Finders Keepers

Chapter 3

Sloan leaned against the passenger door of his car, casually watching the thin parade of employees as they exited the security gate of the studio property. These were the worker bees of the film industry and never likely to look like they were in the business. They were functionaries, hidden deeply behind the scenes, not needing or wanting the spotlight. Unlike Krissy McKay whom, Sloan had quickly figured out, was constantly looking for an entry into a bigger, more visible position in the Hollywood universe. He let his gaze scan the small crowd and then spotted the one standout. He no longer felt any of the heightened curiosity or excitement that once accompanied meeting up with Krissy. He’d gotten pleasantly comfortable in their relationship of eighteen months. That was until Krissy, in a teary and awkward showdown, broke it off.

If Krissy had thought she could guilt him into begging her to stay or to make any definitive declaration about his feeling for her, her risky performance backfired. He was understanding and kind to her. He was unmoved and not about to change his mind. He was relieved. Sloan had been firm but not unkind from the beginning that if she was looking for more than what they had together, it wasn’t going to happen. It couldn’t be with him.

But he had liked Krissy a lot. Still did. She was Southern California blond, with artfully disheveled hair that she constantly had to shake or sweep out of her face. Her sunglasses were movie-star dark, as if to make anyone seeing her curious about who she might be. Did they know her? What movie had she been in recently? No and no, she’d never been in a movie. She was an assistant location scout. Not film royalty on any level but fairly indispensable.

He pushed away from the car, his hands deep in his pockets as he watched her spot him and break into a beautiful smile of perfect teeth. She was outfitted in what Sloan had come to recognize as the uniform of female film workers. Comfortable, fashionably different than anyone else but simple, tastefully revealing of an excellent body and tons of sex appeal. She also had a soft leather, oversized tote bag slung over her shoulder loaded with the accoutrements of her trade. She briefly waved, very trademark Krissy, as that was her way of greeting anyone. It was cheerful and inoffensive.

Sloan lowered his gaze to the ground, an image of Olivia Cameron forming, unbidden, in his mind from earlier that day. Mostly he was still caught by her calm, her inquisitive dark eyes…her mysterious smile that, probably totally unbeknownst to her, had a certain sensuality to it. He glanced up to see Krissy approaching, now with her arms positioned to embrace him and encouraging that they kiss. Sloan’s hand automatically gripped her shoulder, shifting her ever so slightly so that his kiss ended on her lower cheek near the corner of her mouth, but not on it. If she was disappointed, it didn’t really show.

“Waiting long?” she asked as he held the car door for her.

“Not at all. I left my office a little early to avoid the traffic on Santa Monica Boulevard.”

“Of course. I forget that you have all the inside info on how to drive across town at the start of rush hour.”

“It’s called defensive driving. No inside anything.” Sloan got into the driver’s seat and started the car, pulling smoothly into traffic, watching it from all directions. Krissy sat at an angle so that she could watch his profile. She momentarily played with her long hair. Sloan gave no attention to her practiced gesture. He’d long ago stopped finding what she did interesting…or charming. She was very pretty, very sunny, but all of her moves had played out a while ago, over and over again. Not original and never changing.

“How was your day?” she asked conversationally.

“Fine. I had an interview this morning at a charter school.” He opted not to be specific. Sloan knew that it wouldn’t be interesting enough to Krissy for her to want to know more.

“Okay.” She nodded. “I suppose the students were plotting to take it over and hold the principal hostage?”

“Nothing that dramatic,” he responded smoothly. As far as he could tell, Olivia Cameron appeared to have a firm but empathetic control over the school and students. It didn’t seem that the students had any thoughts of being subversive. What Sloan had witnessed was that the students liked and respected her.

Krissy slouched in her seat and smiled her bright smile at him.

“I’m glad we’re seeing each other tonight. You know…I really miss you.”

Sloan was careful and thoughtful. “I think you were very clear that you were ready to move on, Krissy. I know that you wanted something more than what we had.”

She glanced out the windshield for a moment, perhaps to hide any emotions. “I always thought that maybe…you know…we would make a more permanent go of it.”

“I’m sorry,” Sloan said quietly. He certainly didn’t want to hurt her, but honesty was all he could give her now.

“You were never in love with me, were you?” she asked easily, just curious.

Sloan slowed for a stoplight, turned to regard her. “If we go down that road, it’s going to be a long, uncomfortable night. I like you very much. You’re great to be with and around.”

She groaned and dropped back against the head rest. “You make me sound like a rambunctious puppy. Cute but…”

Sloan remained silent.

“Well…we certainly did have a lot of fun together,” Krissy sighed, suddenly resigned to not getting the response she wanted. She looked at him with a brave and fetching smile. She shrugged. “Your loss.”

“It probably is,” Sloan agreed graciously.

