Page 6 of Deadly Charade

“That’s the one. His car has a distinct salami and cheese smell. Because that’s what his wife packs him for lunch. Every single day! My favorite had to be the mustard stain down the front of his white shirt, smudged across his ample belly. We interviewed a suspect on my first day, and the man kept staring at the yellow glob. It was quite distracting.”

The three dissolved into giggles. Prim and proper Violet never left the house without her outfit pressed and her makeup flawlessly in place. Rumor had it that she was a former model, but Violet spoke little about her past even with them. Other than wanting to leave her old life behind when she joined the Bureau.

“I can’t believe they paired you with a slob,” Everly said in between bursts of laughter.

Kira took a bite of her enchilada. “My favorite memory of Vi at Quantico is when you shot 100 on range day and they posted your score. Only one other man shot that high in the qualification run. We might be living in the age of equality, but it wasn’t hard to see the men were livid to be outperformed by you.”

Vi smirked. “I think that’s the same day you threatened everyone that if they called me Barbie one more time, you’d level them.”

“Hey, I take care of my friends.” Kira was the oldest of the group and no one messed with her inner circle.

“How did we all become such great friends?” Everly studied the women. “I mean, Violet is so girlie-girlie. And Kira is the exact opposite. And I don’t make friends easily.”

“But you keep us grounded, Everly.” Violet reached across the table and squeezed Everly’s hand. “And you help Kira and me with any technical problem thrown our way. We work well together because we each bring our own unique skills.”

“Well, that and we all share the same obsession with queso.” Kira picked up the empty cheese dip bowl. “We need to pick a healthier option for lunch next week.”

“No way am I giving up my enchiladas.” Violet took another bite of her favorite dish. She was lean and fit yet ate cheese with every meal.

The women at the table held a special place in Kira’s heart. They’d become the sisters she’d never had. After being adopted by Glen and Jenna Miller when she was ten, Kira experienced a warm and loving home for the first time. But the Millers never had children of their own, and Kira had desperately wanted a sister. Now it felt like she had two.

Kira’s phone buzzed on the table. Any work call on a Sunday couldn’t be good. She punched the screen. “Hello?”

“Agent Miller, I’d like to talk with you more about your adventures yesterday. We have a situation that’s come up and needs immediate attention. How fast can you get to the office?” Her supervisor, SSA Turner, never bothered with pleasantries like a greeting. The man jumped straight to the point, which Kira appreciated.

“I’m on my way.”

She ended the call and tucked some bills under her plate. “I’ll have to skip dessert. I’ve got to head to the office. I’ll see you back at the loft later.” The three of them shared a loft apartment in an up-and-coming part of DC, close enough to the train station so they could easily get to the FBI headquarters. Violet’s father was a senator and insisted she live somewhere safe, and Violet needed two roommates to help with the cost. Even then, it was still expensive.

But they’d managed to get assigned to the WFO—Washington Field Office—and all remain in the same city, an unheard-of feat. Typically, new agents had to relocate. It helped that they had different skill sets, so they weren’t in the same squads. While they were still in their probationary period, Violet wanted to investigate white-collar crimes while Everly focused on cybercrimes. With Kira’s language skills, she hoped to work on organized crime cases.

Kira headed out of the café to her motorcycle parked in front. If only she could enjoy the light-traffic drive through DC, but her mind replayed recent events on a never-ending loop.

She’d completely blown things before she’d officially been in the field.

The last thing she wanted was to be left behind. She’d have to double down on her efforts and show her superiors that she was more than capable of her earned position as a Special Agent. Maybe she’d made a poor choice by visiting the gallery on her own, but her need to prove herself drove that decision.

Twenty minutes later, she parked her bike in the WFO garage and took the elevator to the fourth floor.

She opened the door to Turner’s office and stopped short. Bryce Lambert occupied the chair opposite her boss, looking like he just stepped off the cover of a fashion magazine. She ran her fingers through her windblown locks.

Well, her dreary day just found a ray of sunshine. Violet’s comments rang true—hunky was a good description of the man. Not that she needed to be noticing that. She nodded to Bryce, then focused on her boss. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Have a seat.” The fluorescent office light bounced off Turner’s shiny scalp. The Black man was in his early fifties and lived and breathed his job. His intense dark eyes with fine lines at the corners scrutinized her.

Kira dropped into the fake leather chair next to Bryce. She glanced at him, wondering if he knew why they were summoned. As though he read her mind, he shrugged his shoulders like he had no idea.

Turner cleared his throat and sank farther into the swivel chair, crossing his thick, muscular arms across his chest. If Kira googled the definition of intimidation, she’d find a picture of this man.

“While I’m not condoning your stunt at the museum earlier,” he said, “I’ve reviewed the transcripts you translated. Not the most riveting material, but you have some good instincts for picking out key words.”

He pulled two files from a drawer and dropped them in front of him on the desk. “We’ve had our eyes on a Russian attorney, Alexandr Dominik, for some time. Analysts have confirmed he was one of the two individuals in the online conversation you translated. We believe he has connections with the Russian mafia—the Bratva. Alex’s client list is less than stellar. I spoke with Agent Lambert and he explained the situation. You heard the guard and a man speaking in Russian?”

“Yes, but I was too far away to make out their conversation and didn’t want to approach and seem like . . . you know . . . a rookie.” Might as well accept that he held the power to make or break her career. All she wanted was an opportunity to prove herself.

Her boss’s tight facial features relaxed a fraction. “I do love a good Special Agent who follows her instincts. Next time, give me a heads-up, please. No more going rogue. Don’t need you adding to my gray hairs.” He ran a hand over his smooth head and she grinned.

At least he wasn’t mad.