It felt like something had hit me in the stomach. “What, Frank,” I said, but I already knew.
He laughed. “Relax; it’s good news. Time to wind it up, babe. I want you to go home and start complaining that you feel like you’re getting the flu-dizzy, feverish, achy. Don’t mention the wound hurting, or they’ll want to look at it; just feel crap all over. Maybe wake one of them up during the night-Justin’s the worrier, isn’t he?-and tell him it’s getting worse. If they haven’t taken you to the emergency room by morning, make them. I’ll handle it from there.”
My nails were cutting into my hand. “Why?”
“I thought you’d be delighted,” Frank said, doing taken aback and a little miffed. “You didn’t want-”
“I didn’t want to go in to start with. I know. But I’m in now, and I’m getting close. Why the hell would you want to pull the plug? Because I didn’t ask you before I rattled these guys’ cage?”
“God, no,” said Frank, still all bland surprise. “Nothing to do with that. You went in to find a direction for this investigation, and you’ve done that beautifully. Congratulations, babe. Your work here is done.”
“No,” I said, “it’s not. You sent me in to find a suspect, those were your exact words, and so far all I’ve found is a possible motive with four possible suspects attached-five, if you take into account that Ned could be lying his little head off. How does that move the investigation forwards, exactly? The four of them will stick to their story, just like you said at the beginning, and you’re right back where you started. Let me do my fucking job.”
“I’m looking out for you. That’s my job. With what you’ve found out, you could be at risk here, and I can’t just ignore-”
“Bullshit, Frank. If one of those four killed her, I’ve been in danger since Day One, and it never bothered you one bit till now-”
“Keep your voice down. Is that it? You’re pissed off because I haven’t been protective enough?”
I could practically see his hands flying up in outrage, the wide offended blue eyes. “Give me a break, Frank. I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself, and you’ve never had a problem with that idea before. So why the fuck are you pulling me out?”
There was a silence. Finally Frank sighed. “Fine,” he said. “You want to know why, fine. I no longer feel that you’re maintaining the objectivity required to serve this investigation.”
“What are you talking about?” My heart was hammering. If he had surveillance on the house after all, or if he’d guessed that I’d taken off the mike-I should never have left it for so long, I thought wildly, stupid, I should’ve gone back inside every few minutes and made some kind of noise-
“You’re way too emotionally involved. I’m not stupid, Cassie. I have a fair idea what happened last night, and I know there’s shit you’re not telling me. Those are warning signs, and I’m not going to ignore them.”
He’d fallen for the Fauré; he didn’t know I’d been burned. My heart rate went down a notch.
“You’re losing your boundaries. Maybe I should never have pressured you to do this. I don’t know the ins and outs of what happened to you on Murder and I’m not asking, but it clearly wrecked your head, and you obviously weren’t ready for something like this just yet.”
I have a flash-bang temper, and if I lost it now, the argument was over; I would have proved Frank’s point. That was probably exactly what he was angling for. I kicked the tree trunk instead, hard enough that for a second I thought I’d broken my toe. When I could talk I said, coolly, “My head is doing just fine, Frank, and so are my boundaries. Every one of my actions has been directed towards achieving the goal of this investigation and finding a prime suspect in the murder of Lexie Madison. And I’d like to finish the job.”
“Sorry, Cassie,” Frank said, gently but very firmly. “Not this time.”
There’s one thing about undercover that no one mentions, ever. The rule is, the handler holds the brake: he’s the one who decides when you need to pull back or come out. He’s the one with the overview, after all, he may well have info that you don’t, and you do what he says if you value either your life or your career. But here’s the part we never talk about, the grenade you carry with you always: he can’t make you. I had never known anyone to throw that grenade before, but every one of us knows it’s there. If you were to say no, there would be-for a little while, at least, and that might be all you needed-fuck-all your handler could do about it.
That kind of breach of trust can’t be repaired. In that second I saw the airport codes in Lexie’s date book, that hard, ruthless scrawl.
“I’m staying,” I said. A sharp wave of wind ran through the woods and I felt my tree shiver, a deep judder going up into my bones.
“No,” Frank said, “you’re not. Don’t give me hassle on this, Cassie. The decision’s been made; there’s no point in us fighting about it. Go home, pack your stuff and start playing sick. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
