Briana’s.
“Someone I knew a long time ago,” she said reluctantly.
“Oh.” After melting a pat of butter in the pan, Ella layered slices of bread and grated cheese into the skillet to make a sandwich. “Can he do anything?”
Other than create plenty of trouble? “I’m not sure. He’s looking into it.”
Ella flipped the grilled cheese over. “I’m glad you’ll have someone to share the burden. It’s about time. Albert and I are always glad to help out, and we consider you and Briana family, but you need someone… well, someone your own age, dear, to share the good and the bad of life. My life’s been richer for having Albert around. Can’t imagine what I’d do without him. Especially now, when I feel so responsible for your loss.”
“It’s not your fault, Ella.” The fault was hers. Juliana had failed to protect her own daughter, reneged on the promise she’d made on the day Briana was born to keep her safe always.
“All the same, I feel responsible. And you shouldn’t be alone at a time like this.”
“He’s not that kind of friend.”
“That’s too bad.” Ella set a bowl of steaming vegetable soup and a plate of grilled cheese points on the table at Juliana’s regular place. “Will he be back for dinner?”
I hope not . “I don’t know.”
“Sit and eat.”
Juliana stared at the food and nausea engulfed her. “I’m not hungry.”
“Having you faint with hunger is not going to do Briana any good now, is it? You need to eat to keep up your strength. You didn’t eat dinner last night, and I’ll bet you haven’t had any breakfast either. You want to be able to go wherever you get sent to pick your daughter up.”
Reluctantly, Juliana sat down. “You’re right.”
She forced down a spoonful of soup, tasted none of it. The phone rang and instantly she sprang to her feet, knocking over the portable phone to the floor. Ella, who’d been standing next to the wall phone, answered.
* * *
Amid the ringing of phones, the clatter of computer keys, and waves of voices, Lucas entered the cramped corner of the Criminal Investigation squad room reserved for the special Interstate Personal Property Task Force at the FBI’s Boston field office—an ugly concrete eyesore in Government Center.
“Hey, Vassilovich, R-and-R’s looking for you,” Scott Walters said as he poured a cup of liquid dynamite from the coffee pot. “He’s hot under the collar again. I told you, you’ve got to cross those T s.”
That Rudy Regan, Jr., their Senior Supervisory Resident Agent, was looking for him was not news. Lucas had ignored his BlackBerry’s urgent vibrating twice already and was asking for trouble. “Yeah, T s and I s, they always give me problems. Seen Harris anywhere?”
“Punching data into NaDIS.”
The National DNA Index System. They hadn’t gotten close enough to the Phantom to gather any DNA evidence. “Give a shout if Rules-and-Regs walks in, will ya?”
“Doin’ the old avoidance dance?”
“And I’m not as fancy a stepper as you are.”
Walters howled, and disappeared behind a partition.
“How long have I got?”
“He’s been with the SAC for an hour already.”
Which meant time was short. Special-Agent-in-Charge Don Temple was known for his brevity—something Lucas usually appreciated. He snaked across the maze of cubicles to the far end. As Walters had predicted, he found Jeb Harris hunched over a computer keyboard, inserting data.
Harris was fresh out of the Academy, and still on probation. With his short blond hair, clean cut good looks, starched shirt and polished shoes, he could play poster boy for the model agent recruit of old G-men movies. More often than not, he got stuck in the office doing grunt work. Every street agent had to go through that phase, but Harris seemed to take it harder than most. The way he followed rules and regulations made old Rudy purr with contentment, but Lucas also knew Harris champed at the bit for some real action.
“Someone I knew a long time ago,” she said reluctantly.
“Oh.” After melting a pat of butter in the pan, Ella layered slices of bread and grated cheese into the skillet to make a sandwich. “Can he do anything?”
Other than create plenty of trouble? “I’m not sure. He’s looking into it.”
Ella flipped the grilled cheese over. “I’m glad you’ll have someone to share the burden. It’s about time. Albert and I are always glad to help out, and we consider you and Briana family, but you need someone… well, someone your own age, dear, to share the good and the bad of life. My life’s been richer for having Albert around. Can’t imagine what I’d do without him. Especially now, when I feel so responsible for your loss.”
“It’s not your fault, Ella.” The fault was hers. Juliana had failed to protect her own daughter, reneged on the promise she’d made on the day Briana was born to keep her safe always.
“All the same, I feel responsible. And you shouldn’t be alone at a time like this.”
“He’s not that kind of friend.”
“That’s too bad.” Ella set a bowl of steaming vegetable soup and a plate of grilled cheese points on the table at Juliana’s regular place. “Will he be back for dinner?”
I hope not . “I don’t know.”
“Sit and eat.”
Juliana stared at the food and nausea engulfed her. “I’m not hungry.”
“Having you faint with hunger is not going to do Briana any good now, is it? You need to eat to keep up your strength. You didn’t eat dinner last night, and I’ll bet you haven’t had any breakfast either. You want to be able to go wherever you get sent to pick your daughter up.”
Reluctantly, Juliana sat down. “You’re right.”
She forced down a spoonful of soup, tasted none of it. The phone rang and instantly she sprang to her feet, knocking over the portable phone to the floor. Ella, who’d been standing next to the wall phone, answered.
* * *
Amid the ringing of phones, the clatter of computer keys, and waves of voices, Lucas entered the cramped corner of the Criminal Investigation squad room reserved for the special Interstate Personal Property Task Force at the FBI’s Boston field office—an ugly concrete eyesore in Government Center.
“Hey, Vassilovich, R-and-R’s looking for you,” Scott Walters said as he poured a cup of liquid dynamite from the coffee pot. “He’s hot under the collar again. I told you, you’ve got to cross those T s.”
That Rudy Regan, Jr., their Senior Supervisory Resident Agent, was looking for him was not news. Lucas had ignored his BlackBerry’s urgent vibrating twice already and was asking for trouble. “Yeah, T s and I s, they always give me problems. Seen Harris anywhere?”
“Punching data into NaDIS.”
The National DNA Index System. They hadn’t gotten close enough to the Phantom to gather any DNA evidence. “Give a shout if Rules-and-Regs walks in, will ya?”
“Doin’ the old avoidance dance?”
“And I’m not as fancy a stepper as you are.”
Walters howled, and disappeared behind a partition.
“How long have I got?”
“He’s been with the SAC for an hour already.”
Which meant time was short. Special-Agent-in-Charge Don Temple was known for his brevity—something Lucas usually appreciated. He snaked across the maze of cubicles to the far end. As Walters had predicted, he found Jeb Harris hunched over a computer keyboard, inserting data.
Harris was fresh out of the Academy, and still on probation. With his short blond hair, clean cut good looks, starched shirt and polished shoes, he could play poster boy for the model agent recruit of old G-men movies. More often than not, he got stuck in the office doing grunt work. Every street agent had to go through that phase, but Harris seemed to take it harder than most. The way he followed rules and regulations made old Rudy purr with contentment, but Lucas also knew Harris champed at the bit for some real action.
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