Page 26 of Sinister Secrets

“See Dave at the security desk on your way out. Have him show you to the indoor range. I’ll make a call as soon as you leave to let them know to expect you. As soon as you’ve passed, you’ll be issued a pistol from the armory.”

“Thank you.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes.” My mouth suddenly goes dry, the sound of my pulse rushing in my ears so loud that I wonder if the man can hear it. I slide my hands under my thighs so he can’t see them tremble. Clearing my throat, I ask, “Will I be working with a partner, sir?”

“For now, no. Given your history, DIC Jacobson recommended against it, and to be honest, I don’t have many agents who would relish the idea of making the drive out to the Everglades every day. That’s one of the reasons I’m eager to add you to the team.”

I sit up a bit straighter. Director Lopez seems like a man who’s careful with his words. To say that he was eager to hire me? Even if it was only to spare his current agents the drive, it feels like a compliment, and I suspect he isn’t very free with those, either.

“If you do well on your own with this case, there’s a chance the arrangement could continue, with your focus being on the west coast of South Florida for us. That said, don’t make me regret extending that trust.”

“Yes, sir.”

I jump to my feet as he stands, eager to leave. Count the seconds until I can make my escape as he gives my hand a firm shake. “One more thing, Agent Knox. You might consider softening your look a bit.”

Please tell me he doesn’t expect me to wear a skirt and heels out in the field simply because I’m a woman.

“I think you might be surprised how much of an advantage it could prove to be.”

Ugh. He does.

I force a small smile then turn quickly to leave before any part of me—my expression, my words, my eyes as I attempt to burst him into flames with my mind—has a chance to reveal how I feel about his suggestion. If it means being allowed to work this case with the support of the Bureau and the authority of a federal agent, I can hold my temper and behave myself for now… but I better solve this case fast.

CHAPTER 15

Popping the tab on a can of soda, I guzzle half of it before setting it into the cup holder. I know the caffeine won’t help with my nerves. That the high-fructose corn syrup now thick on my tongue will only make my thirst from the intense heat worse. But it’s already been a dreadfully long day, and it’s about to get longer, so I’m calling it self-care.

Or maybe it’s the influence of my surroundings. There’s no denying that as I’d hung my listing for the two mobile home rooms on the bulletin board at the veterinary college only moments ago, I’d felt distinctly old. As I’d looked at the graduate students milling about the quad, I felt a moment of jealousy at their youth.

They have their whole lives ahead of them. Their careers. Their faces unlined by time, their skin still firm, their eyes bright and energetic, whereas I feel every bit of gravity working to hold me to the surface of the earth today. Exhaustion weighs my limbs. And the mere thought of where I’m heading has me wishing I’d never left the house.

But it has to be done. Though Sheriff Kingston spent hours with Cheryl Massey yesterday after he notified her of her son’s death, I want to speak with the woman myself. Need to, even if it makes me feel selfish. Because while it’s a part of my job, if I do that job right, there’s a chance I might uncover certain things about her son that a mother wouldn’t like.

Unfortunately, I don’t have the luxury of letting that stop me—or of being satisfied with the scant notes that Sheriff Kingston took when he interviewed her yesterday. So since I have a couple of hours before I’m supposed to meet him at Gordon’s house, which is in foreclosure but still, for the time being, his property, here I am, pulling up in front of a home that I once enjoyed spending time at. Chugging the rest of my drink before trading the cool interior of my car for the heat of the day. Rubbing at the bubble of acid bobbing inside my chest as I knock on the door.

It opens almost immediately, Gordon’s mother appearing in the opening, her eyes vacant and glassy. They stare at me, unseeing.

“Mrs. Massey?”

A man’s head becomes visible over the woman’s shoulder as he peers out of the kitchen. He mouths an apology as he approaches, cups a hand gently around her elbow and leads her over to the couch. He returns when he’s done.

“May I help you?”

“Yes, I’m Special Agent Cassidy Knox. I was hoping to speak with Mrs. Massey for a few moments.”

“I don’t understand. The sheriff interviewed her yesterday. And why’s the FBI—”

“Cassidy?”

Some of the fog has lifted from the woman’s gaze, now filled with recognition.

“My goodness, honey, I didn’t recognize you. Please”—she beckons me inside and pats the cushion beside her—“come in, come in. Larry, this is one of Gordie’s old friends from school. Cassidy, this is my husband, Larry.”

So she finally moved on since Gordon’s father abandoned them for a waitress half his age when we were in middle school. Good for her.

“I take it you heard about Gordie.”