Flawless(4)

Mike had informed Craig that it was his fine solid ass that had saved the day. An embarrassing injury, Craig had pointed out, one that had resulted in all the inevitable remarks.

Naturally, even as they teased him, his coworkers were grateful that his injury wasn’t worse and that he would easily recover.

“Good to have you back,” Craig said, and he meant it.

In Mike’s absence, he’d been paired with Marty Salinger, the new nerd on the block, a by-the-book-until-the-pages-ripped kind of nerd. Craig had just about crawled out of his skin every time Marty insisted on backup when the clock was ticking or refused to make a move without direct permission.

Craig had made it through some hard situations, situations in which going by the book was no help. He’d worked undercover in narcotics, and more than once, fast thinking had saved his life—and the lives of others.

Marty would learn. Sometimes the book was important and gave them what they needed; sometimes, a good agent was better off making split-second decisions without it.

But hell, Craig himself had learned from Mike. Mike had been with the agency twelve years; he had experience and resolve. At five-eleven, he was shorter than Craig by four-plus inches, but he was lean and fit and determined to stay that way. He and Craig spent hours training. They both ran, and participated in the various sports events the agency sponsored.

They both spent long hours at the gun range, too; shooting skills had to be kept sharp when you worked in the field.

Mike had been offered desk jobs over the years. He didn’t want them. It would happen soon enough, he’d told Craig, but he still had work to do making sure he had Craig trained properly. It wasn’t entirely meant as a joke.

Now that memory made Craig think about Marty. One day he would probably be a good field agent; Craig just didn’t want to be the one stuck teaching him. He liked knowing that Mike had his back. He was always afraid Marty would be checking some manual to see if it was all right before he entered the fray.

Luckily, everything had been straightforward during the weeks Mike was out recuperating. Craig and the new kid had been assigned to a gang shakedown. Intelligence had been good, and they’d made a number of arrests without a drop of blood being spilled.

Craig had recently come off that detail, and with Mike newly returned that day from medical leave, they were being called in to see the assistant director.

“You know what this is about?” Craig asked.

“Not a clue. Hey, this is New York,” Mike said. “Could be anything.”

The New York State office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation was the largest in the country, and since New York City had such a massive population, most of the agents were assigned to the city and its environs. The New York office had agents assisting with cases across the country. However, since 9/11, the delegation of duties had changed somewhat. There were now special divisions in the New York office that handled practically everything, from fraud and income-tax evasion to organized crime, gangs, kidnapping, murder, terrorism and more. The units worked together to assess a situation and strategize the best approach. After all, as people often said, Al Capone had been brought down not by a hail of gunfire but by the brilliance of an accountant.

Within the different divisions, there was a small group of agents who’d earned a place in one of Eagan’s special task forces. Craig and Mike fell into that category, so a trip to Eagan’s office was always intriguing. They never had any idea what the assignment might be, except that it was usually in conjunction with another law enforcement agency.

The director’s assistant indicated that they should go on in. “He’s waiting for you,” she told them.

Craig opened the door for Mike. “After you, my friend. I’ve got to watch out for the elderly and the injured.”

“Don’t you mean you should step aside for maturity and experience?” Mike said. “But never mind. You go first.”

“Ah, but I don’t want the door catching you in the ass—the back, I mean—if you go in last,” Craig said.

“Low blow!” Mike protested.

Craig inclined his head. “Okay, we’ll call it maturity and experience.” He held the door and followed Mike in.

Richard Eagan was looking out his window when they entered. “Take a seat,” he said, turning toward them. “File folders are in front of you.”

Eagan was a ramrod of a man. Fifty-plus, he was as fit as a teenager—something he worked at with the same discipline he observed in the office. He was a decent man, but he hadn’t kept one of his six wives for more than a year; none of them had truly grasped his overpowering dedication to his work.

Craig knew that because the last two had cried on his shoulder. Marleen, wife number six, had warned him, “Don’t let this happen to you, Craig. When you find the right woman, find a balance between work and life. I was all for Richard saving the world. What I didn’t realize was that he never meant to save himself.”

He knew that Marleen had been genuinely worried about him. Too many casual relationships had lasted only until he was working around the clock again. Truth was, he had his own reasons for not pursuing a serious relationship. He’d actually begun to explain, but then he’d stopped.

They just don’t make them like the one I lost anymore.

He sat quickly and Mike did the same, and they picked up their folders, scanning the material.