Eddison snorts, but doesn’t offer further comment. Simpkins has never tried to pretend she approves of Vic’s style, but the last time we were loaned to her, she rode our asses like we were baby agents who’d slept through the academy. It was distinctly unpleasant, and uncalled for.
Vic walks me to Internal Affairs and Agent Dern’s office, which isn’t at all surprising, and then follows me inside, which kind of is. He just shrugs when I give him a sideways glance. “Now what kind of friend would I be if I left you to face the Dragonmother alone?”
Agent Dern looks up from her computer with a wry smile. “I thought it was generally agreed not to use that name to my face. Agent Ramirez, please, have a seat.”
The Dragonmother of Internal Affairs, Agent Samantha Dern has been in the Bureau for almost fifty years. Her face is creased and lined, and her light makeup makes no effort to hide it, just as the silver-white hair cropped in a flattering, kind of fluffy bob has no dye to mask it. A pair of plastic-framed reading glasses, the frames almost the same rose color of her silk blouse, perch on her nose, connected to a thin chain draped around her neck. She looks soft and kindly, like someone’s favorite grandmother, but she’s been known to make grown men cry in under ten minutes.
“Agent Ramirez, where would you like to begin? With Emilia Anders, or with Agent Ryan’s call to HR?”
“What, already?” I blurt, and clap a hand over my mouth. Hopefully the makeup covers just how badly my face is burning at the moment.
Agent Dern pulls off her reading glasses, slowly spinning one of the earpieces between her fingers. “Well,” she says eventually, her face caught somewhere between sympathy and amusement. “At least that’s not how you found out things were over, I suppose.”
“Sorry. I was just . . . surprised, I guess. It took me four months to convince her we really had to tell HR we were dating, and even after we did, she was jumpy about letting colleagues find out about us.”
“Understanding that in this instance, you have every right to tell me to butt the hell out: Are you doing all right?”
“I am, actually.” I smile at her, feeling the week’s exhaustion tugging at the muscles. “It sucks, but I can’t say I didn’t see it coming.”
“Secret admirers can be difficult to deal with, and they’re rarely as charming as movies make them out to be.”
“Emilia is the first kid the killer has injured. Now that she’s done it, though, I worry about whether or not she’ll think it’s easier to subdue the kids with violence first.”
“Agent Simpkins will want to hear that concern; we’ve got some different details to go over at the moment. Have you worked with Dru Simpkins before?”
“Yes, ma’am. Eddison and I were last assigned to her on the child-swapping-ring case ten months ago.”
“That’s right. That’s when this idiot was in the hospital.”
“I was doing my job, Sam,” Vic says mildly.
Agent Dern simply shrugs. “You stepped in front of a bullet meant for someone who raped and murdered eight children.”
“And whether or not he merits execution is for the court to decide, not the grieving father of a victim. We don’t get to uphold just the laws we like.”
It has the sound of a conversation that’s happened many times, the details changing and the tone remaining the same. Agent Dern waves off the distinction with a careless hand. “Back to the first point: Agent Ryan. You don’t work in the same department, so there won’t be any need to shuffle things around, but we would ask that you be . . . discreet . . . when people ask what happened.”
“I’m not interested in dragging her through the mud, ma’am,” I say respectfully. “Things didn’t work out. That’s sad, but it’s not anything like a reason to sully her name through the Bureau.”
“I appreciate that, and I’d expect no less from one of Vic’s protégées, but HR asked me to mention it. Now for the part you’re not going to like.”
Vic shifts uneasily in his chair.
“We have to take you off active duty,” says Agent Dern, straightforward in a way I’ll probably be grateful for later.
“Sam!”
“It’s not my call, Vic, not really.” She regards me frankly, not making apology or excuses. “You know how lawyers can be. Any of the cases currently in the works—any case you touch while this is happening—could blow up at court. It’s stupid, I know. If anything, you’re being targeted by the killer because you excel at your job, not for any nefarious purpose, but the Bureau can’t afford any perception that a clever lawyer could exploit to imply complicity.”
“So I’m . . .” I shake my head, trying to process this. “So I’m suspended?”
“No. But it does mean you need to be hands off on cases. Your team has been on desk rotation anyway, and I suspect Agents Eddison and Sterling will revolt if anyone tries to send them off without you, so you’ll all be kept to Quantico until this is resolved. They’ll be able to work on consults.”
“But I can’t even do that.”
“No. You’re going to have two distinct assignments, Agent Ramirez.” She points to the corner of her desk nearest me, where three enormous binders stuffed with paper rest. “First assignment: your section chief feels, and I agree, that there needs to be training in place for new agents when they’re assigned to Crimes Against Children. Something specific to your division, intended to help agents adjust to one of the most difficult sections in the Bureau. Suggestions for content have been solicited from section and unit chiefs, Bureau psychologists, and agents. You might remember the questionnaire that went out a few months ago.”
I remember Sterling walking up behind Eddison and startling him so badly he spilled his coffee all over our questionnaires. I don’t remember them being replaced and turned in.
“We want you to write it.”
“Me?”
“You’ve been in the CAC division for ten years,” she reminds me. “And then there’s this.” She holds up a much smaller binder with Sharpie calligraphy across the front: A NAT’s Guide to Life.
“Oh, Mother of God.” I can feel the blush burning down my neck and ears.
Vic laughs and reaches out to nudge my shoulder. “What, didn’t know it was still floating around?”
“Why would anyone still have that after ten years?”
“Because they reproduce it and pass it around to all the new agent trainees in their first week,” Agent Dern informs me dryly. “It’s informative, personable, and humorous, and it helps settle the NATs wonderfully. Realistically, Agent Ramirez, there is very little the Bureau will ever be able to do to prevent the burnout that happens so quickly in CAC. What we can do, however, is increase our efforts to make sure those who start working there are better prepared for what they’ll face. And if that means, after reading such a guide, that they don’t feel themselves suited for the division, we can transfer them out early.”
“I wrote that very drunk,” I inform her bluntly. “A good third of us spent the weekend before graduation getting roaring drunk together, and that was the result. That entire thing was born in truly terrible tequila.”
“Written drunk, but edited sober,” she points out. “And ten years of trainee agents have been using it as their bible. This isn’t just a throwaway assignment; we’ve had you in mind from the beginning. We weren’t planning on asking you until later in the year, but there’s no reason not to go ahead and ask it now.”
“You said there were two assignments.”
“Go back through all the cases you’ve worked where you’ve had direct contact with the children. Not the consults, not cases where you were primarily at the precinct or working with adults. Look through your notes, anything you wrote about the children. Not just the victims. Any child. Somewhere in there may be the key to finding this murderer. This is personal for her; you are personal. If we’re very lucky, somewhere in the past ten years, one of your kids is going to ring a bell. Don’t look at the case details, don’t look at the things that seem similar at a stretch. Look at the children, Agent Ramirez. That’s your second assignment.”