Chapter 17
Con felt like garbage when he finally pulled to the OC Field Office.
Like absolute shit. He hadn’t slept at all.
He’d listened to nearly the entire audiobook and with each passing second, he grew more and more enraged.
This fueled his alcohol consumption, and he’d drunk so much bourbon over the course of the night that Con was fairly certain that if he’d been pulled over this morning, he’d have been issued a DUI.
And then Marcus would get his wish, his reason to finally cut Con loose.
Sporting sunglasses and a 5 o’clock shadow nearly as dark as the hair on his head, Con’s mood only worsened when he saw Agent Chris Hale standing outside the building. The only saving grace is that the Owl also looked like shit.
His eyes were red, and the heavy bags beneath them were a dull gray.
Con debated getting back in his car and driving home, calling in sick.
Then he thought of AA and how his $2400 spend yesterday had been an absolute waste of money.
“Agent Striker,” Hale said as he neared.
Con only grunted.
He’d brushed his teeth seven times this morning and yet he still tasted bourbon on his tongue.
“I’m so sorry.”
“For what?” Con managed.
He had to fight the urge to dry heave.
“I’ve been called back to the LAPD. Apparently, they really need my help on the case I was working before. I told them no, but Chief Abner insisted. Didn’t give me much of a choice, really. I hate to do this, to leave you, Agent Striker, but I have to go back to the LAPD.”
Con felt his spirits lift.
“But I’ll be back,” Hale said quickly. “It’s just temporary. I’ll come back and we will find out who is pirating these movies. Oh, speaking of which, I watched all three of the movies again last night. Couldn’t find anything other than that one throw-away line I told you about yesterday.”
Con could feel sweat form on his back. All he wanted to do now was get out from beneath the blazing sun.
“It was a pleasure working with you,” Con lied, extending his hand.
Hale appeared almost dejected as he shook it.
“Thank you for everything. I really appreciate it.”
What a strange comment , Con thought.
The only thing he’d done was his best to get Hale taken off the case.
And he’d succeeded.
If he wasn’t so hungover, Con might have felt bad for what he’d done.
“Good luck,” Con said.
On the third floor, Con saw a woman he didn’t recognize seated in front of an empty desk. She was pretty, with brown hair, smooth features, and plump lips.
It looked as if she was waiting for someone.
Con ignored her and slumped into his chair. He immediately leaned back and interlaced his fingers behind his head.
His eyes slowly closed.
Three days… it was three days until the eleven-year anniversary of the last known citing of Valerie Striker.
Despite his efforts last night, Con had come no closer to figuring out where The Sandman had disposed of her body. Over the years, he’d run the victim locations through every algorithm he could get his hands on and had dug in every spot that they had pumped out.
Nothing.
“Agent Striker, in my office, now .”
Con’s eyes snapped open, and he craned his neck around so violently that he almost fell out of his chair.
Marcus Allen was angry, his lips twisted into a pretzel. Normally, this would bring Con pleasure.
But not today.
The man retreated into his office and Con reluctantly followed. Twice, he had to steady himself with a hand on an empty desk to stop the world from spinning off its axis.
“What did you do, Con?” the man demanded.
Con wasn’t in any frame of mind to figure out how to act so he did what just came naturally to him.
He played dumb.
“What do you mean?” he replied with a shrug. “I saw Agent Hale outside, and he said that he got pulled back to the LAPD?”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“It’s a new record for you, Con. Two days. You worked with Agent Hale for two days and I don’t know how you did it, but you got him taken off the case.”
Technically, it was only a day but who’s counting?
“I didn’t—”
“You did. You did something . You must think I’m a real idiot if you thought I’d believe that the LAPD just spontaneously wanted Agent Hale back two days after releasing him.”
Well, you’re right on both accounts. You are a fucking idiot, and I did orchestrate this.
“I had nothing to do with it,” Con lied.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
This was aggressive even for Marcus, and Con felt his temperature start to rise.
If he hadn’t been so hung over, he might’ve said something that he couldn’t take back.
But that’s what Marcus Allen wanted.
And Con was determined not to give the man the satisfaction. Besides, he still needed the FBI’s resources and his credentials to find Valerie.
“You reek like booze. You’re a mess—you look like you slept in your clothes.”
And my wife left me, don’t forget that. My sister’s gone, too, murdered by a serial killer.
Con bit his tongue.
“You have nothing to say for yourself?”
“I work better alone. And I’m making head roads into the piracy case.”
It was a pathetic reply, but for some reason it made Agent Marcus Allen grin.
“Well, I got news for you, Con.”
Con didn’t like the way this was headed, and he certainly didn’t like that smile.
“We got lucky. You won’t have to work alone for long.”
Con was shaking his head preemptively.
He thought about the young girl that he’d passed, the one he’d never seen before. Despite his sporadic attendance record, Con thought he knew every Agent who worked in the field office. If not by name, at least by sight.
But he didn’t recognize her.
“No, I told you, I don’t need a partner. I’m better—”
“I don’t care what you want or need, Con. It’s not up to you. I am in charge of this office. I found you a new partner.”
“Marcus—”
“And you can’t fuck this one up.” Marcus suddenly lowered his voice. “You know who Brandon Frost is?”
“No idea,” Con replied through clenched teeth.
“Well, he just happens to be a US Congressman. And that girl out there, the one with brown hair, that’s his daughter. Her name is Alex Frost, and she’s your new partner. You fuck this one up, Con, and you’re out. Out for good.”