Krissy distracted herself and ended the discussion by picking up her heavy tote from the floor and digging around the contents. She pulled out a small black studio bag and held it up. “I brought you a gift. It’s not every day that a former squeeze gives you a present after you’ve broken her heart. I know, I know.” She cut him off. “You didn’t break my heart. But I am disappointed.”

“What’s the gift?”

“Films. What else? Champagne would have been inappropriate, right? And just in case you care at all, I am seeing someone…so there!”

“Good. I’m happy for you. So why the invitation to get together this evening?”

“There’s a film the studio is screening at UCLA.” She twisted in the seat to drop the bag with DVDs on the back seat. “It’s a new twist on a buddy film, and I thought you’d like it.”

“What films are you giving me? Do you want them back?”

“No, they’re yours. They’re not recent films, but I thought you might find them different and interesting.”

“Thanks. Mind if I ask about your new beau?”

She thought for a moment. “Ummmm. I think I do mind. He’s not in the business. I think one of the reasons he likes me is because I don’t come with free popcorn. What about you? Seeing anyone new?”

Sloan gave the impression of concentrating on the traffic and making a left-hand turn at a busy intersection, putting them closest to the campus location for the Dodd building for the screening. And then Sloan had to quickly assess not only his immediate impressions but his unexpected feelings having met Olivia Cameron.

“Not yet” was his answer.

The prospect was under consideration.

Olivia accepted that she’d made it clear to a respondent on her dating app that she would agree to a public meeting with him, the first step after amusing and charming emails, to find out if he was worth more of her time or if he was interested. This was the totally harrowing part for Olivia, justifying herself. Knowing she was going to be assessed on a lot of qualities that were silent, inherent, and even genetic that she couldn’t do much about. None of which said anything about the kind of person she was, the kind of woman trying to connect to a strange man.

In-N-Out Burger would not have been her first choice, but it was very public and very popular. She was coming from school but made an effort not to dress that day as if she were a teacher but a more upscale professional wearing good shoes, not sneakers. Her maybe one-time date, Wilson, was certainly presentable. Not much taller than herself but a nice-looking man. He was not so much a bit overweight as stout. A lot of muscle in his arms and thighs. His online photo did not show him with facial hair, but in person his beautiful short beard had apparently been barber treated, trimmed, shaved, and sculpted, and all Olivia could think was that Wilson was wearing some sort of black mask on the lower half of his face. There was a perfectly outlined space where his lips appeared, but the overall affect was very disconcerting. Everything so sharp and even and…theatrical. Olivia was determined not to let any of that matter. She was going to be fair. She was going to try.

“Is this place okay?” Wilson asked, looking casually around, not really affected by the presence of clusters of teens, young mothers providing a cheap dinner for their kids, or the senior singles doing the same thing.

“This is fine. I love In-N-Out burgers.” Although she’d opted for just a shake while Wilson had the full deluxe meal.

“I figure, for a first introduction date, you won’t fault me.”

Olivia smiled. “I won’t fault you.”

“How long have you been on the website?” he asked, picking french fries one by one, dipping an end into a small container cup of ketchup, and stuffing it into his mouth. Repeat.

Olivia kept her gaze averted from the way he was consuming his french fries. “Maybe six months.”

“Have any luck before we found each other?”

She wanted to correct him that they had not found found each other; they were just a choice among hundreds of others. “I’m not sure what you mean by luck. I answered several connections. They were…okay but didn’t go anywhere.”

“Yeah, that happens a lot.” He chewed, sipped his drink, wiped his hands on a napkin. “Maybe things are about to change. You’re a pretty lady, and I like that you’re not scouting out all the men that have been passing by.”

“If I did that, it would mean I’m not paying attention to you, right? We’re here to see if there’s enough of a connection to move to step two.”

“Hell yeah!” he said, giving her a very suggestive grin. “I’m agreeable.”

Olivia gave him a calm smile that didn’t suggest much of anything. But she made an effort not to check the time…or fidget.

In all fairness, she’d hoped that this one, this app-generated date, would be better than the earlier ones. Lynn had been merciless in telling Olivia she needed to get over herself and give these guys a chance. Maybe they weren’t Michael B. Jordan or Idris Elba or a really hot Lenny Kravitz, but there were lots of wonderful average guys out there who were straight, sane, and mature.

But she’d not responded to many of them on a check-out date or after two or three dinners. Olivia realized she’d not been affected by any one of them as much as she’d been by FBI Agent Sloan Kendrick. Even recalling his name, conjuring up his very masculine image was enough to send shock waves through her system. Her reactions had taken her totally by surprise…and she was still recovering.

Olivia inhaled and looked at Wilson. He seemed okay. But she couldn’t get past the sharp edges of his rigidly trimmed beard, the way he stuffed french fries into his mouth. Was it really reasonable to judge anyone this way?

