Chapter 11 #2
She waved him inside, and as he stepped into the room, he found her home to be small but also colorful.
Her tough federal agent exterior was missing in a living room filled with a soft, puffy sky-blue couch and matching armchair, with a colorful rug, and walls covered with art and pictures of New York.
There was a small galley kitchen off to the side of the living room, and through an open doorway, he could see a bedroom and bath.
"Nice," he said.
"Messy," she countered as she moved some books off the armchair.
"It looks like you're a reader."
She nodded. "Always."
He picked up the top book from the stack she'd just moved. "Suspense? You don't get enough of that on the job?"
She shrugged. "I read everything."
He could see that as he moved through the stack. Everything included romance, a historical novel, and a biography on Lyndon Johnson that looked to be over a thousand pages. "Wow, this one would make a great paperweight."
"Why are you here?" she asked. "Do you have new information? Did you talk to Dominic?"
"I did. Do you have anything to drink?"
"Uh, water, juice, and maybe a beer."
"Really? I'll take a beer. I hadn't figured you for a beer drinker."
"One of my cousins stayed with me for a few days last week, and he brought the beer," she said as she moved into the kitchen.
He turned toward a bookshelf, filled with books, but also packed with framed family photos on top.
He picked up the photo of a man in FDNY gear, standing in front of a fire truck with a little girl by his side.
"This must be you and your dad," he said as she handed him a beer bottle.
"You have his eyes and the same determined jaw. "
"That's him," she said. "I was six. The photo was taken a few months before he died. The last one I have of us together."
"Sorry again. I didn't mean to make you sad." He could see the sudden gleam of pain in her eyes, and he didn't like that he'd put it there.
"You didn't. It's just been a long day, and explosions give me a little PTSD."
"You're in the wrong business, Kara."
"That's what my mother says. She doesn't understand why I couldn't be a teacher like her, or a doctor like my brother, or a fashion designer like my cousin Sylvie, really anything else but law enforcement or the fire department."
"But you had other ideas."
"I think growing up in the shadow of that horrible attack made me want to protect my family, my city, even my country. It was a thought that took hold when I was really young. It never let go of me. And it's not always explosions and fire. In fact, it's mostly a lot of other stuff."
"But not lately."
"Not lately," she agreed.
He looked back at the next photo, which was a family picture of her mom, dad, and brother around the same time period.
The next one was at her high school graduation with her mother and brother.
And then there were family photos of all the aunts and uncles and cousins.
He felt an odd sense of yearning for that kind of big family experience, but his very small family had gotten even smaller after his mother died, and now there was just him and his dad, and they barely saw each other.
"I love these photos. Everyone is so happy. "
"We have a good time together. So, tell me what you found out. I could really use some good news now that the license plate had led us to another dead end."
He wasn't entirely surprised. "I had a feeling the car wasn't going to lead us to Cal. He has probably already dumped it and moved on to another vehicle. What did you do after I left?"
"I went to the hospital and talked to Whitney Holden again.
Her boss, James Cooper, passed away at the hospital, and she was distraught.
She didn't want to talk to me again and bailed as fast as she could.
I'll follow up with her tomorrow, and I'll talk to her coworkers, see what else I can find out.
" She took a sip of her beer. "There are a lot of little threads that could lead somewhere or nowhere.
It's possible Whitney is just reacting from shock and fear of almost being blown up, or she knew to get out of that building early. Tell me what Dominic said."
"Dominic doesn't own Wexler Properties or that building, but he is friends with Martin Wexler, and he has worked with James Cooper on multiple occasions.
In fact, James has been the inspector on several of Dominic's projects in the city in the last five years.
He's definitely a link between Samantha and James, but I don't see why anyone would blow up two buildings to get to those two in order to get to him. "
"I don't either," she said, disappointment running across her face.
"It doesn't make sense. We're missing something.
" She stood up and paced back and forth in front of the window.
"And Dominic is a common denominator, but how does he really play into this?
" She paused, and he could see the new idea jumping into her gaze.
"He's not responsible for the bombings," he said.
"He could be. Maybe Samantha wasn't just his girlfriend; she was investigating him, and he needed to take her out, but not in a way that would make him a suspect."
"That's too far out there."
"And what if James Cooper was a thorn in his side? What if they weren't friendly? What if Cooper was standing in Dominic's way of getting a building approved? Maybe he was also an enemy to Dominic's ambition."
"You're painting a picture, but I don't think it's the right picture."
"You don't know that it's wrong," she argued.
"I know you want all this to make sense.
But think about what we've seen. If Dominic wanted to take these two people out, is this how he would do it?
He can afford to buy whatever he wants, and I've seen no evidence of him being violent or choosing a violent means to an end.
I'm not saying he's never crossed a line.
But he uses money, not bombs, to get what he wants. "
"Money could buy a bomb maker."
"Too public," he said. "Not Dominic's style."
She sat back down. "Are you basing that on now, or on the guy you first met in school?"
"Perhaps both."
"What was Dominic like when he was a teenager?"
"He was as confident and arrogant as he is now, but he was also fun, friendly, someone who had a lot of big ideas and carried many people in his wake. Because being around him felt like being part of something really cool."
She gave him an interested look. "So, you wanted to be cool back then?"
He smiled. "Doesn't every teenager want to be part of the in-group?"
"Maybe. But you don't seem like someone who is concerned about peer pressure or being liked. Unless you changed…"
"I had to change schools a lot. Every time my mom got a new post, I had to start over, and it was never easy.
That school, filled with all those rich kids, was definitely one of the harder groups to break into.
