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‘It’s not just my career, it’s Ella’s. That girl has saved my ass more times than I can count, and now because of me she’s sitting around at home. She’s dealing with collateral damage.’
Martin put an arm around her. 'Ella's strong. Even if she loses her job, any police agency would snap her up. Maybe even the CIA or the MOD. She'd probably get paid a lot more, too.'
Ripley conceded that Martin had a point. Ella had an impressive resume to her name, so maybe leaving the FBI wouldn’t be such a bad thing for her.
‘And you,’ Martin continued, ‘you’ve got a whole new chapter ahead of you. Maybe use this time to start thinking about what that’ll look like.’
Ripley leaned into Martin's embrace, the warmth of his support calming her turbulent thoughts. ‘A new chapter, huh? I've been an agent for so long, it's hard to picture anything else.’
‘Trust me, I know. I’ve been there too, but take it from me, six months of doing whatever you want every day and you suddenly stop giving a jot about field work.’
Ripley's gaze drifted to the window, watching her dogs play fight each other on the lawn. ‘I know, but it's not easy. I can't just switch off. I keep thinking about going back to HQ and giving Carter a piece of my mind.’
‘Whoa, easy there cowgirl,’ Martin said. ‘What’ll that achieve? Nothing. You’ll just go out on a low point, and you’ve worked too hard for that to happen.’
‘So, what do I do? Take the loss?’
‘Take the loss,’ Martin shrugged. ‘But is it really a loss? The guy is giving you time off work with pay. Some folks would kill for that.’
Ripley considered Martin's words, the logic in them undeniable yet still difficult to accept. She looked at the playful scene outside, her dogs oblivious to the complexities of human life. ‘True. It still drives me up the wall that this guy takes charge and immediately suspends his two best agents.’
Martin put both of his hands on Mia’s shoulders and straightened her upright. ‘This could be a gift in disguise. You've been running on adrenaline for years. Take the time off, stop trying to be a warrior every day of the week.’
Ripley sighed, the weight of years of service, of dangers faced and sacrifices made, settling on her shoulders.
‘Just give me a day or two. Maybe I’ll calm down by then,’ said Ripley.
Martin went back to the couch and picked up the paperback he’d been devouring. He must have pulled it out of Ripley’s collection, she thought. One of the books she’d brought based on the synopsis and promised herself she’d read when she had time. That was probably about fifteen years ago.
'Make yourself useful and check on Ella. She's got more reason to be concerned than you. You've got a thirty-year pension coming either way. She hasn't.'
Ripley took the comment on board. ‘Alright, I’ll go and see her tonight.’ Ripley smiled, her heart a little lighter. Maybe Martin was right. Maybe this was an opportunity to rediscover herself, to explore life beyond the badge. And maybe, just maybe, it was a chance to help Ella find her path too.
EPILOGUE
The day had been long and arduous, but Randall Carter had done what he needed to do.
In his kitchen, he glanced at the clock on the wall. Nearly midnight, so he needed to tread lightly so as not to wake Debbie and the kids. And maybe this week, Debbie wouldn’t scold him for forgetting to put the trash out.
He slid outside, found the trash cans and began rolling them to the curb. His thoughts were a whirl of reports, meetings, and his recent suspensions, and he had no doubt that the Attorney General would be impressed with his fast work. After a lifetime in the chaotic and political world of justice, Randall Carter knew better than anyone that making immediate changes gave the illusion of good leadership.
Agent Ripley was undoubtedly one of the best agents in the Bureau, but she was a necessary sacrifice to get himself to where he wanted to be. He could never match the dizzying heights of the previous director if people got wind of his altercation with Ripley years ago, so the woman had to go, her big mouth along with it. If it meant losing her little protégé in the process, so be it. Carter was aware that in the world of federal law enforcement, reputations were both made and broken by such decisions. It was a strategic move that would cement him a director’s salary for years to come.
In the quiet of the night, Randall allowed himself a moment of pride. His maneuvers had been bold, perhaps ruthless, but necessary. He had outmaneuvered his rivals, secured his position. He straightened up, a sense of accomplishment washing over him. It had been a good day and from here on, life was looking good. He'd reached a status he never dreamed possible, had more power than he could ever want. He was at the top of the pile, and no one could bring him down.
Randall's breaths materialized in small clouds as he pushed the trash cans along the driveway, the wheels groaning a low, mournful song that seemed out of place in the silent night. His mind, a labyrinth of thoughts and plans, was abruptly pulled back to the present by a rustling sound from the bushes lining his path.
He paused, his heart rate quickening. Years of working alongside the most dangerous criminals in America had honed his instincts to a razor's edge, and every nerve in his body was now alert. The rustling ceased as suddenly as it had begun, leaving behind a heavy silence that seemed to press against his ears. Randall shook his head slightly, attributing the noise to a stray animal, perhaps a raccoon scavenging for a midnight snack.
But as he resumed his task, a sense of unease grew within him, a gnawing suspicion that he was not alone. He reached the curb, setting the cans down with more force than necessary, a clang echoing into the night.
But in that moment of vulnerability, when Randall was lost in his thoughts of success and strategy, the night itself seemed to turn against him. There was no warning, no sound to signal the impending doom. The world spun, a chaotic blur of pain and confusion. Randall's thoughts, so recently focused on his achievements, were now scattered fragments of distorted nothingness. He tried to grasp at them, to regain some sense of control, but it was futile.
Memories flooded Randall's mind, unbidden and unwelcome. Faces of those he had crossed, decisions made in the dark corridors of power, all converging into a singular, terrifying realization. Someone had sought retribution.
One second he was standing at the curb, the master of his fate; the next, he was face-down on the concrete.
Then it happened. Amidst the chaos of his thoughts and the sharp pain coursing through his body, Randall heard it - a solitary gunshot, piercing the night's silence with a deafening finality. It was a sound he knew all too well, one that had echoed in the halls of justice and in the darkest corners of his career.
But never had he imagined it would be the last thing he ever heard.
