Chapter 1
I look at the time on my phone. I need to be out the door, like now.
“Atta, what’s the punishment for tardiness at the Bureau? Will they dock your pay? Make you run laps?”
My sweet, naive-when-it-comes-to-anything-FBI-related mother probes me from the other line. She calls me on her morning commute to work, not missing a call since moving an hour away to Fort Collins. It’s usually a quick call, but now that she’s caught on to the fact that I haven’t even made it out the front door yet, I get to entertain her budding questions. It’s like I’m back in high school and she’s still the overbearing mother-figure who will take away my Friday night if I do wrong, yet force me to watch a movie with her snuggled up on the living room couch—back then, a punishment I enjoyed.
“I won’t be late. I missed my first alarm but I have dry shampoo,” I say it like it’s the solution to all of life’s minor problems. Luckily, I make do with my hair resting in a low ponytail, putting effort into a sleek part down the middle and though only a few long strands have escaped, my highlights frame my face like wild vines—the only sign that I didn’t take the necessary time this morning to wash or properly tame my hair.
“You never miss alarms. Were you up late last night? Won’t you smell?” She laughs, content with her jab. Her soul demanded to keep me humble on many occasions—this morning being no exception.
“I’m not gross,” I say flatly, doing a quick smell check at which I promptly pop open a bottle of sweet smelling lavender lotion. I rub a few circles on my arms. “I stayed at Ben’s apartment until late last night.” When I say it I try to leave out any romantic connotation in my tone to avoid misinterpretation. If anyone was going to misconstrue my relationship with Ben it was Mom, and I didn’t need to find my way down that rabbit hole this morning. The only rabbit passageway vital to this particular moment is the one White Rabbit utilizes when he’s running around Wonderland yelling “I’m late, I’m late, for a very important date!” Hastily, I toss the lotion bottle on the couch and jog on over to my kitchen in search of breakfast.
“You were out late with Ben last night?” Mom replies. She asks the question with an expectant tone. A tone that bleeds a bit too hopeful.
It’s not common for me to stay out late with Ben but last night he convinced our game night group—Ben and I’s quick-witted jiu-jitsu buddies, Jessica and Cam, plus a Bureau IT guy Ben’s known forever—to start a game of Risk after Settlers of Catan wrapped up in record breaking time—like groundbreakingly fast. Ben initiated the game of Risk, setting out the board pieces across the thick slab of wood—his modern block coffee table the size of a small iceberg—while the rest of us googled ‘record time for playing a game of Catan’ to no avail.
“Are we all in this round? This game can play six. If you don’t want to play you’ll want to watch because one of us is going to destroy Atta. She’s currently undefeated,” Ben said, riling up everyone in the room, including Jessica’s friend—our blonde vixen of a guest. “Jessica, Cam, Adam, put the pressure on her. Atta said you both sucked during last week’s game so use that as the fuel for your fire,” he’d continued, proving to me once again, that his loyalty was only legitimate outside the domain of game night territory. With my mouth agape at his audacious lies and a backtrack of our friends parrying laughter, he’d comfortably sown a competitive desire in everyone’s hearts for the rest of the night.
Despite Ben’s attempt to start our game with a group of people holding pitchforks at my throat, I still offered my loyalty to him after walking back into the room to find him staring at the wall with absent-minded eyes, his top collar unbuttoned enough for my eyes to sample a smidgen of his firm, dark upper chest.
He perked up when I entered the room—party snack tray in hand. And I went along with it when his eyes, now dark as oil, leaked his ill-natured plan to boot Jessica’s guest—the aggressive blonde sitting on the couch next to him—to the curb.
Whether it was the sight of food in my possession or the fact that he found me the solution to his current predicament, he began waving me down, the way an officer would go about directing traffic. Then he’d grabbed my waist and swapped me with the woman seated next to him, rearranging the room as if he were parking cars.
“Okay let’s get started,” he’d said with a sigh of relief. He began chewing a snack from my tray and smiled pleasantly at the woman so as not to offend her after parking her next to Alex on the opposite side of the table.
The truth is, Ben leaving a comfortable distance in the couch space between us until it was time to turn in at 2:00 a.m., was proof that although he’d prefer to sit by me, that woman and I were one and the same. Ben wasn't interested in either of us.
Therefore, Mom thinking our relationship was anything more than brotherly—was merely speculative. The sequence of words ‘I stayed with Ben until 2:00 a.m.’ didn’t mean anything. Especially not to him.
Her optimism came from my long history with Ben. Ben was my childhood best friend Diana’s brother. But he was also Agent Brown, the man I saw daily working at the Bureau, who just last week opened up Pandora's box by running over and making absolutely permanent the death of an already mutilated body, giving potential motivation to my case. It was one of those situations I could’ve jointly scolded and thanked him for.