She watched him as he talked, but she hadn’t heard a word he’d said. She blinked and tried to pay attention. It was much better when they genuinely talked about themselves. She mentioned that she was in charge of a charter school. He worked as a clerk for a county judge. He had a four-year-old son from a prior relationship. He liked working out, the Dodgers…

Olivia found there was more about her life she didn’t want to share. Too soon. She was able to avoid details. Was the evening enough to warrant seeing each other again?

Wilson said he wanted to. She was willing to try. How did she feel about a casual day at Venice Beach? She wasn’t interested. He suggested an upcoming concert at Disney Hall downtown. It was a group she knew. Maybe not a favorite but would do nicely for an evening together. Wilson was so charmingly pleased when she agreed that he suddenly became a tad more attractive to her. Except her perception kept sort of moving in and out. But it was done. He said he’d contact her with meet-up details. And Olivia spontaneously countered with another idea. She had a wedding to attend in a few weeks. Would he like to attend with her? Be her plus one? He thought about it for a moment and finally nodded.

“Yeah, I can do that. Big party, open bar, hopefully good food, and dancing…let’s do it. I think I’m okay with not knowing anyone.”

“I won’t either. Except for the bride, that’s it.”

Olivia was relieved that a second and third date had been agreed upon. She was very sure that Wilson was not going to be a heartthrob or anything even close to it. And since she had no expectation that it could or would happen, Olivia indulged in a pure fantasy speculation about Sloan Kendrick because there was no harm in a fantasy.

He would be different. He would be an interesting date like she’d never experienced before.

Olivia sat in the nearly filled parking lot in her car, with the engine still running, for a good ten minutes after she arrived at the FBI field office. She had to show ID and her name was checked on a security list before she’d been allowed to continue onto the grounds. She’d debated that morning about coming at all to meet with Sloan Kendrick. Olivia tried to talk herself into the excuse that she’d done far more than she thought necessary to cooperate with the investigation, but speculating about what would happen if she didn’t keep the appointment was the first thing that had forced her hand. The LAPD or the FBI might have begun to make more of her refusal than she wanted. But the second thing that had helped her decision was that all contact with Special Agent Sloan Kendrick would be over.

The very fact that was a consideration was not lost on Olivia. And she recognized her final decision as a very bold and chancy move. But she was curious because of her initial reaction to the agent the day before. Sloan Kendrick intrigued her. She’d met many men on dating apps since her divorce. In emails and texts, many of them came across as amazing and available. The reality, however, when they met for drinks, coffee, or a simple stroll along the 3rd Street Promenade was disappointing. Wilson had been the most promising, but it was a compromise on her part not to be so picky, difficult, about his persona.

She hoped the girlfriends would be satisfied and stop complaining.

So now Olivia sat in her car and experienced a gripping apprehension that had started even on the drive over from the school. She didn’t want to examine too closely what was happening. Olivia still believed her first reaction to meeting Sloan was maybe fanciful and ridiculous. There were two simple things about him that, for whatever reason, had captured her attention and produced feelings of admiration…and attraction. Instantly—the sound of his rough, ragged voice vibrating along her nerve ends and his large, strongly masculine hands and fingers firm and careful in the way he’d held Taryn’s daughter.

And there was that initial gaze-meeting-gaze thing that went on between them, each waiting for the other to blink first. Olivia wondered if there was any possibility that Sloan had felt something similar. Whether he had or not, she knew that this meeting between them…just the two of them…was going to be difficult. And she didn’t know what to do about it. She was impatient that she didn’t know, was clueless to even understand why their introduction was affecting her so.

She took a deep breath and glanced out the window at the white stone building that housed the field office. Perhaps sixteen stories high, it was completely undistinguished. It was fortress-like, with small, tightly regimented windows, the kind that were framed for security and safety and structured not to be breached. She’d had no idea there was an FBI office in LA county, let alone where it was. Isolated. No other significant structures around it. No notable services. She was a stranger in a strange land!

Was Sloan’s job that important, he so important, that he had a better facility than her students at Harvest? Shaking off her foolish insecurity, Olivia finally exited her car, walking with purpose and presence of mind to the entrance, where she again endured a security check. By the time she’d reached the eleventh floor and the elevator doors opened, she was unreasonably angry that Special Agent Sloan Kendrick was putting her through such an ordeal.

An official sitting at a desk took her name and stood up to escort her down a corridor, a left turn, and another corridor, stopping at a door that was invitingly wide open. Olivia’s escort stood in the doorway blocking her view.

“You have an appointment with Olivia Cameron? She’s here.”

The staffer abruptly turned and walked away, leaving her unprepared.

