Chapter 14 Wyatt
Wyatt
The recording ends with the soft click of Nina’s office door closing.
I sit back in my desk chair, earbuds still in, staring at the transcript on my screen. Forty-seven minutes of audio from her session with Flores and Amador. Brilliant, if I’m being honest.
Of course she nailed it.
But that’s not what has my pulse hammering against my throat.
It’s the eleven minutes of audio that came between sessions. The conversation between Nina and someone who was supposed to be a junior CIA analyst assigned to handle Tatiana Petrov.
Except it wasn’t a stranger’s voice on the recording.
It was Chris.
What the fuck.
I yank out my earbuds and flip through my notes, scanning the operational briefing from last week. Asset handler for Tatiana Petrov: Agent R. Nakamura, CIA, junior analyst, three years of field experience.
Not Chris Longo.
But there he was, clear as day, in Nina’s office.
The same Chris who looked like he was coming apart during our last video conference.
Having what the transcript diplomatically categorizes as “pre-session consultation regarding asset psychological profile.” Eleven minutes of conversation that started professional and got quieter.
More personal. The spaces between their words grew heavy with things that couldn’t be said.
Not with us listening.
Nina sounded careful. Controlled. Like she was managing something fragile and dangerous at the same time. There was a moment, just before the recording ended, where her voice went soft in a way that made my chest tight.
She invited him to something. A family gathering. Her voice carried the weight of an olive branch being extended across a minefield.
I force myself to put the earbuds back in and finish the Petrov session. Nina’s voice returns to professional mode—calm, measured, creating space for Tatiana’s guarded responses.
The Petrov evaluation is solid work. Thorough but respectful, creating rapport without pushing too hard. Under normal circumstances, I’d be taking notes on Nina’s technique, cataloging her insights for the operational debrief.
But these aren’t normal circumstances. Because Chris fucking Longo just went off-book to put himself in Nina’s orbit, and I’m three states away pretending I don’t know exactly why he couldn’t stay away.
My phone buzzes against the desk.
SAC DAWSON: Conference room 3 in 10. Secure line with Langley and headquarters.
I close the transcript files and grab my notepad. Whatever this is about, it’s not routine. Dawson doesn’t call meetings after hours unless something’s shifted.
Chris showing up unannounced, taking over Petrov’s handling without authorization—that kind of operational deviation doesn’t go unnoticed. Especially not when it involves a high-value asset and gets picked up on surveillance recordings.
Dawson’s already in the conference room when I arrive, red hair pulled back in a loose French twist, reading something on her tablet. The secure communication equipment is already set up—encrypted video feed, audio scramblers, the works.
“Sit,” she says without looking up. “How’d Palmer sound to you on those recordings?”
“Professional. Competent.” I take the chair across from her. “Better than competent, actually. She got both sessions to open up in ways I didn’t expect.”
“And Longo?”
I pause. “That’s what I was hoping you could explain. Last I checked, Agent Nakamura was handling Petrov.”
Dawson’s mouth tightens slightly. “Last I checked too.” She sets down her tablet. “We’ll be asking about that momentarily.”
The line connects with the familiar electronic tone before I can respond.
“Agent Booth, SAC Dawson.” The first voice is crisp, authoritative. “This is Deputy Director McIntyre, Langley.”
“And Deputy Administrator Walsh, DEA,” adds a second voice. “SAC Dawson has briefed us both on your background with the current LA operation.”
This just got more complicated.
“Yes, sir. Ma’am.”
“We’ve reviewed the preliminary reports from Dr. Palmer’s sessions today,” Walsh continues. “Outstanding work. Both subjects showed remarkable cooperation and psychological openness.”
There’s pride in my chest, warm and immediate.
“Dr. Palmer is exceptionally skilled,” I say.
“Indeed,” Walsh adds. “Which brings us to why we’re calling. The operation is being elevated to priority status. What we hoped could become a sustainable therapeutic pipeline has exceeded our most optimistic projections after just one session.”
Dawson leans forward slightly. “Both Flores and Amador demonstrated willingness to engage authentically. The psychological access Dr. Palmer achieved in less than an hour is unprecedented.”
My stomach drops. “What does priority status mean?”
“Full resource commitment,” Walsh says. “Round-the-clock operational support, expanded surveillance capabilities, dedicated intelligence teams standing by to act on any actionable intel that emerges. We’re converting Dr. Palmer’s position from consultant to embedded specialist.”
Embedded specialist.
The implications make me uncomfortable. Nina went to LA to start over—to put distance between herself and everything that was falling apart. But there’s a difference between running psych evals on a DEA contract and being the centerpiece of a major intelligence operation.
