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“We do an important job here, Alia. It’s not like handing off an account at an insurance agency or assigning a teacher to a different classroom. We need continuity in our cases. We can’t have agents deciding their cases interfere with what they really want to do.”
Feeling about ten years old again, Alia was searching for an apology when Sheila went on.
“The job demands a lot. It can be hard to find the right balance between it and your personal life. Some people are cut out for it, especially,” she added with a rueful smile, “if you’re ambitious and determined to be not only the first black but also the first female NCIS director.
“But that kind of single-mindedness can be awfully lonely at times.” Sheila saw Alia’s gaze flicker to the photos on her desk. “Nieces and nephews. I never married. I’m not one of them who found the right balance.”
Unsure what to say, Alia remained silent.
“I hope the young Mr. Jackson is everything you want and more.” Sheila turned stern again. “Because you don’t get a second chance like this. Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”
Turning on her heel, Alia swiftly left the office. Within half an hour, she was at the police station, seated at a conference table just down the hall from the office Jimmy and Murphy shared with a half dozen other detectives.
“Well?” Jimmy prodded after a moment.
The sick feeling was back, tying her stomach in knots. Even when Murphy slid over a zippered bag of lemon cookies, a gift from Evie, she couldn’t have forced even one bite. She’d known this would be hard. She just hadn’t known how hard.
With a deep breath, she forced out the words. “I think I know why our victims were killed.” Willing her voice to remain empty of emotion, she told them everything Landry had told her. She barely slowed even when the men spoke—Aw, jeez, Jimmy said while Murphy muttered, Damn. She didn’t stop until the story was done.
Silence echoed in the room for a moment, then Jimmy sighed. “It’s a hell of a motive. I’d’ve killed the bastards myself if I’d known.”
Murphy agreed. “Puts a whole new slant on the questions I’ll be asking the Wallace daughters this afternoon.”
“Narrows the suspect list, too.”
“Speaking of that...” Alia pulled out the notes she’d made last evening and slid the wrinkled paper across the table.
Jimmy scowled at it. “What? You thought you’d scribble a few lines in your spare time?” In an aside to Murphy, he complained, “She used to give me lists like that to do the shopping, then get pissed because I couldn’t figure out what the hell she wanted.”
Murphy took the paper and snorted. “Perfectly legible to me.” He read off a few bits of info to prove he could, then shrugged. “You want to come with me to interview the daughters?”
Yes. She’d never been taken off a case before, voluntarily or otherwise—had never had to let go and be cut out of the loop. Most of her cases, she was proud to say, she’d closed. A few had been consigned to the cold case file, though she still looked them over from time to time.
But this one was now officially out of her hands. The acknowledgment came with both relief and regret. “No, actually, I’m no longer assigned to this investigation.”
Jimmy stared at her, but Murphy didn’t appear surprised. Maybe he’d seen more than she’d realized yesterday, or maybe it just took a hell of a lot to surprise someone who’d been a cop as long as he had.
“Martinez yanked you off?” Jimmy demanded.
“No. I asked to be reassigned.”
“Why?”
“Conflict of interest and all that,” she said blithely.
“Oh, hell, what you’re doing with Jackson doesn’t have a damn thing to do with how you’re working the case.”
The disgust in Jimmy’s voice sent warm affection through her. “I’m glad you have faith in my ability to separate the personal from the professional.”
He flushed faintly. “I always thought you were a hell of a cop, Alia. Besides, damn, who among us hasn’t slept with someone involved in a case?”
She was the only one to raise her hand. But she hoped to remedy that soon.
Gathering her stuff, she stood. “By the way, Jimmy, SSA Martinez assigned another agent from the team to work with you.”
His eyes brightened. “Zoe?”
“Marcus Trent.” She couldn’t help but laugh at his disappointment. “Good luck, guys. If you need anything, you know where to find me.”
As she walked down the hall, she pulled a cookie from the bag and bit into it. Damn, it was even better than the half dozen she’d eaten yesterday. Maybe she would beg Evie for the recipe and learn to make them.
