Sitting at the computer, I forced myself to blink a few times, eliminating the dryness staring had caused after hours of reading over my new case file. Contrary to what most people think, as an FBI agent, my boss doesn’t drop a big file on my desk and tell me I’ve got a new case. He emails it to me and then we chat later, once I’ve reviewed it. My position entailed investigating current government cases in other branches of federal law enforcement. It definitely wasn’t my dream job, or why I joined the FBI in the first place. I wanted to fight actual crime; run my own investigations. Instead, I was sent to check in on investigations that were taking too long, where something seemed unusual, or if another agency needed assistance. The latter was generally the case.

This time, I was being sent to check in on an undercover agent for the DEA, Davidson Kelso. He’d been working on a case involving drug runners, and had already been undercover for six months to infiltrate the operation.Now, the DEA didn’t have enough manpower to stay on top of a case that not only seemed cold, but had been going on for what they deemed too long. In Texas, the DEA was busy. Between drug smuggling, human trafficking on the border, and gun running, they were up to their eyeballs in criminals, and needed the extra manpower. Government agencies, particularly law enforcement, were almost always hiring; people were always moving from one section or branch to another, looking for the sweetest assignments.

I’d been at this particular station and doing this job for almost five years when the Kelso case came to me. It was a pretty straightforward gig. I’d track him for a few days, then make my presence known to him, so we could meet up and I could get a better of idea of where the case was going. I’d either offer the FBI’s assistance in moving it along if it seemed feasible, or I’d report back and get further instructions from my superiors. Simple and easy.

The rare occasion did happen, every now and again, where an agent was so deep undercover that they had no way out, and a case was cold. Bad intel, or simply the head of the illegal activity changed the plan; anything could happen.

Generally speaking, undercover operatives from any of the federal branches had enough experience to get themselves out of a jam, so if things were going south, they were either turning crooked - which was always a possibility - or they didn’t have the support they needed from their superiors. With watchdog groups always on the lookout for any opportunity to drag the feds through the mud, in the media or otherwise, much of the top brass had dictated that we’d all help each other out in an effort to keep patriotism and crime fighting the mission. So, we did whatever we had to in order to support other units; or agents, for that matter.

As I read over the case, I continued to go back to Kelso’s picture. There were no two ways about it. He was ridiculously good-looking. Not just for a cop, he was just hot. He was tall, and had a smile that gave me just a touch of that “boy next door crush” feeling. Obviously, I shook it off. I was a professional, and as a female agent, no matter what anyone says about equality, I always felt like I had to be one step ahead everyone else just to stand even.

From my perspective, there wasn’t anything unusual about the case, other than the fact that it had gone on for a long time. Kelso had been brought in as a local expert who knew the ins and outs of the desert, and was able to ingratiate himself with the bosses running drugs across the border and through the southwest. Typically, this would have been a customs and border patrol operation, but since they were also extremely busy, the DEA stepped in and took over this particular case. There was supposed to have been a huge shipment of drugs coming through about four weeks prior, and it never happened. Well, it was never reported to have happened, based on Kelso’s reports I was provided with.

In his reports, he indicated that the shipment didn’t come from Mexico as planned, and he was still working to determine when it would come. Four weeks was a long time to stay undercover and close to these scum bags when there was nothing going on. That’s exactly the type of scenario that causes a man to accidentally befriend the bad guys. When there’s no crime going on, and you’re working them to build or maintain rapport, it’s easy to forget that your job is to send them all to jail. Particularly when you’re working alone.

I ran my hands through my cropped blonde hair, and stopped to massage my neck briefly. I’d been sitting at that desk for hours, putting together my plan so I could present it to my boss before heading out to the field. While it was a cut-and-dried case on paper, I had the distinct feeling there was more to it. I couldn’t put my finger on it, and I squinted at his picture one more time before shutting the file down. “Well, let’s see what you’re up to, Davidson Kelso,” I muttered to myself before heading home for the day.