The very first thing Olivia saw was that Sloan was wearing a sidearm holster on his right hip. It was only then that it hit her that what he did for a living was dangerous. People could be hurt or worse. He was standing behind his desk, bent over, studying a map. But the presence of his weapon fleshed Sloan Kendrick out much more than the man he’d seemed the day before.

Wide-eyed, Olivia met his gaze. And the way they studied each other was deliberate. Filled with silent meaning. For a quick instant, her gaze dropped to look at his hands, braced on the map, veins ropey and prominent on the back of each and up his forearms.

And it happened again. That instant gut-wrenching reaction.

Sloan believed he’d done an excellent job of keeping his mind and curiosity focused. There were enough emails, texts, impromptu visits from coworkers, and actual phone calls to keep him legitimately busy before his scheduled meeting with Olivia Cameron. But as his morning progressed, he found himself genuinely annoyed that, since meeting her the day before, he’d been inordinately distracted by thoughts of her. He struggled to make sense of it, a brief encounter having such a monumental impact.

He failed.

When Olivia arrived, on time, and was shown to his office, Sloan knew he now had an opportunity not only to pursue her case as set up by the local police but to delve into an emotional connection he felt had been made, didn’t understand, but also couldn’t deny. And if he could pin it down to a specific moment he would say, at least, for the moment, that it might have happened when he stood in the corridor outside her office and Olivia appeared from a stairwell with a warm, calm smile that felt personal and with a baby in her arms.

Sloan stood at his desk, a map of the Windsor Hills area of LA, spread across his desk. He was bent over, studying the exact neighborhood of the house where the money had been found by Olivia.

Sloan glanced up, but the staffer who’d made the announcement quickly retreated. He found himself staring at Olivia. She stood, hesitant, outside his office door. But her expression was remote, maybe suspicious. He gestured her inside.

“Thanks for coming in. I know it’s inconvenient.”

“It is, but that’s my fault. Yesterday was…”

“I agree,” Sloan interjected smoothly. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?”

“No thanks.”

He folded the map and set it aside but did not immediately take his seat. He openly studied Olivia, trying to gauge her body language. Familiarizing himself with his own reactions to her the day before. Nothing had changed. Today she was wearing a blue denim skirt and a white knit sweater, over which was a camp shirt worn as a cardigan. Simple but professional. Everything about her spoke of careful control, a quiet presence.

“I don’t suppose you had any lunch before coming in today?”

Olivia shook her head. That perpetual small smile she used hovered on her mouth. But it wasn’t necessarily for him. It was just her way of responding.

“No. There wasn’t enough time.”

“Me either. Maybe I can make it up to you when the case is closed,” he said casually, surprised at the spontaneity with which he was suggesting a nonofficial get together. Off the clock. After hours. A date. Olivia remained silent and didn’t object. Sloan left it at that. The possibility was enough of a response.

“I have to explain something,” Olivia suddenly began, sitting a little forward, not really relaxed in her chair.

Sloan waited, watching her.

“It’s not Mrs. Cameron. I’m…divorced. I took back my maiden name.”

“Sorry about the mistake.” He felt a kind of relief at her correction. “My research stated otherwise. Married to”—he found a page printout of data—“Dr. Marcus Palfrey.”

“Was married to. The kids at school call me missus anyway. Like a sign of respect, I guess. I don’t bother correcting them anymore,” she said in surrender.

“I’d rather have the truth. As long as we’re making confessions, I have one.” Sloan retrieved something from the desk and held out his closed hand to her. Olivia’s brief gaze was questioning, but she presented an open palm and he dropped the three lozenges into the center. “I don’t have a cold…or laryngitis,” he added. “But thank you for the thought. And your concern.”

Olivia rolled the small candies in her hand before dropping them into her open tote. “I just thought when you talk, you…”

“My voice is…hoarse.” Sloan remained standing, looking for and retrieving her case file. “It changed a while ago. Long story,” he murmured with a hint of irony. He gave no further explanation, making his history a nonissue under the circumstances.

“Can I ask…were you ever intubated?” Olivia asked.

Sloan’s brows rose in surprise, but he managed to keep his expression otherwise blank. “When I was overseas. Bad accident.”

Olivia was studying him closely. “FBI service? Or military?”

He was impressed with her interest, her questions. “Air force. I was on the receiving end of an IED under a Humvee.”

“Resulting in…this?” she asked, indicating with her index finger two inches or so below her throat.

Sloan nodded, studying her thoughtfully.

“Does it hurt?”

The question was very quiet, as if she cared about his answer. Sloan shook his head. He was stunned that Olivia seemed to care. “No. Not anymore. While I was being treated and unconscious for three days, I kept pulling out the tube.” He considered and then said, “I’m told my voice has…character.”

