Lincoln righted his head so fast Carter wouldn’t be surprised if the professor were dizzy. As it were, Carter liked that look of surprise. He wasn’t sure of the ranking yet—blush, surprise, anger—but all of them looked good on Lincoln Monroe. He aimed to see more of them while also collaring a killer or two.
“I’m a good field agent,” he said. “I saw an opportunity and I jumped on it. With a few texts, Susanne had most of the town’s major players here. I’ve got a lay of the land, a general idea of who’s who, and if Dr. Fear—or the copycat—is here in Apex, they know we are too now.”
“You really think this is the best strategy? If the copycat holds to Dr. Fear’s schedule, we’ve only got thirty-four hours left to rescue Ruby and Chase. We can’t sacrifice them for the sake of playing house. Is this the best—and fastest—way to get the info we need?” His voice was earnest; he wasn’t asking sarcastically. He was asking Carter’s opinion as a more experienced field agent.
“I do,” Carter answered. “But we both have to be able to sell this cover. I’ve got no problem doing that. Do you?”
“Fuck, you’re cocky.”
Carter grinned. “About what I’m good at, yeah.”
“Fine.” He sighed dramatically, prickly and put-upon, but Carter guessed it was mostly an act. Lincoln was also a good agent. Maybe not as experienced in the field as him but experienced enough to realize this was a decent plan. “We’ll do this your way for now.”
He started to stand and Carter grasped his forearm, halting his ascent. “Wait, please, we need to discuss something else first, related to the cover.” He withdrew his hand, giving Lincoln distance for what he was about to ask, sensing he might need that too. “Where’s the line, as far as our cover? I overstepped earlier tonight in the foyer, and I’m sorry for that. I don’t want to do that again. I won’t do more than you say is okay.”
Lincoln lowered himself back into the chair. “Thank you for that,” he said softly, genuinely, before the needles reappeared. “Just don’t lay one on me, and we’ll be fine.”
Carter needled him right back. “Only if you ask me to.”
Lincoln ignored the invitation and kept talking. “And don’t call me Linc. Lincoln or L are fine, just not Linc.”
Must be a story there; Carter would have to get it later. He sensed he’d pushed Lincoln far enough tonight. “No ‘Linc,’ got it.”
Lincoln shot him a side-eye glare, as if judging the likelihood of his compliance.
“I swear!”
The suspect glare melted on a laugh that was sadly cut short by Lincoln’s ringing phone. He drew it out of his pocket, and Carter recognized the number as originating from Quantico.
“Agent Monroe,” Lincoln answered.
“Monroe, this is Director Beverley.”
Speaker, Carter mouthed, and Lincoln clicked it on, setting the phone on the table between them.
“You made it to Apex?” Beverley continued.
“Barely, but yes,” Lincoln answered. “I’m here with Agent Warren. Any developments there?”
“Nothing new.”
Lincoln propped his elbows on the table and scrubbed his hands over his face, clearly tired and upset by the lack of momentum there. Giving him time to gather himself, Carter spoke of the progress they’d made here. “We’ve established cover,” he said. “We’ll head into town tomorrow. Check in at the university and police station to firmly establish cover and assess our resources. We’ll keep you posted.”
“Regular reports expected.”
“Yes, sir.”
He moved to end the call, but paused, finger over the red button, when Lincoln asked, “How’s Ollie?”
Ollie? Oliver?
“Senator Kirk remains on alert,” Beverley answered. “He asked me to thank you again for doing this.”
“Of course,” Lincoln snapped, seemingly offended at the gratitude. This was obviously more than just business for him.
Sensing his partner’s nose-diving mood, Carter wrapped up the call, promising a check-in after their morning meetings. He pushed the silent device to Lincoln, who pocketed it and stood.
“Maybe I should head over to the library. Get started on those archives.”
