qualified or more dedicated than Lucy.
Sean almost called FBI agent Noah Armstrong, who’d recently befriended the Kincaids when he and Kate worked on a case together, but he stopped himself. He and Noah didn’t see eye to eye on most things, and Sean didn’t want to ask him for any favors. Instead, he went higher up and called Assistant Director Hans Vigo, whom Sean greatly admired.
“Hans Vigo,” the agent answered his cell phone.
“It’s Sean Rogan.” He glanced at the clock and winced. It was after eleven. “I hope it’s not too late to call.”
“I was awake.”
Sean sat down at his desk. “The FBI denied Lucy’s application.”
When Hans didn’t respond, Sean asked, “Did you know?”
“No, but I thought she might have an uphill battle.”
“Uphill? It’s
“She can appeal.”
“Appeal? How?”
“She gets one shot to request a different panel. But Lucy knows that.”
Why hadn’t she said anything to Sean about appealing? “She’s really torn up about this. I don’t think she’s considered her options.”
“Did she tell you anything about the interview? If she felt that someone was unduly biased, or if there were questions that seemed odd to her?”
“No-she thought it went well. She was jazzed afterward. Can you find out who was on the panel? Find out what their problem with her is?”
“I don’t know that you, or Lucy, would like the answers.”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing you don’t already know. Lucy isn’t a typical recruit. The Bureau looks closely at anyone they think may have a hidden agenda.”
“They can’t blame her for what happened with WCF! Dammit-”
“They can look at anything and everything. WCF is only one factor. There is also the fact that she killed two people.”
Sean’s blood ran cold. “Was she supposed to die instead?”
“Look at the bigger picture, Sean. They probably assessed that she was too high profile. That’s my guess, not because I know anything specific. I don’t even know who’s on the hiring panel right now, but it’s not secret and I’ll find out.”
Sean latched on to Hans’s first statement. “What do you mean Lucy’s too ‘high profile.’ Is it because she was raped? That is just fucked.”
“Sean, that’s not what I meant,” Hans said, his voice calm but firm. “However, it might play a part of the big picture. Not that she was attacked, but everything that happened after that. Any one thing probably wouldn’t have alarmed the panel, but she’s been involved in several police and FBI investigations from the outside, and she has high-ranking connections.”
“That should help her!”
“Sometimes it does. And sometimes connections can hurt a candidate’s chances.”
That Sean understood. His brother Liam was always a wild card, and had caused their brother Duke and RCK plenty of headaches. And Sean wasn’t a Boy Scout, either. He knew he’d cost RCK business in the past, nearly as much as he had gained them.
But Lucy was different, and becoming an FBI agent meant more to her than anything else. Sean didn’t want to accept defeat, but listening to Hans it sounded like there were no options.
“Then she’s screwed? Why didn’t you tell her before she spent the last seven years of her life planning for a career in the FBI?”
“Sean, I understand that you’re upset, and I can just imagine how Lucy is feeling about now. But neither of you are naive. Lucy would be a controversial hire; that’s the simple truth.”
“Are you going to help or not?”
“Sean, there is no one I know more deserving of a commission from the Bureau than Lucy.” Hans sounded irritated. “I personally like and admire her greatly, and know she’d make a top agent. Moreover, we need more people like her. But the FBI is a large government agency, and individuals who stand out
Sean took a deep breath. “I really appreciate this, Hans.”
“If it doesn’t work out, a talented woman like Lucy still has many options available to her. Naturally, I’ll help her in any way I can.”
“Thanks, Hans. We both know that, but Lucy wouldn’t ask.”
“She doesn’t have to.”
SIX
Kirsten woke up well before dawn Thursday morning, for the first time in days feeling like she wasn’t going to die. Still, remnants of a nightmare clawed out from her subconscious. She was still shaking from the bad dream, but she willed herself to stop.
As much as she wanted to, she didn’t believe that.
Sore and weak from being unable to keep anything solid down for three days, she finally felt like eating something more than chicken broth. It still hurt to walk. Who was she kidding? The pain was unbearable, and she crawled to the bathroom. Sitting on the edge of the small tub, she stared at her sorry reflection in the mirror.
Her blond hair was filthy, even though she’d made a feeble attempt to wash it yesterday. She suspected that she didn’t get all the shampoo out, because it felt greasy. A faint bruise covered her cheek, light gray against skin already far too pale. She looked like a corpse, and didn’t feel much livelier than one.
“You’re lucky you’re not dead,” she whispered. Her mouth was parched and she rose from the tub’s edge to reach for the faucet. Excruciating pain shot from her damaged feet up her legs, and she fell to her knees. One of her scabs broke, leaving a bloodstain on the white bathroom carpet.
“Great,” she said, then burst into tears.
She pulled herself up and sat back on the edge of the tub. Through the blur of her tears, she looked at the bottoms of her feet. They were bandaged, but blood had seeped through the gauze. She carefully removed it, wincing at the tenderness. Then she took a long look at the damage. It was as if someone had hit her foot repeatedly with a serrated knife. Some cuts were shallow and healing, others deep and bright red. She had only two more pills left in the antibiotic prescription she’d found in the medicine cabinet.
What was she going to do?
She could call her mom. She’d be mad, for sure, but she’d come and get her, and then Kirsten could go home to her own bed.
But she still wouldn’t be safe.
What would she tell the police? That Jessie had asked her to come to New York even though it wasn’t Kirsten’s scheduled weekend to play escort? Right, she was going to admit to her mom that she was an online call girl.
She bit her lip and thought about calling her dad. She had a love/hate relationship with him. Though her mother was a bitter divorcee, her father had started it by having all those affairs. Maybe she should just call him and say, “Well, you like to sleep around. So do I, but at least I get paid for it.”