Olivia stared at him, and then that curious smile of hers slowly appeared at the corner of her mouth. Sloan felt a certain gratification that he could get that response from her.

“You mean women find it sexy?” she suggested.

He certainly wasn’t expecting that. It was…bold. “Not that I’ve been told directly. What do you think?”

She pursed her mouth and averted her gaze for a moment. And then Olivia gave him a sideways glance that hinted at coyness. He was, nevertheless, sure that was not a game Olivia Cameron played.

“No comment,” she said smoothly.

Touché, Sloan thought to himself, impressed.

“I think I should remind you that this is my interview. You’re here to answer my questions.”

She nodded, seeming a little embarrassed. “Yes. I know.”

Then he grew serious and pensively stared down at his desk. Then back to her. “We’re going to do something a little different.” He stretched his arm toward the door.

“What?” Olivia asked, standing and preceding him out the door.

“First things first, I want you to see what the FBI is really all about.”

Sloan walked at a leisurely pace along a corridor, turning and changing directions now and then at will. Olivia kept pace at his side, but she was curious as she took in the wall displays, the photographs of famous people and places in high-profile crimes. There was a room they passed where the walls held hand weapons of various vintages with captions of information and details. Sloan said very little, knowing the collection spoke for itself.

Yes, the departments were rather formal but not as sterile as insurance or law offices were. He only passingly said anything about what Olivia was seeing, and she didn’t ask any questions. But her interest was obvious. The last hallway was designed with the framed photos of women agents through the decades, including any number who were African American, Latin, and Asian. There had been periodic lawsuits about discrimination within the agency by agents of color, but he had never believed it was the agency itself. After all, it had hired and trained at great expense people they believed had demonstrated skills and mindset needed for the work. And Sloan had come to learn through trial and error that you can’t legislate people’s feelings and personal beliefs. He had learned as an adult especially that when you got talking with someone not like yourself, you found out how much alike you really were. That early awareness had been an important heads-up…and a life changer. It had helped to broaden his world view.

“Was that a tour?” Olivia asked as they made their way to a small bank of elevators.

“Maybe a little bit,” Sloan said, almost smiling at her. He was not a smiler, but something about Olivia and her open curiosity pleased him. “It was a roundabout way to get to the elevators.” A bell dinging announced the arrival of a car. It opened, and half a dozen men and women stepped out, all dressed in the same variation of professional dark blue or gray clothing.

Sloan boarded and faced the door. Olivia stood on the outside staring at him. He put his hand on the door sensor to prevent it from closing.

“Where are we going?” she asked, not moving.

“To get something to eat.”

The door bumped and bumped, attempting to automatically close. Finally Olivia stepped in. The door closed when Sloan released it. “I thought I came for an interview.”

“That’s right. This is it.”

He went through a security check point, the man and woman on duty nodding hello as he walked through with Olivia. Out the building and to the parking lot. There was a separate section of official agency cars, although there was nothing official looking about them. Late-model sedans without any identifying features for law enforcement. Sloan opened the door of a silver-gray vehicle and held it as Olivia slid into the passenger seat.

“I… I’m really confused,” Olivia confessed, fastening her seat belt.

“Don’t be, Ms. Cameron. All will be revealed.” He hoped his tone indicated some humor. Yet Sloan didn’t think it would suit his purpose to play too lightly with her.

They drove only a quarter of a mile to a tiny strip mall of businesses, one being a Chinese restaurant called Gourmet Garden. Once seated, Sloan handed her a laminated lunch menu.

“This is on me…and the agency,” he said.

“I hope so,” Olivia said tartly, scanning the options. “I would have chosen someplace with more…more ambiance,” she commented officiously.

“Probably. But not as good,” Sloan shot back, his voice raspy and firm.

In the silence that followed, he knew that Olivia was studying him over the top of her menu. He didn’t return the scrutiny, already uncertain with how much he’d revealed. Maybe she hadn’t noticed. Or it didn’t matter.

They placed their order and, once again, silently confronted each other across the table. But there was a difference, and Sloan noticed immediately. The standoff of the day before, unavoidable under the circumstances, had shifted. He was glad of that. For his part Sloan had to accept that Olivia Cameron had already taken a place of significance in his consciousness. Now he only had to figure out why. He faced her squarely and got down to business.

“As I said yesterday, Officer Anderson has covered the basics of your case but I’d like to get a few more details, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t. I’m here.” She shrugged.

“You sound annoyed.”

“I think I’ve been very cooperative,” Olivia said, a bit defensive.

“I appreciate that. You’ve made this process a lot easier than it might have been.”

“I think you have everything from me you need,” Olivia said smoothly. “To be honest, I do feel like…maybe…you think I might be hiding something.”

Sloan was a little surprised by pushback from her. He had no reason to think Olivia Cameron had been treated unfairly or not shown respect. And so far, no hint that she was withholding anything.

