CHAPTER TWO
1919 Words
CHAPTER TWO
Dakota Steele pushed through her apartment door, phone in her hand, her brow furrowed as she listened to the final sentences of the recorded voicemail.
Things going on here... things you and Marcus never knew. Just let it go...
She shut the door behind her, phone still raised as she replayed the message for what felt like the fiftieth time.
Only a week had passed since she'd received the message, and she couldn't get it out of her head. She brushed a hand through her dirty-blonde hair, twisting the fringe to hide the streak of premature gray that threatened to dangle over her sea-gray eyes.
Dakota tossed her keys into the dish next to the door, double-checked the locks and inhaled the faint scent of fresh paint. The apartment outside Quantico was far nicer than the one she'd had back in Rapid City, but it didn't yet feel like home.
Not a chance in hell, Steele, the recorded message was saying. “It's a dead case. Got me? Don't call again...”
The voice of ex-Supervising Agent Drafuss blared from the speakers at full volume. Dakota had practically memorized the mini lecture but now she was trying to listen for any background noises. What had Agent Drafuss so scared?
For the last few weeks, she'd been trying to track down Drafuss's new address, but it wasn't listed, and if she tried to find him via some database, it would undoubtedly ping the old supervisor.
As Dakota's brow scrunched, a text vibrated her phone. She frowned as the voicemail was cut off mid-sentence. Her expression lightened somewhat, though, as she read the message.
From Agent Bonet—one of her old coworkers, and a mutual friend of Dakota and Marcus.
Also, a very good-looking old coworker.
The message simply read: Heard you were back in town! We should meet up soon!
Dakota studied the message, feeling a faint smile crease her lips. It wouldn't be so bad to grab drinks with Bonet, would it? He'd been a football player back in his youth, and still had the physique to match. The two of them had bonded over their background in athletics. Combat sports and playing linebacker for a Division I school weren't that dissimilar. Hell, he even had a cauliflower ear to match Dakota's.
She reached up, fingers touching absentmindedly at her injured ear.
She quickly texted back. “Sure! Sounds good—Just let me know when!”
She lowered the phone and gave a faint nod. Aloof but friendly. Besides, it wasn't like he was asking her on a date. Definitely not a date. He probably just wanted to know what the hell had happened three months ago, almost four now.
She'd quit the agency and moved back to Rapid City, all because of a failed case. An innocent victim was killed because Dakota had made a mistake... But Agent Drafuss's voicemail was resurrecting her curiosity. She'd never heard the man so spooked.
Dakota hesitated, frowning. In fact, Agent Bonet worked as a techie. If anyone could give her access to the old case files on the down-low, it'd be the handsome linebacker.
Besides, she smirked, it wouldn't hurt to hear his voice again.
She nodded to herself, standing near her mini- ridge, stocked with seltzer water, and gave Bonet a call. She nearly hung up twice as the phone rang, but by the sixth ring, a voice suddenly answered.
“Dakota?” the voice said, eagerly. “Hey, is that you?”
Dakota hesitated, swallowing back a lump in her throat. Again, briefly, she considered hanging up. But no—shit... he clearly knew it was her number. How else would he have texted? Besides, she needed his help...
Plus... if she was honest... one of her fears of returning to Quantico was having no friends, no allies. Marcus Clement, her partner, would certainly have her back. But already, Dakota sensed hostility from the new Supervising Agent.
Another friend, a very good-looking friend at that, could make a difference.
She let out a shaking breath, then said, “Hey Mark! It's been a while.”
“Ha! I'm so glad you called. Did you get my message?”
“Umm—yeah. Yeah, just saw it. I texted back.”
“Oh, woops, guess I missed it. Huh—here, let me check—”
“No, no,” Dakota said hurriedly. “That's fine. We can figure out scheduling when it's convenient for you.”
“No worries. I'm not doing anything, Steele.” He chuckled and she could picture the way his perfect jaw and bright, baby blue eyes would look. “Just trying to look busy for the head honchos. You know how it is.”
Dakota laughed uneasily. She wasn't sure the best way to ask for a favor. It felt awkward already. She didn't want Mark Bonet to think she was just trying to use him. But she could also feel her own sense of urgency.
Something about her last case had Drafuss spooked. Enough to get him fired? Relocated?
Her brimming sense of curiosity prompted her next question. “Say, Mark, I don't know what they've been chatting about around the water cooler, but I was wondering if Drafuss is around at all...”
She tried to keep her tone innocent, carefree, but even now she felt a jolt of guilt at the deception. Honesty mattered to her. Straight-shooting mattered.
But Bonet didn't seem to notice. “Drafuss? Old ballbuster is gone actually. Left about a week after you did.”
“Right. Any idea where he went to?”
