I stay walled up in my apartment for the next three days waiting and trying to will Keston to call. In between that, I try my best to deal with this survivor’s guilt I have over this week’s heist. News reports claim that the men arrested are still not talking and have lawyered up with the best money could buy. I try not to obsess over the case, but I stay glued to CNN on my couch.
The director at the DEA headquarters finally calls this morning and requests a meeting. That means I have to get up, take a shower, and face the world. The minute I’m in the parking lot, I’m overwhelmed with anxiety. I’m almost at the point of just starting the car back up and going home when I suddenly find the strength to put my life back together.
“Hayes!” a few colleagues shout the moment I enter the building. I also get my fair share of sympathetic looks. Somehow I put on a brave face and march to the office of the agent in charge, Rodney Benson.
“Agent Hayes,” he says, standing up. “I’m glad that you could make it. Would you care to take a seat?”
“Yes, sir.” I step into the room, and immediately FBI director Henry Dobson stands up. My hackles rise as I suspect that I’m about to be interrogated more than questioned about my health and well-being.
“Agent Hayes.” Dobson thrusts out his hand, and we exchange a firm handshake. After the formality I take my seat.
“I’m going to cut straight to the chase,” Benson says as he braids his fingers together on his desk. “There’s been a few details brought to our attention regarding Monday’s heist that we’re hoping you can help us put to rest.”
“I’ll do my best,” I say, shifting in my chair.
“Before you and Agent Baker left the department to escort the federal evidence to Columbus that day, there was a call placed from your desk phone to a residence in Miami.” He pauses for effect, and I wait to see where the hell he’s going. “Do you know about this call?”
“I can’t say that I do. I don’t recall making any call that morning,” I tell him. “I arrived with my partner waiting for me at my desk. We talked for a minute, and then we headed down to the evidence department.”
The two men share a look.
“What?” I ask suspiciously.
Agent Benson pulls another deep breath. “It’s who the home belongs to that has raised some red flags.”
“Okay.” I wait to see if he’ll continue, but when he doesn’t, I’m forced to ask, “Who does the home belong to?”
“Alvaro Guzman,” he answers. “At least it used to.”
“Guzman … as in the Guzman cartel?” I ask.
“That will be the one,” Dobson says, folding his arms and staring me down. “You want to tell us why you’d be calling a drug kingpin just minutes before you’re to escort our record drug bust down to Columbus?”
I shake my head. “I told you. I didn’t call anybody that morning.”
“Are you disputing the phone records?” Benson asks.
Suddenly I feel like I need a lawyer. “I’m saying that if there was a call made, it wasn’t by me. I told you I came in, talked to my partner, and then went to the evidence department.”
“With your partner?”
“Yes, well …” I think about it for a minute.
Dobson leans in. “Well what?”
I hesitate.
“Agent Hayes,” Benson says patiently. “If you know something pertinent to this developing case, I suggest you speak up now. Shit is rolling down from the top on this thing—fast and furious—and it’s raining on my head like a monsoon. So talk.”
I stare at him and try to find my tongue. “Elliott,” I finally manage to push out of my mouth. “He said that he needed to make a call. I went ahead with Agents Pitman and Thompson to the evidence department. He joined us maybe three minutes later.” The room falls silent while two sets of eyes blaze holes in my head.
“So your story is that your dead partner made the call?”
I swallow. “He must have.” I drop my head, thinking some more. “Just like he was the one to volunteer us for the escort in the first place.”
The two men exchange looks, but I’m not sure either one of them believes me. I don’t want to believe it myself. Elliott—a dirty agent? I rub a hand against my forehead, feeling a major migraine coming on.
“Of course, you know this is an ongoing investigation,” Benson says. “And I’m afraid that at the moment I have to suspend you until further notice.”
“Excuse me?”
Benson tosses up his hands again. “I told you. The shit is heavy. If nothing else, we need to show the public that we’re taking this whole fiasco seriously.”
I glare at him. “That makes me look like I’m guilty of something.”
“Are you guilty of something?” Dobson asks.
I cut my eyes toward him, mainly because I don’t appreciate being double-teamed. “No.”
Dobson shrugs. “Then there’s nothing to worry about.”
I clamp my jaw together while heat blazes up my neck. “Then does that mean I’m free to go?”
Seeing my anger, Benson leans back in his chair. “Look, Hayes. Mind if I call you Jordan?”
I don’t answer.
He reaches for a manila folder on his desk. “You’re a great agent. Your record speaks for itself. Frankly, I’m inclined to believe you, but I have to check under every stone on this one. I hope that you understand that. I have three dead agents on my hands here. I have to answer why.”
“Then you’re looking under the wrong stone.” I stand up and remove my badge from my back hip pocket and remove the gun from my holster. “Do me a favor,” I say, setting both items on his desk. “Keep those. I won’t be needing them back.”
“Agent Hayes, that’s not necessary.”
“Maybe not for you.” I turn and walk toward the door, but before I head out, I add, “I’ve had enough of this shit.” Without another backward glance, I stroll out of there.