29. Saying Goodbye
29
SAYING GOODBYE
Francesca - Five Weeks Later
W ith a calming breath, she raised her hand to knock.
“Enter.”
Francesca opened the door to the special agent in charge’s office in Dallas, her heart hammering in her chest. A man in a black suit stood behind the desk, a scowl on his face and an empty, open drawer to his right. There was a sea of items scattered across the desktop that must have been in the drawer. The walls had already been stripped bare of all personal items, and the whiteboard on the wall had been erased.
He looked like every television show’s depiction of an FBI agent—dark hair closely cut and styled, crisp white shirt, perfectly knotted tie. When he looked up from the folder he was flipping through, a pair of chocolate-brown eyes met hers. “Special Agent McCabe.”
“Chief Hammerling.”
He chuffed and waved his hand. “I thought you were on leave for two more weeks?”
“I am, technically.”
“My apologies for the Bermuda Rectangle in front of you.” He gestured to the empty chair in front of the desk. “Have a seat.”
“Thanks. I’m not going to be here that long.”
He squinted at her. “Really? Here I was hoping I could hand over the cleaning of your new office to you.”
For just a moment, Francesca’s heart stuttered. He was offering her a job? It would be quite the promotion, skipping several levels. She didn’t even know that was possible.
Then she remembered why she’d come to see him first thing this morning.
“I’m flattered, sir, but I’m not really an office person. I’ve spent too long on the streets and traveling city to city during my career.”
His smile was set to charming. “I would think that makes it an excellent choice for you, then. You’ve been in Texas the longest of all your assignments, and I’ve heard you’ve become involved with someone in San Antonio. Time to get inside and stay put.”
“I’m not really leadership material. Besides that, I doubt I would be very comfortable in a windowless cube.”
He looked around. “It is rather dismal, isn’t it?” His gaze returned to her, taking in the Navy sweatshirt and jeans. “I take it you’re not here to ask me for a transfer to San Antonio or a raise either.”
She smiled and shook her head. “Just came to give you these.”
She reached into the inner pocket of her jean jacket, withdrew an envelope, and laid it on his desk. She followed that by unclipping her badge from her waistband and putting it on top of a case, placing both the badge and the gun on top of the envelope.
His eyes considered the items sitting in the chaos before raising them to study her again. “I can’t change your mind? Even if I knock out the walls and make them glass walls?”
She chuckled. “Fishbowl isn’t really my style either.”
“No, I can guess it isn’t.” It seemed like his eyes softened slightly. “Your last name may be McCabe, but you’re not one of them.”
Inside, she was beaming proudly. On the outside, she wiped her face clean of all emotions. “With all due respect, I’m more of a McCabe than anyone would suspect. What I’m not is Oisin McCabe’s dutiful daughter.”
She watched his face process her comment. She knew that he understood there was more behind the comment than the obvious words, but what exactly was unclear.
He cleared his throat. “Good luck to you, McCabe.” He held out his hand. “Thank you for your service to the bureau.”
Francesca said nothing. After dropping the man’s hand, she turned, opened the door, passed through it, and closed the door behind her. At that moment, a shadowy portion of herself seemed to separate from her body and go toward her old desk. Instead of her physical person making that same turn to walk down the hall, she slid her sunglasses over her eyes and exited the Dallas FBI office. She got into her car and did not look back. She only looked forward.