Chapter Twenty-One

 

DAVIS

 

I pick up the phone only an instant before my phone goes to voicemail, and part of me would rather not answer. "Davis."

Donaldsen's voice on the other end growls. He sounds as if he hasn't slept, and I can't bring myself to feel bad about it. "Davis? Give me a status update."

I look over my shoulder. Ryan's buckling his jeans, and when he looks up I put my finger over my lips. He gets the message. "Nothing to say, sir. We haven't been able to get in touch with our man in the field since a couple of nights ago."

I hope I sound convincing, and not just for Donaldsen's sake.

"That's not what Agent Ball had to say earlier. He said—"

"Danny's full of shit." I don't like throwing him under the bus, and I like cutting Donaldsen off less. I can hear the way he seethes at the interruption. He can't stand to be interrupted. I know that, and I usually let him go. I can't afford that luxury right now.

Donaldsen boils in a unique way. Most people, you can see it right on their faces. The ones you can't, and it's rare, you can hear it. But not Donaldsen, not the way you'd expect. His voice gets real sweet.

"Agent Davis, what have you been doing with your day?"

"Sir, I've been out getting our man in. Just as you ordered."

I turn and watch Beauchamp, who's watching me talk. I suddenly realize exactly how naked I am, standing there. The odds that anyone might come in seem to be slim, but the fact that it could happen at any second suddenly hits me like a ton of bricks.

"What's taking you so long? Do you know where Beauchamp is, or don't you?"

"It's more complicated than that, sir. I'll have him—"

I try to communicate with Ryan as best I can without saying anything, without giving any sign away to the Inspector on the other end of the line.

"You said you already had him when we spoke this morning, Davis."

"You don't understand, sir, I have to—"

"I'm sure that I don't Davis. I'm not going to come down there unless I have to, and if I have to come down and get you, I'll be bringing the entire cavalry with me. You'll be riding a desk for the rest of your very pitiable career. Am I making myself sufficiently clear, here, Agent?"

I take a deep breath, let my eyes drift shut for a moment and try to get control of myself. I can't let him get to me. I can't afford that kind of attention.

"Yes, sir."

"Two days. If things are so complicated, get them wrapped up. You have two days, but if I don't have an invoice for plane tickets on my desk by Monday morning, then you're not going to like what happens next."

"Yes, sir." Part of me bristles at having to bow and scrape to him.

Another long look to Ryan. He raises his eyebrows, as if he's commiserating with me. I shrug.

"Get this mess cleaned up, Agent. And get your man back to Washington yesterday. Am I being sufficiently clear here?"

"Crystal clear, sir. I'm sorry for any confusion."

"Good. Be sure that everything stays crystal clear, Agent."

He must have clicked the phone off, because before I can hang up, the line goes dead in my ear. I set the phone down on the counter and start reaching for my clothes.

I don't hear Ryan come up behind me, but I feel it when he puts his powerful arms around my waist, turning me around and pulling my still-nude body in close to him. He looks serious, and for a moment I'm afraid that things are going to get ugly.

Instead he presses a kiss against my lips. It's almost surprising, the tenderness in the kiss.

"Everything alright, babe?"

"I can't discuss it," I tell him. Part of me wants to see if he can figure out some kind of solution to my little problem. Another part of me is fairly certain that he can't, and so I don't bother to ask him to try.

He presses another kiss against my lips, then starts tracing the line of my jaw. Part of me wants to let him continue. Even through the exhaustion, my body aches for more.

I push him away. "I can't. We've got to hurry now."

"So something is wrong, then."

"I've got until Monday morning."

"Monday morning? That's going to be a challenge."

I don't tell him that he doesn't know the half of it. I certainly don't tell him that the two-day limit isn't to get McCallister. It's to get him. I have to hope that if I turn up McCallister in that time, and get rid of Beauchamp, that my insubordination will be buried under my success.

It's a fragile and fleeting hope. I pull my trousers back up. I catch Beauchamp watching as the waist catches on my ass. I lean over a little to give him a show. It's the least I can do. Even still, I pull the pants up and button them, then reach down for my bra.

"Two days, then," he says, moving back to sit down on one of the bench-seats. "That's a damn fine time crunch."

I can excuse him repeating himself. People have been looking for McCallister for years. No pictures of him in the last three years. For all we know, he could be dead of throat cancer, or buried in an unmarked grave.

Finding the leader of the Crazy Horses is a job for a task force, and it's a job that takes years to do. I had hoped for months to get Beauchamp to turn him over. Now we have a handful of trusted people, and all of two days.

Calling it a time crunch doesn't begin to describe what we're going to have to do. 'Impossible' is more appropriate. Nobody could do what I'm hoping for. But there's no other choice, because there's no way in hell that Donaldsen is going to give me the chance to prove myself.

I have to take what I want. Of all the reasons I've learned to hate Donaldsen, I have to thank him for teaching me that. If there's something I want, then I have to take it or I'm not going to get it.

I want to sit in his office, I want to sit in his chair, and I want to be the one who has interns kneeling between her knees, hoping for the chance at a fucking job.

I cut that thought off as quickly as I can. I don't have time to let myself get upset. I have to plan, and it has to be a good God damned plan. I finish buttoning my shirt and turn back toward the bar to grab my phone and slip it into my pocket.

"I'll call you tomorrow and let you know what the plan is."

"You don't have a plan, then?" Beauchamp's voice seems to imply something that I don't pick up on.

"I'd better have one, if we're hoping to get something done in two days."

"That's about right," Beauchamp agrees. I have to stop myself snapping at him. I don't.

"What's your fucking point?"

"Sit down, Agent Davis. If I'm going to get my ass off the hook, then we need to plan, and you're not going to get anywhere sitting in a room full of cops."

I give him a long look and sit down on the other side of the booth.