The Summer Children (The Collector #3)(36)
“I wrote that very drunk,” I inform her bluntly. “A good third of us spent the weekend before graduation getting roaring drunk together, and that was the result. That entire thing was born in truly terrible tequila.”
“Written drunk, but edited sober,” she points out. “And ten years of trainee agents have been using it as their bible. This isn’t just a throwaway assignment; we’ve had you in mind from the beginning. We weren’t planning on asking you until later in the year, but there’s no reason not to go ahead and ask it now.”
“You said there were two assignments.”
“Go back through all the cases you’ve worked where you’ve had direct contact with the children. Not the consults, not cases where you were primarily at the precinct or working with adults. Look through your notes, anything you wrote about the children. Not just the victims. Any child. Somewhere in there may be the key to finding this murderer. This is personal for her; you are personal. If we’re very lucky, somewhere in the past ten years, one of your kids is going to ring a bell. Don’t look at the case details, don’t look at the things that seem similar at a stretch. Look at the children, Agent Ramirez. That’s your second assignment.”
“That’s . . . actually already in progress, ma’am.”
Vic gives me a startled look that quickly shifts to a proud smile. I am thirty-two years old but damned if I don’t get all warm and fuzzy every time he shows he’s proud of me.
“Agent Alceste is getting the files together on a drive so I can see everyone’s notes, not just mine. I should receive them soon.”
“You braved Alceste?” he asks, the smile turning impish.
“I’ve always wondered why no one refers to her as the Dragonmother of the Archives,” Agent Dern agrees.
Because dragons sometimes interact enough for a game of riddles and she is the least motherly human I’ve ever met, but I’m not about to say that out loud. Instead, I look at the beginnings of my other assignment, all the notes and suggestions from agents and leadership on what should be included in a survival guide. Training manual. The binders on the corner of the desk are a mess. Tabs and Post-its stick out in haphazard places, and there are pages that are just shoved in, either because there wasn’t any more room in the rings or because people were just being lazy. Even odds, really. It’s a hell of a lot of work, and I don’t know that it’ll do even half of what the bosses are hoping. No matter how prepared you are intellectually, working in CAC is an anvil chorus; the hammers always hit hard.
“Eddison is going to chafe at being chained to his desk for even longer,” I observe eventually.
“Probably,” agrees Vic. “But even if we gave him the option of fieldwork, he isn’t going to leave you behind.”
“Sterling is a blue-eyed ball of mischief. If there aren’t enough consults and she gets bored . . .”
“Personally, I’m hoping she’ll provoke Agent Eddison into finally trying to bell her,” Agent Dern replies placidly. “It should be quite entertaining to watch.”
“You know,” I say before I can think better of it, “for someone called the Dragonmother, there’s been remarkably little flaming.”
She smiles deeply, soft lines creasing around her eyes and mouth. “I joined the Bureau at a time when females were largely considered second-class agents,” she explains. “Then, of course, I was put into Internal Affairs, which meant I was supposed to be the nagging, critical, never-lets-you-have-any-fun wife. I was the enemy. It was necessary to become a bit of a dragon, simply to ensure that no one looked at me and assumed they could get away with something. It became something of a habit, even after the reputation meant I didn’t have to roar as much. Good agents, Ramirez, never have to fear Internal Affairs. We’re here to maintain accountability and a degree of transparency, yes, but we’re also here to support our agents. You’re not here because you’ve done something wrong. I don’t need to bite or roar or flame or any such thing.”
It makes sense, now, that she and Vic are old friends. I don’t think they came through the academy together—she’s probably got a decade on him, at least—but they likely came through some of the same people. It’s the way they believe in people, the way they work toward not just what the Bureau is, but what it should be, and insist on holding others to a higher standard, not to see us fail but to see us improve and achieve.
“Do you accept the assignments, Agent Ramirez?” she asks gently.
Aware of Vic’s eyes on me, I nod. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”
“Excellent. I’ll have someone deliver the binders to your desk along with an official memo about what’s desired. Vic, you’ll take her on to Simpkins?”
“Of course.” He stands and offers me a hand up, and it’s a little silly to make someone else trek all the way over when I can just carry the binders myself, but he slaps my hand away. “Along with a memo, Mercedes. It’s not in there yet.”
A memo can be emailed.
“Stop that,” he chides, and it takes a second to figure out if I said that bit out loud or if ten years have taught him to read my face entirely too well. From Agent Dern’s cocked eyebrow, I’m going to guess the latter.
I murmur a goodbye to Agent Dern, get a highly amused farewell in turn, and follow Vic out the door.