Expectation (Ghost Targets, #2)

Prologue

1. Back to Work

2. Eric Barnes

3. Home

4. At De Grey

5. Mrs. Barnes

6. Liaison

7. The Secret

8. Talking to Martin

9. Jurisdiction

10. Truth

11. The Real Crime

12. Manhunt

13. At the Sunrise Inn

14. Standoff

15. Expectation

He hit her, before he died, and that made it just a little easier. It wasn't much of a strike, just wild flailing, but his class ring split the skin above her right eyebrow. She heard the sickening sound of it biting into the bony ridge above her eye, accompanied by a blinding flash of pain. She shook it off a moment later and caught at his wrist. For an instant their fingers closed together, like lovers holding hands, then she put her weight on his arm and pressed it down to the floor, careful not to bruise him with the effort. His other arm was pinned under his body, and she was clear of his thrashing legs.

As she surveyed him, her eyes fell on his for one horrifying moment. His were too wide, rolling like those of a panicked horse, and she could imagine all too easily the confusion and fear and betrayal exploding in his brain. The pain, too. A tear slipped from her eye. But there was nothing available that could do what she needed without causing pain. She ripped her gaze away and mouthed
I'm sorry
 to the cold floor. He couldn't see her face now, but it didn't matter. It would be over soon.

She almost screamed when his watch started beeping, a futile alarm as the watch's face began to burn an angry red. She bit back her yell, though, calling herself all kinds of silly. She'd known the alarm was coming.

How much time had passed? She glanced at her own wrist, where a stopwatch whizzed merrily through the microseconds. Only a few seconds had passed. Disbelief froze her for a moment, but her preparations finally overwhelmed her surprise, and she forced herself to pay attention to the numbers on her watch. To understand them.

Only eight seconds; two since the alarm had gone off. Three now. She had four seconds left, and if it wasn't done by the time her clock hit twelve, she was dead, too. Thousandths of a second flew, like grains of sand hurtling through the gap in an hourglass. Too quickly, she thought, glancing once more at his face, then tearing her eyes away. The stopwatch felt malicious somehow, acting out his vengeance. The imaginary sand was determined to bury her. Thousandths and hundredths and tenths of a second flew by, ripping away her chance of escape. The seconds slipped away, but still it felt like an age. Waiting, not knowing.

Her watch said 0:00:10.271 when his watch beeped once, a benign sound announcing a false alarm, and the backlight switched back from red to white. All clear. His body was still now, on the floor, his head twisted around at a strange angle and his eyes mercifully closed. His chest rose and fell, slow, rhythmic, but he was gone. She kept her eyes locked on his watch for another minute, but it showed only the Mountain Standard Time with an abbreviated weather report in a smaller font below. Hippocrates didn't know. She took a deep breath and let it out. No alarm from Hippocrates, and God knew there were no cameras in the lab. That meant there were no emergency sirens screaming toward the clinic, no reports generating in Jurisprudence, no cops setting up roadblocks at a two-mile perimeter from the scene of the crime. She took another deep breath, and felt her fear escape her as she exhaled. There was no crime, only a tragedy. Only an accident.

Her fear dissolved, leaving behind only pity. She caught his hand, raised it as though to kiss it, but instead slipped the bloody class ring off his finger. Her forehead burned where he'd hit her, but it hadn't bled much. She let his hand fall, rose gracefully, and looked down on his still form for some time. "I'm sorry," she said, then disappeared into the night.

Katie couldn't help glancing up at the security camera, but she immediately tore her gaze away. "This is my job," she mumbled under her breath. She fixed her attention on her own dull reflection in the elevator doors instead. A little small for a federal agent, but she packed a punch. She'd ridden up this elevator twelve times before—before fleeing to South America in hot pursuit of a villain and then spending weeks in a hospital there. Her hair was back to its natural black after that trip, and starting to grow out long again. In stark contrast, her skin looked awfully pale. The convalescence had been a tough one.

Less than a week on the job and over a month away from it, and, riding up now, she had no idea what to expect at the top. Lucky number thirteen, she thought, and her eyes drifted back up to the camera. Her hands clenched and relaxed, again and again in her nervousness.

She tore her eyes away again and told herself again, more firmly this time, "This is my job."

A bell chimed at her floor, and when the doors flew back, Reed was there, looming right in the doorway. Behind him were the crystal clear, bulletproof glass doors with the words "Ghost Targets" frosted into them at eye level. In her time away, she had imagined a hundred different ways this could go, and the ones with Reed waiting for her at the elevator all went bad. In real life, it was even more terrifying, and she had to bite back a frightened little yelp.

Reed merely took a short step into the elevator, nose-to-nose with Katie even as she fell back a pace, and without looking he punched the button for the ground floor. She remembered Reed, tall and lithe and in charge. He smelled like fresh soap and quiet strength. She expected him to take her shoulders, to restrain her against whatever he had to say, but he pinned her in place with just a look.

At last he spoke, his voice kinder than anything she'd ever heard from Rick. "This
is
 your job."

She nodded, and realized to her horror she was close to tears.