Now they’re putting a target on her back.
“Agent Booth?” Walsh’s voice cuts through my spiral.
I realize I’ve been quiet too long. “Yes, ma’am. Understood.”
Dawson clears her throat. “Before we continue, I have a question about today’s operations. The recordings show Agent Longo overseeing the Petrov session, but our briefing materials indicated Agent Nakamura was assigned as handler. Can you explain that discrepancy?”
The pause that follows is just long enough to be telling.
McIntyre answers first. “Agent Longo has extensive experience with Eastern European criminal networks. When Petrov expressed concerns about working with an unfamiliar handler, we made a tactical adjustment to ensure continued cooperation.”
I catch Dawson’s eye. Her expression doesn’t change, but there’s a tightness around her mouth that says she’s not buying it any more than I am.
“I see,” Dawson says. “And this tactical adjustment was coordinated through proper channels?”
Another pause. “The situation required immediate response. Agent Longo was already familiar with the asset and available for deployment.”
“Of course,” Dawson replies, her tone professionally neutral. “Operational flexibility is important.”
But when she glances at me, her look clearly says that’s bullshit and we both know it.
Walsh moves things along. “Given the expansion and the sensitive nature of ongoing intelligence gathering, we need additional DEA presence on the ground. Someone with institutional knowledge of the players involved.”
My pulse kicks up. “Ma’am?”
“You handled Mason Black during his deep cover work,” Walsh continues. “You’re familiar with the Amador network, the Corluka connections, and you have existing rapport with Dr. Palmer. That continuity is valuable.”
“We’re reassigning you to Los Angeles, effective one week from today,” Walsh adds. “You should have time to make arrangements. This is a long-term placement—pack accordingly.”
The room goes quiet except for the hum of the building’s ventilation system.
They want me in LA. With Nina. For months.
Part of me—the part that’s been hollow since she left—floods with relief so sharp it’s almost painful. But the guilt comes right behind it.
Did I set this in motion when I recommended her for the job?
“Agent Booth, do you have any concerns about this assignment?” Walsh asks.
Yeah. I have concerns.
I’m concerned that my feelings for Nina clouded my judgment when I recommended her—that I sent the woman I love into something dangerous without fully grasping the risks. And now showing up in LA might look like I’m suffocating her when she specifically asked for space.
But I’m also concerned about her being there alone. About her cryptic text that said we needed to talk but not tonight.
Something’s wrong. I felt it in those three sentences.
“No concerns, ma’am. When do you need me there?”
“Next Wednesday,” Walsh says. “We’ll have temporary housing arranged within the week, but you’ll want to secure your personal affairs and hand off any other assignments quickly.”
“Understood.”
“One more thing,” McIntyre adds. “Dr. Palmer doesn’t know about the expansion yet. We’ll be briefing her tomorrow morning. Your presence will help with the transition.”
The call ends.
Dawson and I sit in the silence for a moment, both staring at the now-dark screen.
“Well,” she says finally. “That was interesting.”
“That’s one word for it.”
She closes her tablet with a sharp click. “Agent Longo’s ‘tactical adjustment’ aside, this is a good opportunity for you. LA operations are high-profile. Career-making, if you handle it right.”
I nod, but my mind is already elsewhere. Already cataloging everything I need to tie up within the next few days.
“Wyatt.” Dawson’s voice is softer now. “You’ve been off since Dr. Palmer left.
It isn’t lost on me that you referred her for the DEA contract earlier this year to start with, and then this assignment.
It was clear you two had a relationship then, but the change in you is more recent.
Not unprofessional, just... different. And now you’re getting reassigned to the same city.
” She tilts her head. “That’s either remarkable coincidence or remarkably convenient. ”
Heat creeps up my neck. “I didn’t ask for this assignment.”
“No. But you didn’t object either.”
She’s right. I should have asked for time to consider. Should have raised concerns about objectivity, about professional boundaries. Should have done something other than say yes immediately.
Dawson studies me for a moment, then stands, gathering her things. No lecture. No follow-up. That’s Dawson—she’ll point out the grenade, but she won’t pull the pin for you.
“Ma’am, before you go… I’d like to be the one to tell Nina about the reassignment. She asked for space, and now I’m showing up in her city. She deserves to hear that from me, not during some formal briefing.”
Dawson pauses. “I’ll call McIntyre. You’ll have until noon tomorrow.” She heads for the door, then stops. “Booth—be honest with yourself about why you’re really going to LA.”