More often than not, I refer to Ben as my partner agent since we basically work around the clock together, assigned to the same criminal and cyber department and all. Our desks lie just a few yards away. It’s safe to say I spend a lot more time with him than I have with his sister since I started this job.
“You know we were just out late for our weekly game night…What’s with the expectant tone? We both know Ben’s not interested in me that way. You know, ‘I’m just his little sister’s best friend,’” I quote the words as if he’s saying them himself. Then I close the kitchen cupboard void of breakfast bars just to move on to the next cupboard with a sigh.
“And yet by the sound of that sigh, you still have a crush on him,” she chuckles again. She’s not wrong. Unfortunately for me, the crush is still very much there. “You’ve got your weekly game night but you don’t have any game.”
I glance out the kitchen window at the early morning tangerine sky and smile with my tongue touching my cheek. She would say something like that.
“Yes, that’s correct. I have no game,” I laugh.
“Isn’t your high school class reunion this weekend? Maybe you can meet someone there. Diana, Tyler, and Evan should be there right?” she says, momentarily giving up on Ben as the subject of matchmaking potential.
As I approach my thirtieth birthday, my love life has become a regular topic of conversation for Mom. As if she’s actively hoping for me to find someone, so that I can experience the same kind of love she had in those few short years with my father—cut short due to his early death. All it took for her to find him was a trip to Spain, but I don’t have enough time off to look for love in another country, let alone outside of the office.
“Diana will be there but I haven’t heard from those other two in years. Who meets the love of their life at a class reunion. I mean, seriously?”
“You never know.” Her tone remains hopeful.
“I’m pretty sure Ben was the best thing that came out of Golden High.” I rummage through another cupboard, hoping for a protein shake. “And wouldn’t I have picked up on it back then, if the love of my life was waiting for me in the Class of 2011?”
“Well then, maybe you need to get Ben’s attention another way. What about longer eye contact and a top that shows off your cute figure? You’re always wearing those white-collared, button-down work shirts,” says the woman who's always trying to dress me.
Settling, I snatch a Pop-Tart from a box in the back of the cupboard. I’m not sure how close they are to the expiration date since I don’t remember buying them.
“I dress like that because I’m always working and it’s my job to investigate hard criminal threats. Not to look cute.”
“Yeah, well what about game night?”
"The button-downs are comfortable,” I say defensively. This time my mother chuckles. I set the phone down on the coffee table, missing whatever she says after criticizing my shirt choices. I don’t mind putting the distance between me and her on the phone as I grab my camel-colored coat hanging on the door hook and throw it over my shoulders all while naturally humming my favorite tune—a habit I’d had for years.
“I hope you're putting on the coat I gave you. At least that’s charming,” Mom says when I pick up the phone again.
I pause for a second. “Wait, how’d you know I put on my coat? Have I been on video chat this whole time?”
“You’re humming that Chris Farley song. You always hum that when you're putting on your coat.” She’s right. It’s so much of a habit, I forget I do it at this point. When I’m really feeling myself I even add a sway, arms stretched out, the exact same way Chris Farley does in Tommy Boy .
“That’s because ‘Fat Guy in a Little Coat’ is a classic.”
Mom’s sigh is blatantly obvious over the phone. “How many Chris Farley quotes did you do last night at game night?”
“A few,” I say, grabbing my planner off of the coffee table.
“And you still think a skinny Spanish girl quoting fat white guy jokes works?”
“Yup,” I say.
“Oh, Atta.” Mom chuckles. “Don’t ever change. Okay?”
“No worries there, Mom,” I say, grabbing my keys off of the entryway table.
“Oh, can you call your grandpa and make sure he’s still on for dinner next week?”
“Yeah. I’ll check in with Pops,” I quickly scribble a note in my planner. Check-in with Pops on today’s bottom half of the square. “I’m heading out now. Gotta go, Mom,” I say rushing out the door.
“Oh Atta, before you go, remember even if you don’t have Ben’s love or any man’s love for that matter, you’ll always have my love.” And with that verbal love-pat, she hangs up, her featured contact information dissolving the way food coloring diffuses in a tornado of water.
First thing at the office, I am greeted by Ben, the human equivalent of an artillery vehicle. Loyal. Deadly. Cooks appetizers well. He’s still walking around the office like the responsible big brother he thinks he is, acting as if he’d done me a favor by uncovering a dead body blasting through my crime scene, though we all know it was unintentional. I pass up the chance to call him out on it, though if I wanted to I could bend his iron facade with a pinch at his waist.
My partner agent over the last five years and the one I can thank for the “Agent Suarez” nameplate that sits atop my office desk. He hands me a green-lidded, paper cup punctured with a twig-sized straw and tells me to meet him in the conference room for a morning debrief. His slight smile showing off his full wide lips. Partner or caretaker? Sometimes it was hard to tell.
I slap a baseball cap, FBI standard, over my unwashed hair and follow after Ben, who’s just passed through the conference room doors. When I enter, I find him leaning over a chair, his eyes are laser beams of concern aiming to fry the screen in front of him. His arms tense like my mood on a ruined day, and I wonder if it was possible for them to collapse the same way legs do when they lock up for too long.