“That’s not the issue. This is a process. And I have a job to do to finish the process.”

She didn’t respond, and a thought came to him. Sloan leaned back against the banquet cushion, picked up the paper-sheathed chopsticks, and slowly removed them. He thoughtfully regarded Olivia.

“Yesterday a few of the students in the hallway tagged me as a cop. I told them I wasn’t, but I don’t think they believed me. You know I’m not a police officer, like Anderson, but maybe you feel the same way. FBI. LAPD. What’s the difference? I’m still law enforcement, right?” Her continued silence confirmed his thinking. “We both get a bad rap. Frankly, some of it well deserved.”

He had her attention. Olivia blinked at him, her expression changing from skepticism to interest. Maybe even reconsideration.

“I’m surprised that you’d actually admit it,” she murmured.

He carefully spread the wooden chopsticks until they snapped apart at the top into useable parts.

“If I’m not honest and real, I have no right to demand it from you. I respect how you feel, believe it or not. In my mind, yours is a really simple case. The LAPD’s and FBI’s interviews with you are purely formality. It has to end in a report that says Mrs…Ms. Cameron…has been completely cooperative. There’s zero evidence of wrongdoing on her part. We can split the blankets and go our separate ways. The end.”

Her eyebrows went up, and the corners of her mouth rounded her cheeks into a grin. She got the Native American reference.

“I didn’t mean to accuse you, exactly—”

“Yeah you did,” he interrupted bluntly. “Did I pass?”

“What do you mean?”

“Yesterday. Leaving me with baby Gaye. I’m sure that wasn’t protocol. What if I’d refused, given her right back to you?”

“I would have handled it. Apologized, maybe. But yes, you passed. It was very…very…”

“In the moment.”

“I…really didn’t think about it when I handed Gaye to you.”

“It meant, to some degree, you were willing to trust me.”

“I wanted to see if I could, yes. How were you going to react. Maybe I pushed it a bit because you’re…eh…law enforcement.”

Their lunch courses were placed before them. “Mom was a different story,” Sloan observed, showing knowledge and ease in the use of his chopsticks. Olivia didn’t even try, reaching for her fork.

“I’m sure you know it’s understandable. In general the kids are very skeptical about everything. You can’t blame them. They don’t hold authority in high regard. Certainly not police.”

“And I passed,” Sloan concluded comfortably. He didn’t wait for her to answer. “I hope we’ve moved beyond the whole cop/law enforcement thing. The services could do a whole lot better.”

“Accountability would be a nice start.”

He pursed his mouth but didn’t respond directly to Olivia’s suggestion. She wasn’t wrong…but it was complicated.

“What was the first thing you did when you found the bundles in your walls and realized they all contained stacks of money?” He glanced at her.

“Well…I roughly counted two bundles but didn’t bother opening any more. I just assumed they were all the same.”

Sloan let her talk as she recounted the morning of the discovery. But he was also studying Olivia, her expression and gestures. Any hesitation, anything that didn’t match the story she’d told the police a week earlier when she’d call to report her find would have raised a red flag. He’d already surmised his overview was really going to be pro forma. But he was just as interested in the cadence and sound of her voice. The way she looked him right in the eyes and didn’t shy away from his observation. Her eyes were very dark. He had to fit all that he was learning about her into what he’d gleaned from official records.

“What made you decide to call the police?” he asked.

Olivia gave him a look that suggested he should know the answer to that already.

“I knew right away that I had to. I didn’t have any idea why money was hidden in my great-aunt’s house. It was a mystery that I wasn’t prepared to unravel. I did photograph the bundles…”

Sloan glanced up sharply from gripping a fried dumpling with his chopsticks. “Why?”

Olivia shrugged. “To keep a paper trail, my own record. Just in case.”

Sloan arched a brow. “Were you afraid that the police would claim a different number than what you counted?”

She didn’t blink. “I thought it was possible. I didn’t want there to be any mistakes.”

“Good idea,” Sloan commented. “But how do they know you photographed everything you took out of that wall?”

“I…well…that’s a good question,” she said wryly.

“So you do understand why an investigation might be necessary?”

She nodded, conceding. “I do.”

“It says in the first investigative report that you have a brother.”

Olivia shifted in her seat, crossing her legs at the knee as she allowed herself to become more comfortable. She twirled her fork in a pile of noodles. “Jackson. He’s my older brother.”

“Did you tell him about the money?”

Olivia shook her head. “Actually…no, I didn’t. I mean, once I knew I had to turn the money over to the police, there didn’t seem to be any point. The money wasn’t mine.”

Sloan had to smile to himself at her tone of incredulity. Like…seriously? No way. “You’re saying you never even considered just keeping the money?”