Reed pulled back to arm's length without releasing her eyes. "Katie, what are you doing here?" He saw her fear then, and his face softened. "Oh, Katie, don't get me wrong." His shoulders slumped, and for a moment he looked like a little boy who'd made a big mistake. "You are absolutely welcome here, Katie. Hell, you're
needed
 here, right now, but you should be at home getting rest—"

"I've rested enough," she said, her chin coming up with more defiance than she really felt. "Reed, I need to do something. I'm going nuts, trapped at home alone. I need to be back on the job."

Before he answered, the doors chimed open on the lobby. She imagined him shoving her back out, shouting after her to go home, and for a heartbeat she could see the same scenario playing out in his eyes. Then, without ever breaking eye contact, he punched the button for their office. "Fine," he said, "but I'm keeping an eye on you. You've got nothing to prove, Katie, and we need you healthy, got it?"

She nodded, somewhat cowed, and he finally stepped off to the side, staring at the elevator doors instead of her.

"How much do you know?" he said.

"What?"

"You've been cleared with Craig for a week and a half now. Thought you might want to get up to speed while you convalesced."

She rounded on him, all her earlier timidity lost in a flash of frustration. "Why didn't you tell me? I could have been working all this time? Dammit, Reed—"

He laughed, which startled her enough to break her tirade. She blinked, then asked more quietly, "Why didn't you tell me?"

He clapped her on the shoulder. "You were half-dead, Katie. Like I said, we need you healthy up here. We were never really flush to begin with, and losing Rick... God, no matter what he was, losing Rick is a real blow." He trailed off, silent for a moment, then shook it off. "I didn't message you, because I was worried you would take the news as an assignment and push yourself too far too fast."

She shrugged, knowing her presence here just confirmed that to him. He didn't drive the point home. Instead, he turned back to business. "Well, ever since word of Rick's duplicity got out, the Government Accountability Office has been all over us. They're reviewing all our active cases from the last year, and that's put a real limit on what we can do."

The doors flew open once more on their offices, and he called over his headset, "Craig, let us in. Thanks."

Katie frowned. "So...."

"So my hands are tied for the moment when it comes to existing cases, which frees me up to take on a new one. You and me, I should say." He stepped past her and caught the open door, holding it for her, and as she stepped into the office, everything he was saying slipped from Katie's mind.

She hadn't been back since the night she shot out a window and took her chance with the building's fire escape. A shudder caught her as she stepped across the threshold and into the office where she'd been a prisoner, if only for a few minutes.

She looked around the room. The window over her desk was already replaced, the mess of it cleaned up, and the other agents in the office were too busy at their desks to even look up at her entrance. She'd feared suspicious stares and narrowed eyes—and secretly hoped for cheers and applause. She had saved Hathor, after all, and with it the world as they knew it. But Reed was probably the only one here who knew the full story. Or maybe they all did, and that sort of thing was just commonplace for these guys. She didn't know enough to guess which it was.

Reed brought her back to the moment with a quick tap on the shoulder. "Right, then," he said. "We've got to introduce you to Dimms."

Her eyes went wide. "A new boss already?"

He laughed openly at that. "No. No. Things being what they are, finding a replacement for Rick could take months. Meantime, I'm acting department head."

"Congratulations!" she said brightly, but he didn't even smile.

He just said, "Thanks," deadpan, then nothing else as he wove his way through the desks of the bullpen. Katie almost bumped into him when he stopped abruptly at the second desk past the conference room. He put his smile back on as he made introductions. "Katie, this is Brian Dimms, one of our analysts. Brian, this is Katie Pratt—our big hero."

She didn't have to blush at that, because Brian grinned like it was a joke. That settled that, she thought. For his part, Brian was probably five foot six, early thirties, with thin red hair and a prominent nose. He had a weak chin, too, but when he turned his smile on her she took an immediate liking to him.

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Pratt!" He stuck out a hand without rising, and she shook it briskly. "Are you going to be working the Gevia case with Reed?"

"She is," Reed said as he pulled a buzzing handheld from his pocket and skimmed a new message. He sighed. "Fill her in, would you? I've got to take another meeting with the Steves."

He started to go, but caught the sudden look of fear in Katie's eyes. She felt a powerful deja vu, and it was nothing she ever wanted to go through again. But Reed shattered the memory of Rick with a look of perfect sympathy. He stepped close and lowered his voice just for her. "I'm with you on this. All the way." He held her eyes until she nodded, and then he stepped back and said firmly, "Tell her everything she wants to know, Brian." He held Katie's eyes for a moment longer, making wordless promises, then finally turned and disappeared into Rick's old office.

They both watched him go, and when Brian turned back to Katie, she realized he was nervous, unsure how to begin.

She broke the ice. "So, what's an analyst do?"

Brian blinked in surprise, then shrugged. "Up here, we watch programs that watch Hathor so cases don't take us by surprise. It was—" he jerked a thumb over his shoulder rather than say Goodall's name. "It was one of the old man's plans, because every case is urgent by the time we learn of it through official channels, and we are
always
 underfunded."