“You didn’t.”
She hesitated, because she really didn’t want to make it seem like she’d enjoyed any favoritism. It had been difficult enough when she’d learned that her mentor, Dr. Hans Vigo, had pulled strings to get her into Quantico after her application had been denied. But if Barry called the right people, he could learn about her friendship with Rick and she didn’t want him to think that she was keeping anything from him. And trust was a two-way street.
“It’s really not anything,” she said, “but I worked on some projects for Rick Stockton while I was at Quantico. There’s a family connection.”
“You’re related to Stockton?”
“No—nothing like that. Rick is good friends with my brother and sister-in-law.” That was the simplest explanation, and completely true. She didn’t need to go into Rick’s connection to RCK or the Rogan family or talk about what specifically she’d worked on.
“Which brother?”
What did Barry know about her family? She said, “Dillon, mostly. He’s a forensic psychiatrist. And Jack, because of Jack’s work with RCK.” As she said it she realized she was connected to Rick on many levels. He’d also been in the Marines with Kane—at least Lucy thought he had.
“Aren’t your brothers both married to FBI agents?”
“Yes.” She frowned. “How do you know that?”
“I just heard it somewhere,” he said vaguely. Great, Lucy thought, her personal life was a discussion point in the office. “So you’ve known Stockton for a while.”
“A couple of years. Logan thinks it’s a bigger deal than it is. I haven’t even talked to Rick since I graduated.”
“Most of us aren’t on a first-name basis with an assistant director of the FBI.”
Then Lucy was definitely not going to tell him she was on a first-name basis with two of the ADs.
“This is why I don’t talk about this stuff,” Lucy said. “Yes, I have connections. I have family in the FBI. My brother is a civilian consultant to the FBI. But I just want to do my job.”
Barry leaned back. “I understand.”
She hoped he did.
“Don’t worry about Logan Dunbar,” Barry said. “He has his case, we have ours.”
“So, where do we go from here?”
“We need to get Elise Hansen to tell us everything she knows. As soon as the doctor clears her for release, we arrest her. It’s time to play hardball.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Lucy arrived home before Sean. She showered, then changed into her cut-off sweatpants and one of Sean’s T-shirts. She’d never told Sean why she liked to wear his T-shirts, because she thought it would sound silly, but they smelled like him and made her feel safe and loved, even when he was working.
Sean said he’d be home by eight, and it was quarter to that now. She was exhausted, the late night coming back to haunt her. She’d gotten her second wind that afternoon after lunch, but now if she sat down anywhere, she’d fall asleep. Instead, she walked through the house and watered their plants, then stood in the kitchen thinking about what to eat. Nothing sounded appetizing, and she didn’t feel hungry. She padded down the hall to the living room and curled into the corner of the sofa. She flipped through her satchel where she kept the files from the case, and pulled out the packet of notes that Harper Worthington had left on his tablet. She wished she knew what the dates meant. So far, no one in the lab had any idea what they were, but they were running a multitude of programs against local and national events to see if anything popped.
Her eyes were drooping, but then her phone beeped. She thought it was a message from Sean. Instead, it was a personal email from her sister Carina, with a photo attached—an ultrasound of her baby at thirty-eight weeks.
The kid will be here any day the doctor says. I’m ready. I feel like I’m carrying a giant pumpkin in my stomach. I have to pee every hour, on the hour, day and night. I hope you can visit when the baby comes. Nick totally rejected Nick, Jr. He suggested John Patrick, after his father and Dad. I think I’ll give in to Nick on the boy’s name. But we both agree on Rosemary for a girl. Rosie is just a joyful name. Rosemary Thomas. Like it? Connor and Julia are giving us a bad time for wanting to be surprised about the gender. But there’re not enough true surprises in the world anymore, and this is one of them.
Call me sometime. I’m going stir-crazy. I can live vicariously through you!