“No.”

She was indignant. But her gaze dropped briefly, not meeting his. “And I was very surprised when Officer Anderson contacted me to say LAPD was bringing in the FBI to continue the investigation. He didn’t say why. What, exactly, are you looking for?”

“Fair enough question,” Sloan nodded. “I don’t suppose Officer Anderson gave you a full accounting of how much money came out of that hidden cubby.”

“No, he didn’t.”

He could see the interest in her eyes. “My field office had to take over the count, but first we had to deal with paper that was in bad shape. Sitting in foul water for we don’t know how many years left its mark. The estimate is just over one million.” He kept his gaze trained on her. Her expression was exactly what he knew it should be if she were being honest. Stunned surprise. Her lips opened around a soft ohhhh. She blinked at him.

“The bundles were different denominations but mostly in high figures, five-hundred- and thousand-dollar bills. We checked with the treasury department and could find no incident of a bank robbery or corporate theft, but there’s no question the money was stolen from somewhere. Otherwise why hide it? My office is trying to go back through the ownership records of the house, to the year the bills were circulated, and try to match the amount to any reported incidents of fraud, embezzlement, that sort of thing. I don’t want to spend a whole lot of time doing that to no end.”

“How long do you think the money’s been hidden in the house?”

“It’s hard to pinpoint exactly, but at least since the early 1930s, based on the printed dates on the bills and their condition. The forensic lab captured and recorded what it could. We’re still checking into records and reports.”

“That’s a lot of money,” Olivia mused thoughtfully.

“Yes, it is,” Sloan agreed. He regarded Olivia thoughtfully. “You’re renovating the house. Planning on moving in when the work is done?”

“I thought about it. That was my original idea. But now…I don’t know. I feel a little spooked by what I found inside. I’m not superstitious, but…I’m not so sure I want to live there. First of all, it’s a huge house. I don’t really need all those rooms, so much space.” Olivia glanced off into the distance for a moment. “And now…I can’t help thinking about the money and the previous owner and…maybe he left the house to my aunt for a reason. Like a thank-you for her care and kindness. Maybe…” She turned her gaze to him, shaking her head. “I don’t know.”

Sloan listened as Olivia confirmed a lot of other questions he wanted answers to but not knowing he did until she began to recite her thoughts on the inherited house.

“You could finish the renovations and sell it. Where its located, you’ll do very well.”

“I suppose,” she said without much interest.

For whatever reason, silence fell between them, and it was inevitable that they’d simply regard each other now and again in moments of pure personal interest. Sloan made no attempt to fill the void, just letting his observations and feelings fall naturally where they may. And where they seemed to fall gave him great emotional pause. He also didn’t try to make an excuse for the distance he suddenly believed was being closed between them. Olivia broke the silence, regarding him with a kind of open curiosity that he’d noticed from the start. He had the feeling that there wasn’t a whole lot that she let intimidate her.

“How did you end up an FBI agent?”

He wasn’t expecting that. He had to rearrange his expectations of what Olivia was thinking. “To be honest…it just happened. I’d come back from the Middle East and…”

“Middle East?”

He nodded. “Right.”

Her scrutiny was focused. “Afghanistan.”

It wasn’t a question. Sloan nodded again. “Right.”

Olivia’s reaction surprised him again. She paused her eating with a fixed study of his face. Her gaze seemed to hold concern—and perhaps lots of unasked questions.

“Almost two years. I was in intelligence.” And then Sloan spontaneously offered up another fact. “I met my wife after I returned stateside. We’re divorced now.”

She’d slowed her eating to listen to his tale. Sloan was stunned that he’d rushed in to share so much with Olivia Cameron. But there was also the feeling that he’d done so with a purpose he wasn’t quite sure of yet.

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” Olivia offered quietly.

It was clear to Sloan that Olivia was caught off guard by his confession and didn’t quite know what to say. Was she suddenly thinking of her own divorce? She seemed to be waiting for him to say more, but he wasn’t going to. TMI. It was definitely time to get back to the real reason for summoning Olivia to his office.

“Question. I’m just curious. What would you do with the money if you could keep it all?”

She shrugged. “I really didn’t think about it. But now that you ask…” Her brows furrowed with thought as she considered her answer. “I…I really can’t think of, you know, a big-ticket item that’s on my must have list. I can’t even think of anything I need.”

Sloan found her response a novelty and was secretly amused.

“Would you share some of your windfall with your brother?”

“Jackson?” she asked as if the idea was slightly ridiculous. “I don’t know. He’s doing well on his own, thank you. He’s a doctor. Radiology.” She was thinking again. “Yes, of course I’d give…something to him and his partner.” Her gaze widened on him, as if she’d said something she hadn’t meant to.

Sloan pursed his lips. “Nice gesture. But he is your brother.”

