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Stacy
Standing outside Scanlon’s office door, Stacy paused, the sound of a deep male voice and the reply of a feminine one just barely audible from inside. She rapped her knuckles on the faded, flecked gray paint of the door.
Scanlon’s voice beckoned her inside. “Come on in, Stacy.”
She wasn’t sure why her heart began to beat faster as one of the door’s hinges made the tiniest scree sound. She pushed it shut behind her, surprised to see Karen standing two steps to the left of Scanlon behind his desk. She was in her standard issue gray suit, but her face was flushed, her brow deeply furrowed. Her white teeth nibbled at the corner of her lower lip, her arms were crossed tensely under the swell of her breasts, the suitcoat bunched so that the buckle of her belt was revealed, the holster of her sidearm just visible.
What the hell is Karen doing here?
“Have a seat, agent,” Scanlon said, indicating the battered wooden chair in front of his desk.
Stacy unbuttoned her suitcoat and sat down, resting her coffee on one thigh. “I’m guessing it’s not good that you called me in on my day off. What are we looking at, sir?”
For a moment, Scanlon just regarded her, his hands flat upon the broad plane of his desk. From the looks of it, he’d just had a haircut, the thinning hair at his pate looking like it had receded even further of late. Then he spoke, and the tension in his voice was clear. “I reviewed the submitted report that Karen wrote up for me. I understand you two had a, ah,incidentat the auction. Is that the case?”
Stacy sipped from her coffee, glad that holding the cup in her hand might hide the fact that she was increasingly nervous. Something was wrong here, and she couldn’t help but wonder if she was the last person in the room to get the joke.
“Sir, I’m certain the report Karen submitted was an accurate account of what happened. This wasn’t exactly in the old training manual, but I think we did the best we could, all things considered. We deescalated as quickly as we could and got out of there. Jim smoothed things over, I think, but in the end, I think this means I need to be reassigned.” Stacy rubbed a hand over her mouth. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be in contact with that particular alpha again.”
Scanlon opened the manila folder that contained Karen’s report, flipping through several of the pages, but Stacy knew he wasn’t really reading them. Finally, he closed it again, laying his big palm on top of the folder. “It’s interesting that you say that, agent. I’m going to accept Karen’s report, as filed, and leave it at that.”
Stacy met his gaze. “So… that’s it? We’re just gonna let this go? The alpha said he wants… me.”
Scanlon scowled at that, his gaze slipping away. He swiveled his chair to the right, facing the huge shelf that dominated the entire wall next to his desk. His fingers drummed upon the beaten wood of one of the arms of his chair. For a moment he gazed out the window, the cold dreary gray of the afternoon befitting the mood that seemed to have settled upon the office as she sat there.
Something is very wrong.
“Stacy, you and I both know that the Treaty is explicit, and that there’s no way the FMB is going to hand over one of its agents.”
She allowed herself to relax just the slightest bit, sitting back in her chair, resting the warm cup upon her leg once more.
Maybe you’re just being jumpy?
Then Scanlon met her eyes again, and what she saw there chilled her blood. It was the same steely determination she’d seen in him right before he sent a suspect off to prison—or ended the career of an opponent in the FMB’s seemingly endless internecine political jockeying. “Which is why what I’m going to have to do is something I never thought would be necessary. I mean, there’s no precedent for this. No cheat sheet I can consult to know, to understand what the proper course of action here should be. Do you get my meaning, agent?”
“I don’t think that I do, sir.”
Scanlon grunted softly, then steepled his hands on top of his desk, lacing has long fingers together. “No, Icannotallow an agent to be taken at an auction. And I’m not going to allow it now either.”
Stacy sipped the last from her cup, then crushed the paper in her hand, tossing it in the wastebasket to the right of Scanlon’s desk. “Well, that’s a relief. You called me in just to tell me that?”
Scanlon wasn’t done though. “This has come straight from the top. I have no choice, not really. They gussy it up, of course, saying ‘it’s your call, director,’ but everyone really knows what it is. Which is why at this moment, effective immediately, you’re relieved of duty.”
Stacey’s heart stopped. “What thefuck?What are you talking about? I—”
Scanlon’s fingertip jabbed at the desktop in front of him. “I’ll need your credentials and your firearm. Right now.”
Stacy couldn’t help but look over at Karen, and was crestfallen to see that her boss’ eyes reflected what Stacy already knew. This was no joke, there wasn’t going to be something at the last second to retrieve her from this.
This was actually happening.
“Stacy, your gun and identification.”
Hissing in disgust, she pulled her pistol from her holster, laying the weapon and her badge on the desktop. Her fingers trembled ever so slightly, and she slumped back in her chair, almost numb.
Scanlon nodded then, looking over Stacy’s shoulder at something behind her. The air in the room changed as the door opened. She didn’t bother to look back, but knew there were two of them, probably male judging by their scent—which was odd, considering she’d never been able to pick up such things before based solely on olfactory input alone. She’d have to turn that one over later on though, because she had much, much bigger fish to fry right at that particular moment.
But it was when she saw Scanlon’s eyes, at the way the look on his face changed, which made her curious. She glanced behind her—and her jaw almost hit the floor.
