Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
“Knock, knock.” Special Agent Walker Bennett’s voice pulls me from the report I was reviewing on a case out of Las Vegas.
He raises a drink carrier, and I spy my favorite vanilla almond latte next to his large black coffee, and I’m sure there is cream in his cup as well.
Walker is a lot of things, but he is also a dependable creature of habit.
Not that I try to psycho-analyze my friends, but sometimes, it’s not easy to turn off.
“You’re the best. I thought you would have grabbed coffee at Java Jive before heading back into the city.” I raise an eyebrow as he hands me my cup and I inhale the delightful vanilla aroma.
“Are you asking a question, or are those your dancing shoes on this morning that have you tap dancing around a question?” He tries to sound stern, but the corner of his mouth ticks up.
“But … uh, this is my second cup.” He rubs the back of his neck and nods toward his office across the hall.
“I’ll see you in the conference room in fifteen. ”
He’s making a quick exit, but he can’t fight it. I laugh as I take my coffee back to my desk to prep for our upcoming meeting.
He clearly spent the night in Forrest Falls with Vivian, and again, I could not be happier for him.
The man is in love, and it’s been so fun to watch my friend fall for her since fate brought him and Vivian into each other’s lives.
I didn’t know it, but when I moved to Nashville a year ago this month, not only would Walker find the love of his life in the process, but I would find my own little family, too.
When you face what we deal with every day, your close friends very quickly become your family.
Over the years, I had consulted on a few cases with Walker during my time with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico, Virginia, but when the opportunity came up to join the newly formed task force that Walker was leading, I was ready for a new challenge.
I still talk to my colleagues and associates at the BAU regularly—it’s no different than my own network of contacts and experts I’ve cultivated over the years.
I will never assume that I have all of the answers myself.
There is power in shared information and expertise.
I also have to hope that I am better at my job because of the network of experts and relationships I’ve built thus far in my career.
Closing out the file I was reviewing before my coffee delivery, I grab my phone to check for any urgent messages.
The only time-sensitive message is from my friend, Liam Callahan.
Liam
Hey, I’m going to be in town end of this week. Let me know if you’re free to grab lunch.
Liam
…If you want to invite Walker, that’s up to you. Your call, Whiz Kid.
I laugh at the begrudgingly added comment. He doesn’t want to like Walker, but I get the feeling the Callahan men don’t ever really want to like the men their sisters date.
I met Liam seven years ago on a case in Texas, but sometimes, the world is extraordinarily small—like when my work brought me to his sister’s living room to interview the widow in a case connected to our task force’s first official case together.
I will never forget when Vivian told me who her brother is, and I could have died from embarrassment at the memory it triggered. He had told me over the years that I reminded him of his younger sister. I just never expected to be sitting in front of her while working on a case.
I definitely made a lasting first impression on the man.
SEVEN YEARS AGO
Live music blares from the stage at the back of the bar.
The harsh smell of alcohol, cologne, and sweat blend into a very distinct aroma that would be overpowering if it weren’t for the slight breeze that seems to roll through the bar’s open windows at a steady pace, preventing the scent from becoming overpowering.
This isn’t my first time in Austin, but it still feels like I’m breaking a rule by joining my colleagues at a bar to celebrate a successful operation. The street outside the bar is bustling with people, and the vibrancy is intoxicating, even before I’ve had a single drink of alcohol.
When my friend and mentor, Dr. Aisha Patel, called last week to tell me about this operation, I was hesitant to accept the opportunity.
I know Aisha believes in me, and that she’s been bringing up my name in conversations, not only about my academic and technical skills, but also her firm belief in me as an individual.
It’s foreign not only to have someone believe in my abilities but also to have them care about me as a person.
She would flip out if she discovered I fibbed about how I celebrated my twenty-first birthday the other week.
We spoke prior, and she told me I should go out with friends.
