Set Up With The Agent. Lori Harris L.

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      Irritation kicked in. “Incident? Isn’t that a slightly benign description for being locked in the trunk of a burning car? The fact that I have some difficulty sleeping, that I’ve had occasional problems handling tight spaces isn’t all that unusual, is it, given the circumstances?”

      “No. What you’re feeling is quite normal.” Holding a pencil in one hand, he ran the fingers of the other one up and down the length as he studied her. “So you believe that you should be put back out into the field? Where your failure to function at a crucial moment could possibly endanger your life or the life of an innocent bystander or coworker?”

      She held on to her irritation. “I recognize that I do have issues at the moment, but I believe they are temporary and controllable. I don’t feel they undermine my ability to do my job.”

      “So, if you don’t believe you need help, why are you here?” He paused before adding, “My understanding is that these sessions are voluntary.”

      “That is what the manual says,” she agreed. Unable to sit still any longer, she got up and paced to the window. Even though her SAC—Special Agent in Charge—had characterized the counseling as voluntary, she knew better.

      “Don’t you want to improve?”

      “Sure.” And she wanted to keep her job, too. She looked out at the dark night. The window overlooked the parking garage across the street where she’d left her car.

      “Of course I want to get better.” She just couldn’t see how dwelling on problems could be therapeutic. That wasn’t the way she’d been raised. You get knocked down, you get back up. End of story.

      With her carefully constructed blueprint of progress a bust, she decided maybe it was the right time to put at least a few cards on the table. And at the same time momentarily steer the conversation away from her. “You attended University of Maryland, didn’t you?”

      “That’s right.”

      She faced him. “And graduated the same year as Bill Monroe?”

      It was Carmichael’s turn to look uncomfortable. “So you think you’re being set up in some way? That I’m your boss’s hit man?”

      “It crossed my mind.” Having given up all attempts to control her body language, she tightened her arms in front of her. “I suppose after that remark, you’ll be adding paranoia to the list.”

      Carmichael’s eyes narrowed and his lips thinned. “Do you consider yourself to be overly suspicious of the motives of people around you?”

      She pretended to consider the possibility. When she’d been doing the background check on Carmichael, she’d done a little self-diagnosing while she was at it. She might be experiencing a sense of fatalism where her job was concerned, but it was fully grounded in cold, hard facts.

      Beth realized the psychologist was still waiting for an answer on the paranoia issue. “No. I don’t consider myself to be paranoid.”

      Even if Carmichael didn’t know the real reason she was undergoing counseling, the only reason she still had a job, she did. She was the prosecution’s only witness on the Rabbit Rheaume money laundering case, and they were worried that she’d fall apart during cross examination. These sessions were meant to keep her functioning until after the trial—until after she’d taken the stand and the feds had their conviction.

      But once they did, all bets would be off.

      For more than two years now, since she’d gone over his head, Bill Monroe had been looking for a way to get rid of her—not an easy task considering the previous glowing evaluations he’d given her.

      The knot in her gut tightened. Even before she’d gone in undercover, landing a position as Rabbit Rheaume’s assistant, she’d been trying to hold on, to play Monroe’s game. She was hoping that those above him would somehow miraculously recognize that he was conducting a witch hunt against her. But even from the beginning she’d known that her survival was unlikely. That even though she’d managed to survive Rabbit’s car trunk, it was unlikely she’d survive Monroe. He was a twenty-two-year veteran of the Bureau. Part of the men’s club. And the FBI historically tended to protect those in higher positions, sacrificing lower-ranked employees.

      Realizing Carmichael was watching her again, she slammed the door closed on that line of thought. She couldn’t afford it right now. “Maybe I’m a little lost at the moment, that’s all.”

      “We all are sometimes. But none of us has to remain that way.” Carmichael crossed to his desk, opened the top drawer and pulled out a prescription pad.

      She found it difficult to hide her exasperation. What kind of pill would it be this time? She’d tried taking what he’d prescribed on the first visit, something for anxiety, but when the drug had interfered with her ability to function, she’d quit taking it. She’d needed to stay clear-headed, keep her wits about her.

      When he finished writing, he ripped off the top sheet and handed it to her. Even though she had no intention of having the prescription filled, Beth glanced down at the writing. The name Harriet Thompson was followed by a local phone number.

      “She’s a colleague of mine. She didn’t attend Maryland and doesn’t know Bill Monroe.”

      Her eyes narrowed briefly as she wondered if she was in fact paranoid.

      “You’re a very strong woman, Beth, but you still need to talk to someone.”

      She glanced up. “Are you firing me?”

      “No. I just want to be sure that the next time we meet, you’re here for the right reasons. I can help you, but only if you let me.”

      ONLY MINUTES LATER Beth buttoned the heavy, wool coat over her navy-blue suit and pulled on gloves before pushing open the office building’s exterior door and stepping out into the cold night. As the early-November wind cut through her, Carmichael’s words lingered in the back of her mind.

      She’d always considered herself to be tough and competent. During the sixteen weeks at Quantico, she’d physically and mentally outperformed most of her class, even those with military or law enforcement backgrounds.

      But in a single night, that had all changed. She’d gone from tough to frightened. And now, nearly four months after she’d escaped the trunk of a burning car, she still felt trapped, as if everything around her was going up in flames. Her career. Her relationship with her father.

      She couldn’t afford to look weak, though. Not if she wanted to keep her job. And not when she took the stand at the Rheaume trial. If the prosecution lost there, getting a conviction on the connected attempted-murder charge was going to become even tougher. How was she going to live with herself if the man who had tried to kill her wasn’t made to pay?

      She crossed the now-deserted street. Though it was just past seven-thirty, there were few lights on in the surrounding buildings. Which wasn’t surprising since most of them were private medical offices.

      Her footsteps rang out sharply. The little bit of snow they’d had earlier had melted, but now with nightfall, the moisture had refrozen, creating an extremely thin shield of ice. Not enough to make driving dangerous, but enough to make walking a little trickier, especially СКАЧАТЬ