against the edge of the sink, furiously banging it and banging it and banging it, until the handle snapped and the head went flying and skittering across the tile floor, and without looking or thinking she flung the handle too, bouncing it off the wall.
She braced herself, putting her hands on the edge of the sink, arms locked straight out, head down, fighting back the feeling that she was just a few heartbeats away from hyperventilation. She took a deep breath and then another, and then another. After a moment she reached for the towel, turned away from the sink, and bent over again and finished drying her hair. With her eyes closed.
She dressed and ate breakfast and waited. She drank too much coffee and read the paper through twice. This was the very thing she wanted to avoid—time on her hands, time that tempted her mind to fall back on itself. She loaded the dishwasherand turned it on, and while it steamed and clacked she cleaned out the refrigerator. That got her past mid-morning.
She checked the telephone to make sure she hadn’t left the receiver crooked in its cradle, but it was all right. Twice she rejected the temptation to call Strey. That would be a mistake.
At noon she decided to make a sandwich, but she had been overzealous in cleaning out the refrigerator, and there wasn’t much there. She made a cheese sandwich: whole wheat, mayonnaise, hastily cut chunks of cheddar and lettuce. It wasn’t much good, but she washed it down with gulps of ginger ale that she had forgotten she had. It was a lousy meal, and she had no appetite, which made it worse. She felt as if she were recovering from a hangover.
At twelve fifty-five the front gate buzzer sounded, and she scrambled to the intercom button.
“Hello?”
“Catherine Cuevas?” It was a woman’s voice.
“Yeah.”
“Special Agent Loder.”
In a few minutes Cate opened the door to a leggy, dark-haired woman a few years older than herself, smiling a crooked smile and holding up her FBI badge with her left hand to verify her identity. She stuck out her right hand. “Ann,” she said.
“It’s good to meet you,” Cate said, shaking hands. “Just let me grab my purse.”
“Uh …”Loder stepped forward hesitantly. “I think it’d be best if you packed some things. You know, for a few days—a week, maybe a week.”
Cate looked at her.
“Sorry, there was really no way to let you know this ahead of time.”
Cate caught herself. “Oh, no, it’s okay. Just regular … clothes?”
“Yeah, sure.” Loder shrugged. “Whatever you’d wear to the office.” She smiled her crooked smile, and this time Cate saw her beautiful straight teeth.
“Okay,” Cate said. She was determined not to show her surprise, determined to be resilient. “Give me a few minutes,” and she turned and headed for her bedroom.
Loder followed her. “Catherine. They call you Catherine?”
“Cate.”
“This is the way it is, Gate, with these undercover deals,” Loder said, as if they were talking about shopping. She was looking around. “And with the special ops stuff, too. Most of the time they don’t tell you anything until the last minute. You just gotta say ‘whoa’ and hang on to your socks. And then some of these guys are need-to-know freaks. They like to keep you in the dark as much as possible, as long as possible. It’s a power thing.”
Cate dragged a suitcase out of her closet and began pulling clothes off the hangers. Her mind was only half on the task, but she managed to remember to match colors.
“But this guy we’re working with is a great guy,” Loder continued. “You’ll like him. I’ve met him once before. He doesn’t play those kinds of games, which takes a load off your mind. You don’t always have to be wondering and worrying about hidden agendas.”
“Can you tell me what this is all about?” Cate asked, grabbing shoes from the bottom of the closet.
“Not my place, Cate,” Loder said, shaking her head matter-of-factly,
She braced herself, putting her hands on the edge of the sink, arms locked straight out, head down, fighting back the feeling that she was just a few heartbeats away from hyperventilation. She took a deep breath and then another, and then another. After a moment she reached for the towel, turned away from the sink, and bent over again and finished drying her hair. With her eyes closed.
She dressed and ate breakfast and waited. She drank too much coffee and read the paper through twice. This was the very thing she wanted to avoid—time on her hands, time that tempted her mind to fall back on itself. She loaded the dishwasherand turned it on, and while it steamed and clacked she cleaned out the refrigerator. That got her past mid-morning.
She checked the telephone to make sure she hadn’t left the receiver crooked in its cradle, but it was all right. Twice she rejected the temptation to call Strey. That would be a mistake.
At noon she decided to make a sandwich, but she had been overzealous in cleaning out the refrigerator, and there wasn’t much there. She made a cheese sandwich: whole wheat, mayonnaise, hastily cut chunks of cheddar and lettuce. It wasn’t much good, but she washed it down with gulps of ginger ale that she had forgotten she had. It was a lousy meal, and she had no appetite, which made it worse. She felt as if she were recovering from a hangover.
At twelve fifty-five the front gate buzzer sounded, and she scrambled to the intercom button.
“Hello?”
“Catherine Cuevas?” It was a woman’s voice.
“Yeah.”
“Special Agent Loder.”
In a few minutes Cate opened the door to a leggy, dark-haired woman a few years older than herself, smiling a crooked smile and holding up her FBI badge with her left hand to verify her identity. She stuck out her right hand. “Ann,” she said.
“It’s good to meet you,” Cate said, shaking hands. “Just let me grab my purse.”
“Uh …”Loder stepped forward hesitantly. “I think it’d be best if you packed some things. You know, for a few days—a week, maybe a week.”
Cate looked at her.
“Sorry, there was really no way to let you know this ahead of time.”
Cate caught herself. “Oh, no, it’s okay. Just regular … clothes?”
“Yeah, sure.” Loder shrugged. “Whatever you’d wear to the office.” She smiled her crooked smile, and this time Cate saw her beautiful straight teeth.
“Okay,” Cate said. She was determined not to show her surprise, determined to be resilient. “Give me a few minutes,” and she turned and headed for her bedroom.
Loder followed her. “Catherine. They call you Catherine?”
“Cate.”
“This is the way it is, Gate, with these undercover deals,” Loder said, as if they were talking about shopping. She was looking around. “And with the special ops stuff, too. Most of the time they don’t tell you anything until the last minute. You just gotta say ‘whoa’ and hang on to your socks. And then some of these guys are need-to-know freaks. They like to keep you in the dark as much as possible, as long as possible. It’s a power thing.”
Cate dragged a suitcase out of her closet and began pulling clothes off the hangers. Her mind was only half on the task, but she managed to remember to match colors.
“But this guy we’re working with is a great guy,” Loder continued. “You’ll like him. I’ve met him once before. He doesn’t play those kinds of games, which takes a load off your mind. You don’t always have to be wondering and worrying about hidden agendas.”
“Can you tell me what this is all about?” Cate asked, grabbing shoes from the bottom of the closet.
“Not my place, Cate,” Loder said, shaking her head matter-of-factly,
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