Page 102 of Death is Familiar

“Ms. James. I’d like a word.” The tightly wound assistant director didn’t wait for my response as she continued out of the room. “In my office.”

Something stone-heavy and hard dropped to the pit of my stomach. Getting called to the assistant directors’ office had to be worse than being called to the principal’s, right?

I looked for moral support.

Coupled with a nod, Jack gave me an encouraging grin, which sent a strange flutter to my stomach—not entirely sure whether that made me feel better or not—while Todd placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. “You’ll be fine.”

The tension crawling up my throat said otherwise, so I responded maximum sarcasm, “Yeah, just like you can ‘grow’ a full head of hair.”

Thick eyebrows shooting towards Todd’s non-existent hairline, and a stifled laugh from across the room, meant my job here was done.

More than a little proud of how fluently I signed, I made for the door. Whatever Rochan needed to see me about, I wanted out of the way—to rip it off like a band-aid—but Todd had kept a firm grip on my shoulder. Compelling me to turn back, his dark eyes locked on mine. “I can.”

And then, because I couldn’t help myself, I tipped my chin back and said, “Prove it.”

22

Somehow, between the time Rochan left the meeting room and when I ended up in her office, she had been surrounded by a handful of people, including her assistant Ben, all of whom she hastily dismissed upon my arrival.

The tight-lipped smile from Ben was a small comfort, as he closed the door on his way out, trapping me alone with Rochan.

“Take a seat.” There was no eye contact as I sat down in one of the upholstered chairs. An over-used drawer scraped and sawed, as an unmarked folder was pulled out and onto her desk. Folders were rarely a good thing. “Do you know why I’m bringing you in?”

Oh, for the love of god, this could have been for any number of reasons, and me saying anything would just get me into more trouble. Especially if I guessed wrong.

Rochan’s fingers tapped the plain folder in front of her, waiting out my response. Whatever hole I’d dug for myself was already deep, so I dug deeper. “You’d like… to give me… a raise?”

She inhaled, fingers stilling, as she tried to maintain her composure. “No.” She flipped open the document in front of her, contents obscured by the cover. “I received the results of your drug test.”

The drug test that should have resulted in nothing being detected, yes, I was familiar.

She waited. I waited.

Seconds felt like minutes as they passed.

Rochan was holding out, but I was determined to hold out longer, which garnered me another disappointed sigh from the assistant director. “Imagine my surprise when I found out there was so little of anything in the results, it was like someone tested water.”

Shit.

Silence was still best. I didn’t want to get caught lying to someone so high up in the FBI, but my first priority was to protect Todd, whose admission about the test had allowed my overhydration in the first place.

Giving Rochan nothing to work with, she continued, “Which of course, is not possible. Not usually. So, I had them re-run the tests.”

Not good. Not good at all. A ball of tension worked its way up my throat then slid back down, taking up residence behind my sternum.

“Were you worried about what the test would show?”

I chose my words carefully and truthfully. “I wasn’t worried about drugs.”

“Oh, I know.” Rochan slid the dreadful folder to me across her desk. “I didn’t get around to looking at the results until this morning, but I imagine this is something you would want to see.”

I was fairly certain I didn’t want to have anything to do with whatever was inside. What were the chances she would just let me go and not open it?

“Open it, Ms. James.”

Well, that answered my question. Hiding the shake in my fingers, the rasp of dry paper against my skin, I flipped open the folder.

Inside was a medical form. Lots of squares and check boxes. It didn’t take much to figure out I was looking at the analysis of the re-run test.