Olivia took a deep breath, trying to manage the conversation, his question. “I think I’d first of all want to try to help the kids in my school. So many of them need so much.”

“You can’t solve all their problems, you know.”

“No,” she murmured. “Maybe scholarships for college or extra lessons.” She suddenly chuckled. “I don’t think I’ll mention it yet to my girlfriends. They won’t take but a fast minute to tell me what they want.”

“But…what about you?”

Olivia’s gaze once again went into deep space, inside to some secret wish or dream. She slowly shook her head. “If my ex and I had survived the bad time in our marriage, I would say…buy a nice home to raise a family. Travel for sure. Finish my degree…”

When she looked at him again, her gaze was still somewhat distant, as if she were actually imaging possibilities.

“Maybe I should make a list of ten things I want to do if I had a million dollars,” she mused.

“Why not? I think you deserve to give it some thought. You never know. There could be lots of things you’d want for yourself.”

The waiter brought the check and a small plate with three wrapped fortune cookies. Olivia reached for one, passing the plate to him. He only took the check.

“Aren’t you going to open one?” Olivia asked.

Sloan shrugged. “I don’t think my life lends itself to wishful thinking…or fortune cookie predictions.”

“But what if something really happens just like it says?”

“Do you believe in all that?” he said, nonetheless unwrapping one of the cookies.

“I think I’m hopeful. I think I feel…you never know,” Olivia repeated to him. “What does yours say?”

“You first,” Sloan murmured, studying the slim piece of paper from his cookie.

Olivia looked at her paper again, finally reading out loud. “‘A lifetime of happiness lies ahead of you.’”

“Sounds nice.” Sloan nodded. “When does the lifetime begin?”

“Maybe it already has,” Olivia said quietly, reading her fortune over and over. “What about you?”

“‘A calm mind will help you make your next decision.’”

“Do you have a calm mind, Agent Kendrick?”

Sloan considered her question and her. “Sometimes. Why don’t you take the last one?” He placed his slip of paper on the table.

They prepared to pay the bill and leave. Olivia took the third cookie and, at the last possible moment, also picked up Sloan’s fortune and put everything in her tote bag.

They walked out to the car and headed back to the field office.

“I want to say something,” Olivia began suddenly, to his profile. “You are the strangest FBI agent.”

“You’ve met other FBI agents in your lifetime?” he asked, amused.

“I haven’t met any before you, but…you seem…different. You surprise me.”

“Thank you,” Sloan said simply.

“You aren’t annoyed by what I said?”

“What you just said suggests you’re pleasantly surprised. Or dumbfounded that I’m weird in some way.”

Astonishingly, she laughed quietly.

“No. You’re definitely not weird. Just…really thoughtful.”

“I take all of that as a compliment. But you can’t forget I’m still doing a job.”

They got back to the building, and he didn’t invite Olivia to return to the office with him. There were no more questions he needed to ask, nothing else he needed to find out from her. At least as it pertained to the discovered money in her house. But…there was one thing…

“I’d like to ask you to do one more thing. Could you put off returning to the house or continuing with renovations for a while longer?”

“Why?” Olivia questioned as he walked her to her car.

“I’d like to take a look around. Just to see for myself where you found the money. See what the chances are that there are other hidden spaces in the house. I’d like to set that up quickly…maybe in the next few days. Are you okay with that?”

“If you think it’s necessary.”

“Good.”

Sloan stood watching as Olivia got into her car, started the engine. He considered her again, knowing his gaze was more personal in the moment than he should have been. Then he turned to head back into the building.

“Wait!”

He turned back. She had the window down, leaning out to talk to him. Sloan approached and bent over to bring them closer for conversation. It was an odd moment because their faces were very close and a kind of aura between them made it feel even closer. Her eyes were deep, impenetrable pools.

“I’d like to ask you…” Olivia began.

But she seemed flustered suddenly. Was it because they were practically nose to nose through the open car window? Sloan waited her out, saying nothing.

“Would you consider letting some of my students visit on a field trip to your office? I think it might be good for them to see what you do, what the FBI is all about…and why you’re not a cop.”

Sloan grinned at that. “I think we can work that out. We have a Teen Academy that’s just right for your kids. They’re old enough to qualify. A full day of hands-on activity to see how interested some of them might be in a career here.”

“That’s great. Thank you so much.”

“My pleasure, Ms. Cameron. Call me and we’ll set up something.”

He stood back up, stretching his hand in farewell, and again turned away.

“Olivia,” she called after him. “You can call me Olivia.”

He stopped and looked over his shoulder to find her watching him. But her expression and demeanor had already moved them out of the realm of interviewer and subject. Olivia was uncertain…but maybe hopeful?

“Sloan,” he responded to her opening.