“Not really sure. Probably some new cushy office position. Why do you ask?”
“No reason!” Dakota said quickly. “It's—no, it's fine.” She swallowed. Now came the hard part. There was no way to do it without just doing it. She bit her lip, tried to think of the best phrasing, but Marcus was the one who knew his way around words. Dakota preferred field work. She ended up blurting out, “I—I guess it's irregular, but I was wondering if I could get a copy of that case file.”
“Sorry, which one?”
“That one,” she said a bit more pointedly.
“Oh, huh,” he replied. “Umm...” He trailed off and Dakota felt a sinking sensation. “Actually—you know that file is currently locked.”
Dakota momentarily forgot that she wanted to make a good impression. “Locked?” she said, practically screeching it, her voice an octave higher. She swallowed, composing herself. “Sorry, I mean locked? How?”
She heard the sound of typing keys, a faint pause, then, “Huh. Strange. Looks like you need permission from Agent Carter.”
“Wait, you mean the new boss?”
“That's the one.” Bonet whistled faintly. “Hate to be the bearer of bad news, Dakota, but Supervising Agent Carter is a bit of a hard head.”
I know, Dakota thought, remembering her last run-in with Carter. The woman hadn't seemed at all fond of Dakota or of allowing her to return. It had taken some convincing and a promise to attend therapy. If not for Marcus's good word, Dakota wasn't sure she would ever have been allowed back.
And now this? A file locked by the supervising agent herself?
Roadblock after roadblock. First Drafuss wanted nothing to do with her and now Carter was hiding files. But why? Had it been a mistake to fly across the country?
She'd been sober for more than a week now, but could feel her anxiety rising. She glanced towards the fridge—a knee jerk reaction. In the past, she'd found bottled comfort in that appliance.
The seltzer waters were supposed to be a substitution, but the non-alcoholic beverages were about as effective at tricking her subconscious as chewing on sunflower seeds was for a smoker.
Dakota felt a prickle of longing. Not just for her old bad habit, but for Coach Little. He'd know what to say—he always knew how to motivate his athletes.
She sighed. “Thanks, Mark. Sorry for bothering you.”
“No worries—no bother. But yeah,” he said, a bit too eagerly, perhaps, “about drinks—this weekend work?”
“I—I think...” She wanted to say yes. She would've said yes... but now her mind was distracted once again. Someone had sealed her case. The case that had nearly ruined everything. She thought she wanted allies... Wanted friends.
But she knew the real reason why she'd returned. To find the one that got away. The killer who was out there now, laughing at her. They called him different names while working the murders. He had targeted young women. But the name that had stuck in Dakota's mind was simply the Watcher, on account of the third eye he would paint in blood on his victims' foreheads.
She shivered as a slew of pictures rapidly flashed through her subconscious. Crime scene photos she'd tried to forget and now, given this phone call, was trying to access once more.
“You know, it's fine. I'm sure you're busy,” Mark said quickly, sounding mildly disappointed. “How about you let me know what day works for you? Unless—”
“No, yeah. Yeah, that'd be great,” she said quickly. “Probably the weekend. Just, I'll check, okay?”
“Sure!” he brightened once more.
“Oh, damn, Mark, sorry, I'm getting another call.”
“No worries! Good talking, Dakota. Really. It's been too long!”
Dakota smiled faintly as she switched to the new caller—an unknown number. “Hello?” she said.
“Agent Steele?” came a brusque voice that somehow communicated a scowl.
“Supervising Agent Carter,” Dakota rattled off, standing to attention even though she was alone in her apartment.
“Marcus is already here,” she said, her tone terse. “Are you near the office?”
Dakota winced. “No. I didn't think I was supposed to—”
“Well come in. We can't wait all day for you.”
“Of course. Sorry. I just thought you'd said I could take today—”
“You have a case, Steele. Hurry up.”
Agent Carter hung up. Dakota stood frozen in the middle of her small, newly painted apartment, her fingertips buzzing. A case. A new case. Agent Carter was pissed, but that was history not news.
But a case.
Shit.
Was she ready? It would be the first time stepping into a BAU headquarters after her time away. Old faces, old places...
She let out a long breath. Marcus was waiting at the office. Dammit. If not for Clement, she would have been tempted to bail right at that moment.
But Marcus had gone to bat for her. Besides, if she wasn't drinking, she needed something to fill that void. Solving cases, chasing bad guys always brought back that familiar buzz. And on top of it, if she did a good job, perhaps Agent Carter wouldn't be so hostile. Then maybe Dakota would have a chance of accessing those sealed files.
She sighed, turned on her heel, snatched her keys, and walked right back out the door, her stomach twisting and twirling so badly she thought she might throw up.
- Writer
