“What? Dr. Yao, as in my Dr. Yao was with you? That bastard knew?” She stares at me, open-mouthed.
I curse inwardly when I realize I probably outed the guy as being in Flores’ pocket, which he wouldn’t want as general knowledge. “Yeah. Please don’t repeat that.”
“Oh, trust me, everyone knows his bedside manner sucks, but he’s a master in the OR. I learned everything I know from him.” She glances toward the front of the car, then back at me and drops her voice to a whisper. “But I had no idea he worked for Arturo Flores. It explains so much.”
The car pulls down a long drive, then into a parking spot in front of a huge, boxy building fronted by glass that reflects the bright, snowy landscape. A row of cage-like beams spans the roof and cut at ninety degrees down the far side like an enormous, angular ribcage. It looks only slightly less ominous in daylight than it did when Booth brought me a couple nights ago to arrange the detail.
I climb out just as our driver slips the car into park, reaching in to help Callie out behind me. I wince at a vague cascade of pain in my back and side. The guy got a few good punches in, but he was smaller than me, so I had the upper hand within seconds.
Callie casts a concerned look my way. “I’m checking you over thoroughly when we get home. You look like you’re in pain.”
“It’s nothing. I think he just bruised a rib or something.” My response is distracted as I follow the two agents into the building. I’ve only been to this office the one time, and never carried out any of the admin work required of an agent. Booth was always the one who handled that side of things.
Callie seems preoccupied when we pass through the doors and check in with a receptionist, then step into the elevator. I shove my hands in my pockets, then pull them out again, crack my knuckles, and huff out a breath in a last-ditch attempt to settle my frayed nerves.
She grabs hold of one fidgeting hand after a moment and squeezes tight. “You okay?”
“Ah, just a little out of my element here. I never trained for the desk work.”
“You’ve got this,” she says as the elevator doors open and we step out. “Special Agent Dawson is pretty easygoing. She’ll help you figure things out.”
I frown at her. “You know the Special Agent in Charge?”
Her cheeks turn a faint pink and she darts a look across the open bull-pen-style layout of the floor the agents brought us to, right toward the boss’s office. Dawson wasn’t here the other night, so I didn’t have the pleasure of meeting her then. “Yeah. I’d sort of forgotten until we walked in that my family’s acquainted with some of the folks here.”
My gears click into place, and it occurs to me that if Katherine Longo was DEA Administrator, then it stands to reason she started her career lower down the same ladder. I just nod and let out a soft snort of interest, more curious that Callie still hasn’t divulged the fact that she’s the senator’s daughter. And here we were patting ourselves on the backs for being so open and honest.
“Is your being here going to help or hurt with the local brass?” I ask cautiously.
She grimaces. “I may have dated Agent Dawson’s son in high school.”
I chuff and shake my head. “Let me guess: you broke his heart.”
“Hey, I was every bit as serious about my career then as I am now. He was just much less . . . ambitious. Regardless, it might be best if I occupy myself for a bit.” She raises her hands, still streaked with remnants of Booth’s blood. “I’m going to go wash up first. If they want me to give a statement, I’ll be in the lobby downstairs.”
She starts to turn, and I’m gripped with an irrational fear of seeing her go. I grab her hand and tug her back to me, backing into a stairwell alcove with her held close. I drop my lips to hers and the anxious tension eases with the feel of her mouth under mine.
We both sigh when we part, and she laughs. “I will never get tired of that. But for real, you need to go rip off the bandage. I need use the restroom. Then we can head back and see how Wyatt’s doing, okay?”
I grunt a reply, the dread returning as I watch her walk away and I turn back to head toward the SAC’s office.
What I want is to get into a room with those two fuckers and interrogate them myself. Am I correct in my assumption that they follow Gustavo’s lead, or is Amador pulling their strings directly? It’s only ever been a gut feeling, but something has never sat right with me about the level of autonomy Gustavo has. Even when he worked for Flores, he tended to make his own rules. Because if Amador is indeed in charge, I actually have some hope that they’ll give up on coming after me. I’ve never even met the man, and he has to have realized killing me won’t solve anything.
If it’s Gustavo, on the other hand, the bastard no doubt still wants my head to save face for letting me get away after that botched gun deal three years ago. Arturo Flores helping fake my death only gave me a short reprieve after he found me the first time, but now he’s hunting me again.
I’m wording my speech when I walk into Special Agent Dawson’s office and find not just one, but two women seated across a big desk from each other. They both turn and look at me, but