But when Dominic befriended me, my life got easier.
And I was always grateful to him for that.
But I could see through him better than others could.
I could see the vulnerability, the insecurity. "
"Where did that come from?"
"His father. He was hard on Dominic, always disappointed in him. Whatever Dominic did wasn't good enough. That attitude drove Dominic to higher heights than he would have reached if he hadn't had a father like that. Dominic has always had something to prove to his father."
"Is his father still alive?"
"Yes. He lives in London, and even with all of Dominic's success, the man still asks him when he's going to do more for the world and not just for himself."
"Is that why he's investing so much in Tajikistan and other countries?"
"I think so. And it's also why he wants the press to cover his philanthropy. He wants to make sure his father knows without having to tell him."
"So odd that Dominic would still care so much about impressing his dad."
"His father is a narcissist. He's never going to be impressed by his son. He's never going to give Dominic the validation he craves. But even if Dominic logically knows that he can't stop trying."
"I guess I can understand that. The need to be seen by the people you love can be powerful." She paused. "What about you? Did your parents push you?"
"No. My parents were very involved in their own careers, not that they didn't care about me, but they weren't all that concerned with how I was doing in school or what I wanted to be when I grew up. They just told me I should find my passion and follow it."
"But you didn't start at the CIA. You worked as a journalist, right?"
He smiled. "I almost forgot you looked me up."
"Why did you want to be a reporter? And why did you stop wanting to be that?"
"I'd been traveling the world my entire life; I figured I'd just keep going, be a foreign correspondent. I had some language skills, and I couldn't see myself behind a desk working a nine-to-five job, so that's where I started."
"And the CIA recruited you? Or…was the reporting job always just a cover?"
He smiled. "It was an actual job that I did for almost two years.
But I got tired of showing up after the damage had been done.
Filming the aftermath, interviewing the survivors, documenting the destruction.
" He picked up his beer and took a swig.
"One day, a guy approached me in Istanbul.
Said he worked for the CIA, that they could use someone with my access and my cover.
Someone who spoke the languages, understood the cultures, and had the State Department connections.
It felt like a chance to be more proactive, so I took it.
Occasionally, I still used the cover, but I had other covers as well. "
"And you liked it for a while?"
"Almost ten years," he said.
"And you got to see a lot of the world."
"Too much of some places," he said, a little darkness leeching into his voice.
She immediately frowned. "Like…"
"I think we've had enough honest talk for a while. I'm hungry. Do you want to order a pizza?"
She thought about that for a moment. "You could just go home and eat."
"I have nothing to eat at my apartment."
"You live above a restaurant."
"And I need a change from dumplings. You don't feel like cooking, do you? And I suspect you don't want to go out, so let me buy you a pizza."
"Only if we can keep talking about Dominic. I can't just do nothing the rest of the evening."
"Then let's work on the case together," he said. "Because I'd like to find some answers, too, so I can get back to my real job." Pulling out his phone, he pulled up a food app. "What do you like on your pizza?"
"Everything," she said.
"Are you sure, because I might take you seriously. And I haven't had the greatest experience with ordering when a woman says she doesn't care."
She laughed. "Okay, no pineapple or anchovies. Anything else is fair game."
"Great. I love specifics. Makes it so much easier." He ordered an extra-large pizza and then said, "It should be here in about twenty minutes."
"Perfect. I'm getting hungry. It's been a long time since that Caesar salad.
The days feel like they're flying by, but we're not getting a lot done.
" She paused, confusion in her gaze. "I have to say, today's explosion was shocking.
I really thought the café bombing was a one-off, that it was about taking out Samantha Barkley. But it wasn't."
"No, it wasn't."
"I'm tired, but I also feel wired, you know?"
"I know. It's part of the job," he said with complete understanding.
"What was it like being a secret agent?"
He smiled at her words. "It was exciting."
"Really? I thought you were going to lie and say it wasn't at all interesting."
"Are you kidding? I was living a hundred different lives all over the world."
"That sounds both fun and exhausting. Maybe even a little lonely," she ventured, giving him a questioning look.
"Sometimes. There were jobs when there was a lot of waiting around, sitting in a hotel room until a meeting could get set up, but I always had a mission. And that focus made the waiting more tolerable, the isolation more acceptable. I'm sure you can relate."
"In the NYPD, I always had a partner, and most of them were great.
They became close friends. The FBI has been harder to find that kind of connection, but I went to Quantico and then to 26 Fed and now to a new team, so I haven't been anywhere long enough to forge a close relationship.
And to be honest, I'm also more wary after what happened to me.
I don't trust as easily as I used to. Maybe that's a good thing. "
"Probably," he agreed. "Trust can be used as a weapon."
"Sometimes you say very dark things."
He tipped his head in acknowledgment. "Sometimes I feel very dark things."
Her expression grew more serious. "You have a wound, something that hurts, and I'm guessing it's not just about the criminal who was turned into an asset. Something else happened, something more personal."
His gut tightened with each word as she came dangerously close to a truth he didn't want to talk about. His phone dinged, and he took a grateful breath. "The pizza is almost here. I'll go get it."
"Saved by the pizza," she said dryly as he stood up. "But I don't think I'm wrong."
"I didn't say you were."
"You didn't say anything."
"We have enough to talk about in the present; we don't need to go into the past." He headed out the door and down the hall and opened the front door just as the delivery guy walked up the stairs.
He took it inside and found Kara pulling out plates and napkins, and he was relieved to be done with a conversation that had gotten far deeper than he'd wanted it to.