Sidebars Book 2

Chapter 7

Chapter 7It was time for me to leave. Before I could open the door, Theo pulled me to him for a brief kiss. “Come back to my place tonight?”

I nodded, wanting nothing more than to deepen the kiss, but knowing if I did I’d be tempted to let him drag me back to bed.

He stroked my hair. “Go on to work.”

I walked out the door and practically danced down the stairs, then jogged the six blocks to where I’d had to park my car.

It was ten on the dot when I tapped at the door to Mr. Vincent’s office.

“Come in.”

I looked to see if he wanted it closed behind me. At his nod, I shut it and crossed to stand before his desk. His eyes were cool as he waved me toward a chair, then went back to his monitor. I sat, flinching a bit, then forced myself to sit still. I waited for him to tell me why he had called me in on this Saturday morning, and took the opportunity to examine him unobserved.

He was dressed more casually than I had ever seen him, in slacks and an open-necked Henley. Just to the side of his Adam’s apple was a bruise. It took me a second to realize it was a love bite. I coughed lightly, forcing my eyes off that spot, my fingers wandering to an identical mark on my neck. Mr. Vincent having a life outside the WBIS? What a concept.

“All right, Matheson,” Mr. Vincent started. I jumped, and he frowned.

“Sorry, sir.” I braced myself for a dressing down, and was shocked when he waved my distraction aside. The new deputy director of interior affairs was known to have little patience for inattention. If he was willing to overlook my bemusement, he must be feeling decidedly mellow. Determinedly, I did not think of what could have made him so mellow.

“How was your trip to Boston?”

“Uneventful, sir.” Hadn’t he read my report? “I met with the hacker, and he’s been taken out of the equation.”

Mr. Vincent stared at me, his expression anything but pleased. “Are you deliberately being coy with me?”

I felt myself go pale. I shook my head and kept my mouth shut. I didn’t know how I had f****d up.

“Who’s your trainer, Matheson?”

What? Was this some kind of test? “You, sir.”

For a second I thought he was going to snarl at me. However, when he spoke, his voice was contained. “Who was your trainer?”

“Mr. Adams, sir.”

“Adams? James ‘Bond’ Adams?”

I moistened my lips. “Yes, sir.” Mr. Adams had always insisted we couch our responses ambiguously, and I knew that some of the other, more senior agents, had mocked him behind his back, hence the nickname, James Bond.

Mr. Vincent ran an impatient hand through his hair, and my gut tightened. I wondered if he was about to tell me I had blown my first mission, that I didn’t have the stuff to follow in his footsteps. “Matheson.” If I expected him to criticize my former mentor, I was wrong. Mark Vincent had never been part of the group that had done that. Come to think of it, he didn’t belong to any of the factions that tended to second-guess the activities of other agents. “We’re in WBIS headquarters. If there’s a safer place to speak plainly, I don’t know of it. Now tell me in words of one syllable: is the geek dead?”

“Yes, sir. I blew out the back of his head. I also left a suicide message on his monitor.”

“That was a nice touch.” Mr. Vincent’s eyes glinted with satisfaction. “More importantly, the authorities bought it. You did a good job.” I tried not to let him see how relieved I was. He turned to his monitor, moved his mouse, and hit a key. “I have another job for you.” He got to his feet and crossed to where his printer was hissing quietly as the features of a young woman were gradually revealed. “This is Diane Coyne. She’s an intern on Senator Franklin’s staff.”

“I’ve…uh…” For a second I thought I would toss my cookies as the autopsy hadn’t made me. “I’ve never canceled a woman, sir.”

“You won’t be now. This is a simple tail.”

“Yes, sir.” I tried to hide how relieved I felt.

He took the paper from the tray and handed it to me. I examined it carefully. She was in her early twenties and looked almost anorexic. Her hair was a brown streaked with blonde, in an effort to duplicate the sun’s effects on it, and her eyes were a pale blue. She wore large-framed glasses that seemed to dwarf her features. The lavender-tinted lenses did nothing for her complexion, and in fact made her appear sickly.

