The wound was on my back where I couldn’t see it, so I didn’t care much if Hendrix did a shit job. He finished washing his hands, pulled a mask from the dispenser mounted on the wall, and hooked the loops over his ears so it covered his mouth. Next, he tugged a pair of gloves from a box and snapped them on.
There was no further discussion. The technician got up off his stool, demasked and degloved, and the door swung closed behind him as he left.
Hendrix sat on the stool and rolled over to my side. He picked up the tools and resumed the tech’s work, stitching my wound like this was something he’d done a hundred times before.
He was in his late fifties, and he’d done fieldwork for years before moving to the administrative side. It made him a good director because he could relate with his agents and it gave him insight when making tough calls. But it also made him a straight, direct man who didn’t like messes or mistakes, and I had made plenty of both.
“What happens now?” I asked, noting his casual attire. The director’s weekend had been interrupted.
“You go to Langley,” he said, “and they’ll decide when you’re ready for fieldwork again.”
Did he not understand what I meant? “I’m serious. The Croatian job was supposed to be the end, and that was nearly two years ago.”
“I don’t want to hear this again.” There was a snip of the scissors. “Yeah, you wanted to keep Juric close, and you got overruled. But I did whatever the hell I could to fix that mess, so now you go to Langley for me. Take some time and get your head straight. We’ve put too much into you for you to walk away.”
“I almost killed Vitale Abramo.” I needed him to know just how unstable I’d become, the emotions I couldn’t handle. “He’d be dead if she’d let me.”
Hendrix stopped, rolled over toward my head, and jerked his mask down to give me a hard, evaluating look. “It takes a toll. Believe me, I know that. You’ve been on your own for too long, and you need a break. All I’m telling you is to get grounded and come back.”
His mask was put back in place and he rolled back to my side, resuming the stitches.
“Forget it.”
“I’m not asking, Foster. You almost hung me out to dry here. Don’t make me do that to you, too.”
“Is that a threat?” I said, pushing up on my elbows.
He put the heel of his hand on my shoulder and eased me back down onto the table. “Calm down.”
There was one more snip, then the tools were set down on the tray nearby. He peeled off the gloves and dumped them in the trash.
“Talk to Langley. Fill out their paperwork, jump through their hoops, go visit family. Do whatever you need to do. Come back, and if you’re still done, I’ll believe it. But right now, this is a knee-jerk reaction.”
“It’s not.”
“You’re going to get bored.” Once again, he rolled over so he could look me in the eye. “Fill me in about Ms. Pierce andthe nature of your relationship.”
That was a mess he wasn’t going to like. “We’re involved.”
“Since when?”
“Since South Africa.” The table was uncomfortable. “She had no idea who I was then.”
“Had? She knows now?” His eyebrow climbed toward the ceiling. “Is it ongoing?”
“Yes.”
He blinked, considered it, and then—wait. Was that a faint smile? “Well, that’s something. Good for you.”
“You’re okay with that?”
He laughed lightly. “No, of course not, but it’s too late now. I plan to keep you on the job, and it doesn’t sound as if you plan to give her up. I guess I’ll have to find a way to deal with it.”
I stared at the director in total disbelief.
Hendrix hadn’t been questioning me on a professional level, he’d been doing this to glean personal information, knowing this was the only way I’d divulge it.
“You care about the personal lives of your agents now?” I asked. “You’re going soft.”
