“Well, you were there too,” said Ava. “I know it’s not my place but don’t forget to book your own appointment.”
Aldrich was one of those people who was generally harmless but did everything to protect his own standing within the Bureau. She needed to play this situation carefully, to lay the groundwork for when he eventually found out she’d gone behind his back.
“I’m putting you forward for a commendation for yesterday’s heroics in the face of grave danger.”
What? She didn’t want a commendation for doing what she was paid to do.
“I appreciate that.” She smiled at him and tried to make it reach her eyes. Would she also get a letter of censure for pursuing the facts behind Van’s death? Probably.
She thought about Dominic Sheridan again. She didn’t need him to protect her. She was an FBI agent, not some frightened civilian. They had a solid indication that Van’s death wasn’t as cut and dried as everyone assumed and it made her crazy not to be taken seriously. Not to be respected as an equal.
“Did you find anything when you went over Van’s files?” she asked.
Aldrich straightened as if knowing what she was angling for. “Nothing to indicate foul play.”
She thought about what the neighbor had told her regarding pulling up Van’s pants.
She opened her mouth to say something and then closed it again. If she copped to continuing the investigation by questioning the neighbor, she’d face disciplinary action and lose any hope of continuing her search for the truth. As a rookie agent she might also lose her job. As much as she hated to admit it, Sheridan was right.
“I know it hurts, but perhaps when he left the Bureau, he decided he didn’t have anything else left to live for…”
Except the trip to Italy he’d planned and the book he’d started to write about his life as a G-man. His friends. His family.
Aldrich reached out as if he was about to pat her arm. She bared her teeth in the parody of a smile, and his hand paused mid-air.
Yeah. Do not touch.
“I better finish my report, sir.” Hopefully Maria Santana would be convicted for conspiring with an escaped felon. People were stupid. People in love were particularly witless.
For a split second, a vision of her holding hands with Dominic Sheridan flashed through her brain. Her heart started pounding, and a flush of heat filled her face. Where the hell had that come from?
“Are you okay?”
It must be bad if Aldrich noticed.
“Still a little shaken up after yesterday,” she lied, touching the scab that had formed on her cheek.
He nodded firmly. “Tomorrow morning. Call the psychologist.”
She watched him walk away then dropped her forehead to the cool surface of her desk. She definitely needed her head examined if her subconscious was envisaging some sort of fairytale romance with the other agent. Sure, he was ruggedly good-looking and charming when he wanted to be, but he was also the sort of guy who was difficult to read and didn’t let anyone close. She’d worked with that type plenty of times before and was sick of constantly striving to prove herself worthy. He was a Supervisory Special Agent ten years her senior, and someone who played by the book. She was a rookie who followed her gut. And, so what if he had a nice face and nice forearms, possibly six-pack abs under that shirt, but it didn’t mean he knew what to do in the bedroom.
She huffed at her own thoughts. How had her imagination escalated to the bedroom? He could be married with kids for all she knew.
Please, please, let him be married. Then she wouldn’t have to worry about making a damn fool of herself over a man who thought of her as nothing more than an annoyance, an irritation, a responsibility he’d inherited from Van.
She didn’t need romantic humiliation to compound all the other issues going on in her life. Better to keep everything professional and concentrate on figuring out what exactly had happened to Van. She could get her heart broken in her own time.
*
Dominic pulled up outside Van’s house later again that same evening in his personal vehicle, a black Lexus. It was nearly 9 PM now and dusk. The quiet settled around him, and he realized with a thick sense of despondency it was almost exactly one week since Van had died.
Dominic got out and closed the driver’s door quietly and walked around the hood. He’d always liked this part of Virginia. It was quiet and relatively peaceful, but close enough to both DC and Quantico to have been in the running when he was looking for his own place when he’d transferred to the Crisis Negotiation Unit from LA. He’d chosen a home more in the country, and closer to work so he’d be able to spend more time with his dog and a little less time driving—theoretically at least.
He opened the passenger door and unclipped his black lab who jumped out and milled in a circle, head down, tail wagging like a truce flag. Ranger was eight now. A present from his father, presumably chosen to demonstrate how incredibly awkward and time-consuming Dominic’s chosen career was—as if being a lawyer had better hours. But, with the help of a doggy daycare near Quantico, fellow agents who loved dogs, and a neighbor who owned horses and took Ranger whenever Dominic needed to go away overnight, they managed. Ranger was beyond the crazed exuberance of pupdom and supposedly more sensible nowadays. At least he’d stopped eating drywall.
Dominic clipped on the dog’s leash and strode across the street. Ranger nosed the scents along the white picket fence as Dominic opened the front gate. The motion sensing security light flashed on, almost blinding him. He walked around the side of the house staying on the grass he’d cut earlier that day. A large shrub hid the window of the study from the street. Crickets chirped loudly and a drop of sweat ran down Dominic’s spine. Ranger whined.
He glanced around. The street was empty. No one sat in nearby parked cars. Still, the sense of being watched lingered.