So, in my agreement, she assumed I had. The reality was much more lackluster, with me toasting—to myself—alone in my one-bedroom apartment.
I don’t want to disappoint her, though, and she would be if she knew how I actually commemorated finally being a legal adult.
After graduating high school at twelve, I was not at all a typical college student.
The child prodigy wasn’t invited to any college parties during my undergrad or med school.
I was busy studying—and being a minor. The age gap between my peers and me presented the expected social challenges and obstacles, but historically, people want to be my friend either as a token to claim or for their own benefit somehow.
Aisha isn’t like that. We met during one of my clinical rotations at Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston, where she’s a practicing psychiatrist. She is competent, kind, loyal, and may be one of the first friends I’ve had in my life.
So, when she reached out about this Austin opportunity, I knew she was coming from a good place and really thought I could help her FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit contact and the operation overall.
There was a cognitive anomaly that wasn’t adding up to the agents on the case.
Aisha believed that I could help unravel the markers that weren’t following expected trauma patterns.
“Yes, you’re a resident, but Harlow, you are exceptional.
You’re an outlier in every sense of the word, and I think you’re who they need to help stop this monster. ”
I immediately jumped into the multi-agency case when I arrived five days ago.
Time is of the essence, especially when it comes to trafficking cases where they are experts at moving people and keeping them hidden.
The BAU agents that I worked with were wonderful.
I may not excel in my own personal relationships, but I thrive when it comes to unraveling human behavior.
After reviewing the few available pieces of video footage of the missing victim, they were convinced the victim was also the key to the head of the entire operation, and I explained how the victim was likely acting out of fear and being controlled by someone else, not voluntarily running away.
This level of control was indicative of a larger picture they weren’t seeing yet.
I also flagged a suspect initially dismissed as an unlikely player by one of the local detectives, but it was profoundly clear to me that the man was not the confused individual he presented to the local authorities—no, he was a masterful storyteller putting on a performance of lies and rehearsed lines.
After I suggested the joint-agency operation reconsider him as a suspect, they quickly located not only the missing victim but also the head of the entire operation.
The previously dismissed suspect had been hiding his boss at one of his properties.
This morning’s early raid resulted in a successful rescue of the missing victim, in addition to six other victims rescued from the same location, and the apprehension of the trafficking ring’s main organizer.
We are at our second bar of the evening, and one of the local detectives introduced me to pina coladas, which are delicious. I lost count of how many I’ve had by now, but I’m with colleagues, and at least I’m not doing shots like most of them.
I don’t think I’d be friends with tequila. It smells disgusting.
“Come on, Harlow, you need to catch up! You’re the young buck, honey, don’t let us make you look bad!
” Cheryl pushes another drink into my hand before clinking our glasses together.
I thought Cheryl didn’t like me earlier, but maybe she’s just able to compartmentalize work and personal life better than I am.
The next hour gets a little blurry, but I know that when Cheryl suggests I dance to my favorite song, it sounds like the best idea I’ve heard all night.
I’m not sure why I needed to get on the bar to dance, I definitely didn’t wear the right shoes for that, but it is fun up here where I can see everyone better.
At five-foot-four, I’m used to being the shortest one in the group, and while my heels are three-inch stilettos, they still don’t help much with any visibility in a crowded bar.
“What the hell is going on?” A growl comes from near my feet, but even as I squint, I can’t really make out his face—although I know exactly who that voice belongs to.
I’ve heard of agencies using outside resources when necessary, like in a high-profile case such as this one, but I was unaware that meant law enforcement would work with super-secret spy guys like whoever the hell Liam Callahan is.
He is fascinating and may be a real-life-superhero-crime-fighting billionaire.
Maybe not a billionaire, but judging by his watch selection and shoe choice, the man is definitely at least a millionaire.
A very pissed-off crime-fighting millionaire at the moment.
“Nothing for you to worry about, darlin’.” Cheryl grins as she runs a hand down Liam’s arm.