Nine
Erin looked at her paper. How disappointing. Two questions. One of them had been answered, thankfully. She was in Los Angeles to meet some guy. Craig something. Possibly Hutchinson, since that was the only Craig on her public friends list. The first solid lead she'd managed to find.
Then she looked up at her computer and clicked on his name. It brought open a page with a large picture and a whole lot of nothing else. Private. Only available to friends, it said. Did she want to make a friend request?
She didn't. Instead, she just looked at the picture.
He was tall, blonde, broad-shouldered. He looked good. Not too big, but you could tell he worked out. He was standing next to a motorcycle, but it wasn't a Harley or anything big like that. She guessed from her limited experience it was probably a 750cc something-or-other.
He wasn't smiling in his profile image, but that seemed to be the fashion these days, with some crowds, and this seemed like the kind of guy who thought smiling would make him look like a wimp.
"Jeez, Becca, what were you getting involved with this kind of guy for?"
She was already painting a picture of Craig in her head before she ever spoke to him, but that was how everyone worked, wasn't it? He probably belonged to a so-called motorcycle club, probably had done a few recreational drugs once or twice at least. Possibly more, but she wasn't going to overdo her estimation at this early stage. He might own a gun, depending on whether or not he'd been hauled in for the prior drug usage. If they'd managed to catch him before, then he was a felon, and if he was a felon, he definitely owned one, only it wouldn't come up with a records search.
On the other hand, if he wasn't, then the odds were only fifty-fifty. Most people in California weren't keen on guns, and politicians liked it that way. Erin could take them or leave them, but since it was part of her uniform she ended up choosing to take them most of the time.
Her phone rang again. The same number she hadn't recognized before. The Captain, then.
"Russo."
The Captain was using his hard-ass voice and it didn't fit with his words. "How's Judge Judy doing?"
"I imagine she's great, Captain, why? Is Judge Judy a murder victim?"
"Don't be an ass, Russo. There's been a mix-up. Come back to the station, I need to watch you shred those files."
"What the hell, sir?"
"Don't you give me that, I gave you that stuff and I can take it away just as easily. Now come in and you'll get the whole explanation, and until then you can pack up the files and get your ass here, and then you can go home and get your daily Judge Judy out of the way until you're off paid suspension, is that clear?"
Erin could feel her face twisting into a gargoyle-esque mask of fury, but she forced herself to smooth it out.
"Understood, sir. I'll be there in ten."
"I'll have Assanti waiting for you outside to take custody of the files. Then come and see me."
"Understood."
She clicked the button to hang up and slipped her phone into her pocket. So much for that. She just had to hope there was a god damned good reason for this, because if not, heads were going to roll. She wasn't in any sort of way prepared to just accept that she couldn't do anything to help her sister. No chance in hell would she take that.
The drive took nine minutes and she took another to cool down. She didn't get a chance to finish her meditation, though, when a knock came at her window. Assanti stood outside, tall and sporting a deep tan like a guy from Jersey Shore. He gave her an apologetic smile when she looked up at him.
The idea of slamming the door open to hit him with it flashed through her mind. She waited for him to get out of the way before she opened the door. It was just too tempting.
"Russo, I know you're not happy about this, and I just wanted you to know that I have the deepest respect for your work and if it were up to me, you'd be working right alongside my guys."
"So who is it up to?"
"Some suits from Quantico, it seems. This isn't the first time that they've found cases like this, I guess. We put out feelers for any similar crimes, but nothing really caught our eye. Apparently the federales see it differently."
She snorted. God damn Feds think they know everything. Think that the locals are just yokels. It was the same story everywhere you go, and the same every time they got involved. They'd poke around a bit, realize they have no contacts in the area, no idea who these people are, and then usually bungle the damn investigation.
Well, she wasn't going to let that happen this time.
"You mind if I get those files? I'm supposed to take custody of them from you and bring them over to their guy. He'll probably shred 'em, since he's already got copies of his own. Oh—and, did you take any notes?"
She gave him a blank look, and then after a long silence. "Oh, you were being serious? Of course I took notes, Assanti, did you think this was my first case?"
She let the frustration touch her voice, and what was supposed to be lighthearted sarcasm came out angry and bitter.
"Sorry I asked. Can I have those, as well?"
She reached into the car and pulled out the steno pad, peeled off the top sheet, and put it on top of the box, where it stayed for exactly half a second before being blown off and catching the breeze.
"There you go," she sneered, and started inside.
It wasn't his fault. He was good at his job, she figured, but not as good as she was. And she was angry at being taken off—but Assanti had already apologized for that.
She could hear heated voices before she made it out of the elevator. The Captain was old, but he wasn't dead yet, and he had a hot personality to begin with. Arguing over something, and here she was about to throw a wrench into all of it with her own arguing. Gotta love that inter-departmental cooperation.
She knocked at the door and opened it a crack when the voices had quieted down. "You wanted to see me, sir?"
She didn't try to hide the surliness in her voice. He wouldn't misinterpret it, and there wouldn't be any misinterpretation.
"Russo. Yeah, come in. Assanti's off the case, this—guy is taking over."
She shut the door behind her and then took a good look at her just in time for her to hear him ask.
"Erin?"
She blinked. What was he doing here?
"Roy." She breathed out. "So you meant that Virginia."
"That Virginia, yes."
Captain Blunt cut in. "Lieutenant Russo, this is F.B.I. Special Agent Roy Schafer. Do you two know each other?"
Erin answered 'no' just as Roy answered 'yes.'
Erin corrected her answer to 'sort of,' as the Captain's eyebrows screwed up in frustrated confusion.
"What do you mean, sort of?"
"Well, we've met before."
"Great. So you're good friends now. Why don't you make up and play nice with each other?"
"I'm on suspension. Sir."
"That's right, you're on suspension. Now give me your badge and your gun, I don't need you going off and doing something very stupid."
What he didn't realize was that she'd already done something stupid, and it was standing right there in the room with both of them, watching her hand in her badge to serve her suspension.