“Atta, come here for a sec,” he says, releasing his arms from the office chairs. For the second day in a row I admire his noticeably shorter trimmed crew cut which somehow makes him look even more like a young Denzel Washington than I previously thought. My pulse races. The resemblance is quite comparable.
“Sarah called into the office this morning.” Ben says.
“Sarah?” I ask, not sure who Ben is talking about.
“Sarah Carter rang today,” Ben says. “You know, the part-time comedian who nearly sat on me after trying to hit on me with a Koala joke last night?”
I chuckle at the memory of Ben playing a game of human dodgeball all evening. I remember now. He’d strategically made that initial swap thanks to my generous service. But really, Sarah performed all on her own. Forget multiple players and hard rubber balls, she proved to be a force, throwing herself at him.
“Oh stop with the laughs. I know you enjoy watching me suffer, but this is a serious matter. Wipe that smile off your face.” He smiles through the words, letting me know he kind of likes it.
I deadpan. Hinting mockery was my preferred response in all Ben-related cases.
“She’s an assistant at a law firm. Her boss has something for us. I’m dealing with a cybercrime case. Planning on wrapping it up today, so I told her you’d handle it.”
“Did you feel her disappointment through the phone?” My pupils dance with delight. I’ll claim any opportunity to give him a hard time.
“Here.” He forces the phone into my hands, feigning annoyance.
I take note of Sarah’s request and ask around the department to see who can accompany me to the Hampton & Burrow Law Firm in Denver. It’s not far from here and a lawyer by the name of Brian Hampton has asked us to pick up a USB from his office. I review the untidy ink marks from my planner over again in my head: USB device contains incriminating information. A set of videos. United States Senator. He wouldn’t say much else other than that his qualifications as a lawyer are well beneath the gravity of this, besides he’s now a witness.
Gathering from the details, we’d need to compile evidence as quickly as possible. Due to the potential involvement of a governmental official, we will have to actualize the lawyer’s claims and make sure the information isn’t spread in any unwanted circles.
I take a lap around the office area looking for an agent to accompany me, before trying the conference room one more time. I find Ben grabbing a mint from the snack dish in the middle of the table as he’s packing up his things.
“You sure you don’t want to ride along with me on this one?” I ask, hoping he’ll delay his cybercrime case and join me today.
“Nah. You don’t need me. You got this one.” He looks me over and smiles—he’s probably noticing my barely-thrown together state. “Glad you made it home safe after having such a rough time last night,” Ben says.
I stick my tongue out at him. “Like your apartment is so far away from mine.”
“Knock, knock.”
Ben and I both turn to see Agent Kenny Maser standing in the doorway. He wears a little grin on his face like he just heard something he wasn’t supposed to.
My cheeks burn red. I’ve had limited interaction with Agent Maser. He’s a golden boy with the director’s ear and not someone I need misconstruing my work relationships.
“Sorry to interrupt, Agent Brown, I can come back later,” he says.
“No worries, Agent Suarez and I were just discussing game night. Something our group of old friends does. And we’re just friends, nothing more. She’s looking at a major loss next week despite having never lost at Risk. It’s not looking good for you, Agent Suarez. You might need to buy some luck if you plan on reclaiming a win next week,” Ben finishes.
I give him a slight jab with my elbow, thankful for the clarification, regretful it comes with a friend zone explanation.
Ben waves at both of us, signaling his departure, as Agent Maser makes his way past the snack dish. I sigh and turn to face the leather chairs lined up against the room’s giant half moon desk where Agent Maser now hovers over a computer. He’s the only agent left in the room. Overconfident and basking in the sunny computer glow, his Google searches likely range anywhere from “cleanest shave for stone cut jawline” and “best protein, water ratio for ultimate gains.”
He types, giving his fingers a short exercise and then looks up from his gaze on the computer. “Sounds like you need a partner,” he says, exiting out of whatever he was working on, then swings his leather bag over his shoulder before adjusting his posture.
He peacocks toward me.
Great. It’ll have to be him today.
I’d considered myself one of the lucky ones, thanks to Ben recruiting me straight out of college, where majoring heavily in strategic analysis and game theory with a minor in forensic investigation seemed like the appropriate choice for a girl who carries miniature crossword puzzles in her back pocket. I’d always been a mad woman with a “solving” obsession and my childhood best friend’s brother luckily found use for me, eventually snatching me an ultimate dream job at the Bureau. Missing child cases, Russian hackers, chemical plant explosions—the most recent case I was knee-deep in—were all challenging puzzles that made my heart leap into action at the chance to solve them. Pinch me moments are still required, and yet days where I have to be around agents like Agent Kenny Maser bring me back to reality. Sometimes my job isn’t just a fun crime-themed puzzle to solve.