“I want to be kept aware of her activities until she boards a jet bound for home. Senator Franklin is having someone in his office work on getting her out of the Capital before the beginning of the week. And I want to know if she meets with Daren Curtin.”

“Daren Curtin, sir?” The name didn’t mean anything to me.

“He’s one of the ones who’re behind this plot to make the WBIS lose our funding. Howard’s keeping an eye on him. Okay, now I’ve already sent her file with all the pertinent information to your computer.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I just want you to watch her. She is not to be erased.” He waited until I nodded agreement. “Very well. You have my cell phone number.” He dismissed me, and I went to my own office. I peeled off my suit jacket and draped it over the back of my chair, then logged on to my computer and downloaded the attachment that contained all the background data on Senator Franklin’s intern. I’d add it to the folder that held information about the rest of his staff later.

Meanwhile, I scrolled through her profile. Diane Coyne, age twenty-two. Graduated the preceding May from Bryn Mawr with a double major in creative writing and classical and Near Eastern archeology. My jaw dropped when I read that. Wouldn’t economics, or maybe political science, have been more germane to a career in the public sector? A notation indicated that her father, Alvin Coyne, was a close, personal friend of Senator Franklin.

Ah. Got it. That was why she had been given the position of junior intern. And that was why Mr. Vincent didn’t want her to simply vanish.

I scrolled further down. She had dated a Korean her freshman year, a Native American when she was a sophomore, a Greek…Hmm, a Greek? Now that was interesting. I wondered what he had taught her. Obviously, she hadn’t thought much of it. Her senior year she had dated a woman.

According to a recent addition to her dossier, she had been seeing a computer analyst since the beginning of the year. Was that what they called it these days? I gazed at the photo that had been scanned into her file and felt a jolt. The name was the one Mr. Vincent had mentioned, but the face—I had seen him once, when Michael had invited me to join him and his coterie of friends for a night out on the town. Michael had hinted if I sucked the guy’s c**k, it might give a boost to my career. I concealed how his words hurt, eyed the man, then turned to my friend, my lip curled in distaste.

“I don’t think so.”

“Suit yourself.” He’d shrugged and left me standing there. I shook my head and went home.

What the f**k had Michael been involved in? I buzzed straight through to Mr. Vincent’s office.

“Yeah?” his voice growled in my ear.

“Sir, this Daren Curtin. I’ve seen him before. Michael knew him. Michael Shaw. I don’t know how friendly they were; that was around Super Bowl time in January.” The last thing I’d admit was Michael trying to hook me up with the man.

“You’ve confirmed the connection. Nice work, Matheson.”

“Thank you, sir. He didn’t see me, there were too many people milling around at the time. The only reason why I noticed him was because of the jacket he wore. It was for the New England Patriots.” The Rams had been heavily favored, and everyone else was wearing stuff with the St. Louis logo.

“Very nice work.” He hung up.

I grinned stupidly, prouder than if I had won the lottery. It soothed the pain of the memory of what Michael had tried to do—had done to us. I went back to work. I had no doubt Mr. Vincent would deal with Daren Curtin. Meanwhile, I had to deal with his girlfriend.

It seemed she was a creature of habit. Every Saturday she went shopping, at either The Shops at Georgetown Park, Union Station Store, or the Eastern Market, three of the most upscale malls in the DC area. She’d be going to Union Station today.

I glanced at my watch. It was almost eleven. Although the stores opened at ten, she liked to make a late start and spend the entire day there. I took out my PDA and keyed in her address. She was sharing an apartment with two other girls who interned for…Senator Wexler. Very interesting. The Senator was also on the appropriations committee. I took a couple of minutes to upload their information into my PDA and then shut down my computer.

I’d have just enough time to make it home, shower, and change into casual clothing before finding a parking spot near her apartment complex. She’d be taking the Metrorail. Her file indicated she used the Metro to get to work, and she had a twenty-eight day fast pass, which gave her unlimited travel. I needed to be at the stop to buy my pass before she arrived.