“I’ve been watching her closely like you asked,” Barry said. He hadn’t been surprised by Juan’s request, and he didn’t feel guilty about it, either. The only way they could function in the law enforcement role established by Congress was to have good agents under the command of a strong leadership. He’d often assessed rookie agents, especially since joining the San Antonio office.
“She’s focused and has good instincts,” Barry said. “She took my direction, even when I could tell she was frustrated that I wouldn’t let her pursue something or ask questions. Though she’s only been here a few months, she’s already built relationships with local law enforcement, including the deputy coroner, Julie Peters, and SAPD detective Tia Mancini which, honestly, made the crime scene this morning go smoother than I would have expected after we took over the investigation.
“Lucy is like the Energizer Bunny—she doesn’t stop,” Barry continued. “Not in the same way as Kenzie, who simply can’t sit still, but her mind is continually turning over evidence and information. She wanted to continue working tonight, but I sent her home. It’s clear to me that she’s going to burn out quickly. She seems to recognize this in herself, but she doesn’t know how to turn off the job. And—to be honest—I don’t think she wants to turn it off. That would be my number-one concern.”
“I knew that when she was assigned to San Antonio,” Juan said.
“Are you having me assess her because of what happened in Hidalgo?” Barry knew Juan hadn’t told the staff the entire story, and Ryan wasn’t talking about it, either. Lucy had rescued a group of kidnapped boys being used as drug couriers, but she’d been put on unpaid administrative leave for two weeks for disobeying a direct order. Yet no one seemed to know what that order was, and the punishment seemed extreme considering what she’d accomplished. There were a few rumors going around about whether she’d violated federal law by crossing the border into Mexico while running an op, but there was nothing in the official record and Barry wasn’t going to ask. It wasn’t his place.
Juan didn’t answer his question, which made Barry think the rumors were accurate. Instead, Juan said, “How is she in the field?”
“Like I said, sharp. She was too confrontational with Congresswoman Reyes-Worthington, but I smoothed it over.”
“Why confrontational?”
“She didn’t think the congresswoman was surprised that her husband was with a prostitute. She thought the woman seemed calculating.”
“Maybe she wasn’t surprised. And politicians can be very calculating, always looking at poll numbers and how something will appear on the news.”
“It just seemed—I don’t know, Kincaid focuses on different things than other rookies I’ve worked with. I’m afraid she projects too much, and sees things that are simply not there.”
“She has a master’s in criminal psychology.”
Barry hadn’t known. “That explains a lot.” Like how she assessed the situation at the hotel, and how she worked through the possible scenarios from a personal point of view rather than simply making a factual summary. But had he known earlier would he have changed the way he investigated this case? Probably not.
“I need to make sure she’s not a danger to herself or others in the field,” Juan said. “I want to know if she has tunnel vision, if she takes unnecessary risks. You’re the most even-tempered agent on this squad, and you understand the regulations better than anyone. You’re also unbiased and the only one I trust with this particular assessment.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll do my best.”
*
It was after seven Saturday evening when Lucy walked into her house. She was looking forward to brainstorming with Sean—she enjoyed discussing her cases with him. His insight was always sharp, and he seemed to enjoy walking through the facts with her.
She thought about what Barry Crawford had said, that she needed to learn to turn off the job. Easier said than done.
She stepped into the kitchen and was greeted by a mouth-watering, spicy aroma. “Sean?” she called. He didn’t answer.
The kitchen was a mess, with pots and pans in the sink, a couple empty beer bottles on the counter, and remains of chopped veggies on the cutting board.
Her phone vibrated. It was a message from Sean.
Welcome home. Go upstairs and change.
She laughed and responded.
Bossy, aren’t you?
He texted back:
Pretty please.
She went upstairs, dumped her briefcase and gun on the dresser, and then noticed that a dress was laid out on the bed. She picked it up. Next to it was a note in Sean’s writing.
Remember when you bought this?
They’d been in San Diego, right after Christmas, and drove up to La Jolla where there were lots of boutiques. Sean had admired the dress in the window and she’d teased him that he should buy it for himself. He’d asked her to try it on and she did. It was perfect—casual and comfortable and classy all at once, a free-flowing blue silky thing that hung shorter in the front than the back. She’d bought it but had never worn it.
She changed into the dress, touched up her makeup, and brushed out her long wavy hair, then went back downstairs expecting to see Sean. He wasn’t there.
I’m dressed. Where are you? she texted him.