwork today and be on-call for a potential court appearance, but otherwise, he was free for the next couple weeks.
Rubbing his eyes, he set off for the breakroom. In his rush to get to the office, he’d neglected to brew himself a cup of coffee at home. To his dismay, the oversight meant he’d be stuck with the breakroom sludge.
He paused beside a bench to check the time. Maybe the hour was still early enough that he could head to a café without the risk of enduring Chicago’s notorious rush-hour traffic. Not to mention a lengthy line at the coffee shop.
A faint ding drew his gaze to the closest elevator. The doors slid open, and a woman with striking auburn hair stepped out. A black pencil skirt hugged every curve, accentuating her flawless hourglass figure. Topped with a chic ivory blouse and paired with five-inch heels, she looked ready for the runway instead of a meeting in the FBI building.
As the redhead’s pale blue eyes flitted to him, he remembered why she was so familiar.
“Hey.” He tilted his head. “You’re Cassandra Halcott, right? The Assistant U.S. Attorney who’s working on the Carlo Enrico case?”
Shifting her messenger bag on her shoulder, she offered him a quick smile. “That’s me. And you’re…” She pursed her lips. “Don’t tell me. I’m terrible with names. I need to get better.”
Joseph couldn’t help but stare. The buttons of her semi-sheer shirt were fastened to just below her neck, but he didn’t need cleavage to tell him she was well-endowed. Coupled with the perfect curve of her ass and those heels…
Yeah. She’d do just fine.
Cassandra snapped her fingers. “Agent Larson. Right?”
Extending a hand, Joseph dipped his chin. “Yep, that’s me. Nice to meet you again, Ms. Halcott.”
She chuckled and accepted the handshake. “Cassandra. Just Cassandra.” She glanced around the area before she returned her focus to him. “Hey, I’m not very familiar with this building yet. Could you point me to a breakroom? I didn’t make myself any coffee this morning, and I need my caffeine fix.”
Joseph snorted out a laugh. “I was headed that way, actually. But…” he mimed looking around for others who might hear and then brought his index finger up to his lips, “just to warn you, the coffee around here tastes like shit.”
She dropped a hand to her hip. “Of course it does. It tastes like shit at my office too.” She paused, sending a quick glance down to a bangle watch around her wrist. “I’ve got a meeting at nine. Do you think that’s enough time to get to a coffee shop and back, around this area?”
A wicked thought crossed Joseph’s mind, bringing a smile to his face. “It’s only quarter after eight. Should be plenty of time.” He gestured to the elevator. “I can drive if you want. If that isn’t weird.”
Her ruby-red painted lips parted with a polite grin. “No, that’s not weird at all. I appreciate the offer.”
As he returned the look, he’d already made up his mind.
Cassandra would be a sweet little distraction, but one thing was for damn sure…
He wasn’t done with Amelia Storm. Not by a damn sight.
30
Since Zane had stepped into the FBI office at seven that morning, he was sure he must have paced for a total of five-thousand feet.
Walking back and forth in front of a whiteboard wasn’t his normal method to cope with stress, but his second choice was to make a trip to the closest gas station to buy a carton of cigarettes—which he hadn’t touched since leaving the CIA. Spencer Corsaw had recently quit smoking. Otherwise, he’d have already found the Supervisory Special Agent to buy a half-pack from him.
No. Just no.
Popping a stick of gum in his mouth instead, he glanced to the clock and blew out a long breath. Glenn had told him the day before that she wouldn’t be at the office until a little past nine, so he had close to an hour to calm himself down before she arrived.
Zane didn’t like uncertainty. He’d started a career in international intelligence because he wanted to know as much as he
