Chapter 22 #2
Warren’s expression remained almost offensively patient. “You followed a journalist who had explicitly excluded you from her plans, after your supervisor told you not to conduct unilateral surveillance, with federal personnel you assembled without an approved operational plan.”
“When you say it like that—” I grimaced as though finding his tone more than his words distasteful.
“How would you like me to say it?”
I didn't answer.
Warren leaned forward. “Because that's how OPR is going to say it.”
I looked toward the laptop. Martin didn't contradict him. “You referred this?”
“I didn't have to,” Warren said. “Half the fucking building witnessed what happened.”
My molars pressed together.
“CPD has already filed concerns about information compartmentalization. Their Major Crimes commander wants an explanation for why one of his detectives learned about a second toxicology order while you questioned a witness.”
“She isn't just a witness.”
Silence.
Neither Warren nor Martin moved. I replayed my words. Too late. I should have reserved that comment. My lack of sleep was playing havoc with my judgment.
Warren’s voice grew very quiet. “What is she?”
I forced myself not to look away. “A journalist embedded in the investigation through direct contact with the offender.”
“Embedded?” Martin raised both eyebrows, The embedded made it sound like it was a choice on all our parts.
Fine. “Entangled.”
“Interesting choice.” Warren leaned back in his chair again. Nothing friendly inhabited his gaze as he studied me.
“It’s an accurate choice.”
“Is it?” Martin challenged.
“Yes.” I didn’t even spare the man on the laptop screen a glance as Warren rose.
He wasn't a particularly tall man, but he had the irritating ability to occupy more room when he wanted to. “From where I'm standing, McBryan isn't the person whose objectivity I'm worried about.”
Anger flashed hot beneath my ribs. It was a burst of red fury that threatened to burn like acid through my guts. I controlled my reactions to it.
Barely.
“You think I'm compromised,” I said, remembering—barely—to tack on the “sir” at the end.
“I know you're too personally involved,” Warren said.
“I’m involved with every case.” It was what made me good at my job.
“You’re too involved with her.”
I laughed once. It was the wrong response, but at the same time I found it laughingly insulting to be accused of such.
Warren’s expression hardened. “You had a sexual indiscretion and developed a relationship with a journalist who is now in direct communication with the subject of a federal homicide investigation.”
I said nothing, just met him stare for stare. On the screen, Martin’s eyebrows lifted. I should have chosen a different word, but here we were.
“A sexual indiscretion I reported at the time. I hid nothing.”
Warren suddenly looked tired. “You understand that doesn't help.”
“It wasn't a relationship,” I reminded him.
“That helps even less.”
“It happened before she became a direct contact.”
“Elliot.” Warren’s tone said everything there. Nothing I was telling him was improving the situation. Clarifications only made it worse.
Somewhere beneath the anger, a colder awareness began taking shape. They wanted absolute specifics and I hated that word now. McBryan threw it at me, because Simon had given it to her.
The name crawled through my thoughts.
Not Auditor. Not unsub. Simon.
He had given her a name.
Then she had protected it before she let it slip.
Or had she?
I stared at the gray Chicago morning beyond the window. Mallory didn't make many accidental disclosures. Sure, she made mistakes. Everyone did.
But when she had said Simon in that room—She had immediately shut down.
Then she asked for counsel and made it look accidental.
My stomach tightened. Had it been?
“Elliot.”
I caught sight of Warren’s faint reflection in the glass.
“What?”
“Where did you just go?” Concern etched the lines under the words.
“Nowhere.”
“Bullshit.”
I almost smiled. Mallory would have appreciated that. The thought pissed me off more.
“You haven’t left me much choice.” Warren exhaled. “I'm placing you on administrative leave pending review.”
“No.”
His eyebrows rose. “No?” he repeated.
“You need me.”
“The task force existed before you.”
I shrugged. Existing didn’t make it competent or effective. “The task force didn't understand him before me.”
“And you do?” Warren challenged me, but whether because he truly didn’t believe me or he wanted to incite a reaction—I didn’t know and I didn’t care.
“Yes.” I didn’t even hesitate. We were discussing my job. The job where I studied patterns, behavior, escalation, and need.
What none of them seemed to grasp was the unsub had refined his system, a system Mallory discovered because she was too clever by half. That let the unsub notice her, and when that happened, the real danger began.
That continued to be the real danger.
It wasn’t Carter or me or even Mallory a this point. It was all the unsub.
“He's conditioning her.”
Warren’s expression closed. “Don't.”
I pivoted to face him. “You saw the feed.”
“I saw a fabricated feed.”
I dismissed his excuse. “Built to demonstrate exactly what he's doing.”
“Or,” he countered. “Perhaps built to make you believe that's what he's doing.”
“He wants her isolated from law enforcement.” They couldn’t argue that.
“She's not isolated.” Martin chimed in from the laptop.
I snorted. “She doesn't trust us.”
“Correction,” Warren said in a far cooler tone. “She doesn't trust you.” His voice didn’t soften once as he continued, “She cooperated with Ortiz. She cooperated with Ruiz. She surrendered physical evidence. She retained counsel. She stayed with Carter.”
“Carter isn't law enforcement.”
“No,” Martin said and this time, I swore there was a hint of amusement in his voice. “But he's apparently someone she trusts.”
The anger returned, swift and ugly. I stepped toward the desk. “You think that makes her safe?”
“I think you're proving my point,” Warren informed me.
Goddammit. They were right about one thing. I was angry. It didn’t make me wrong, but it wasn’t helping me win this argument with the paper pushers.
“He doesn't want her dead,” I warned them.
Martin shifted on the screen. “You've said that before.”
“Because he doesn't.” I did not tack the words “idiot” or “moron” on to the end of the statement.
“Then what does he want?” Martin challenged me.
I paused before opening my mouth. There were several answers to that question. The unsub wanted recognition, engagement, and validation. More, he wanted an audience capable of understanding him.
In this case, he specifically—fucking word—wanted Mallory as his audience. All of that was accurate, and they wanted to hear none of it. Because while I was right, those answers justified their suspension of me.
When I continued to say nothing, it was Warren who said, “That is why you’re done.”
“Understood.” I slid my hands into my pockets and forced my shoulders to relax. “As long as you understand that you’re taking the only profiler who understands his fixation off the case.”
“Correction,” Warren told me as he straightened the folders in front of him before sliding my credentials and my gun away. “I'm taking the profiler off the case who's developed one of his own.”
For one second, I wanted to hit him. I contemplated it. In my mind, it played out cleanly as my fist plowed into the faint smirk he wore and dislocated his jaw.
It was a simple albeit inelegant response that I craved. At the same time, I refused to act on that impulse. Rather than argue or give in, I withdrew another step.
“Go home,” Warren told me. “There will be a plane ticket waiting for you at O’Hare.”
“I can still consult.” It was a half-assed offer at this point. I had no intentions of walking away or consulting for this pompous windbag.
“No.” He didn’t even look at me. “You will also have no contact with McBryan or Carter.”
Not reacting cost me a great deal of energy.
“You will have no access to case systems. No contact with the unsub if he reaches out.”
“So—if he reaches out, you want me to ignore him?” I didn’t bother to disguise my disdain at that idea.
“I want you to notify me.” The dry delivery told me just how idiotic he thought I was being. Well at least we shared similar opinions of each other.
“You think he's going to call the field office?”
“I think if he contacts you, you don't engage.” He said the last with a snap, like done deal. The permanent period at the end of my involvement.