CHAPTER TWO

Special Agent-in-Charge Grant Monroe—known semi-affectionately to his subordinates as the Boss for his no-nonsense attitude and drill sergeant demeanor—was at one time the most decorated field agent in the Bureau. He didn't have the public notoriety of people like Ness and Hoover, but that only increased his mystique in the Bureau. Office politics kept him from the Directorship he had earned, but had guaranteed that he would maintain his stranglehold on the Philadelphia Field Office for as long as he wanted.

Faith was the current most decorated field agent in the Bureau. Unfortunately, she hadn't managed to fly under the public's radar the way Monroe had. In her defense, Monroe had earned his reputation breaking up organized financial crime while she had earned hers capturing serial killers. In the Bureau's defense, they didn't give a shit. She was a celebrity, and that made her a liability. Faith was certain that was the Boss's reason for boxing her out of the case.

His first words to her when she and Turk stepped into his office were, "Is there a reason you don't answer your phone anymore?"

"I apologize for that, sir. I left it on silent so I could sleep on the flight and forgot to turn it back on when we landed."

"You don't get to make mistakes like that, Bold. You've been here eleven years. I was trying to tell you to come straight here and avoid your apartment. You're lucky as hell, Desrouleaux said the crazy train hadn't arrived yet."

By crazy train, the Boss meant the gaggle of reporters who at any moment would gather around the building wanting to talk to Faith. Faith decided it wasn't worth mentioning that the same gaggle would eventually make their way to the field office. It would happen soon enough.

"Again, sir, I apologize," she said thinly. "I was more concerned with the fact that one of my neighbors had been brutally murdered and left with her eyes in her palms in front of my door."

"And as a person, I sympathize. As your boss, you don't get to fuck up no matter how much it sucks. We talked about this, Faith. You're one bad day away from being forced to fly a desk."

Faith sighed irritably. "That's bullshit, sir. With all due respect."

"That's cute. Eleven years with the Bureau, and you still think the brass cares about bullshit."

Faith's lips thinned. "So because West's case is the new primetime darling, I can't investigate the case of the latest serial killer to directly threaten me by murdering people?"

"No one's blaming you for what's going on, but yes. Have you ever read those stories of people who lose their jobs because their crazy exes show up at their workplace and cause a scene?"

"Please don't refer to West as my crazy ex."

The Boss sighed. "I apologize for that. That's not what I meant. But look, we talked about this. The more you're in the media, the more the brass want you off the field. Turk's up for retirement at the end of the month, and a lot of people want you to go with him. They can't fire you, but they can promote you to ASAC of some Podunk town in the Midwest and stick you behind a desk for the next twenty years."

To most other agents, a promotion to ASAC would be cause for celebration, but the Boss knew Faith well enough to know that she would rather eat glass than be pushed out of field work. She crossed her arms and looked past him at the shuttered window behind his desk.

"I don't want that for you," the Boss continued, "but you have to help me. You have to show that you're willing to play ball."

Faith rolled her eyes. "I played ball with West, and look where that got me."

The Boss didn't reply for a moment. When he did, his normally gruff voice was subdued. "Do you think this new killer is as dangerous as West?"

"I don't know. I'm not allowed to look into it."

The Boss's gruff tone came back. "You can be pissy about this, or you can suck it up and deal with it. Even if this wasn't a special case, you still wouldn't be allowed to close for safety reasons. Take Turk somewhere. He only has a month left, no matter what happens with you. Use up his vacation time and give him a nice quiet ride to retirement."

Faith looked at Turk. The dog sat straight up, head lifted, and looked proudly at the Boss. He didn't look old to Faith. He had a little gray around his muzzle and a few scars here and there, but he was still strong. His nose was still good. He was still the smartest and best dog in the Bureau.

She looked back at the Boss. "What if he doesn't retire?"

The Boss stared at her for a moment. "He's going to be nine years old, Faith."

"I know that. But he's still strong and alert and smart, and I think he'll continue to be strong and alert and smart for years to come."

"Not many years to come. Do you really want him to spend his golden years hunting criminals?"

"It's the only thing he knows how to do. He loves this work."

"It's the only thing you know how to do," the Boss corrected. " You love this work. He loves being with you."

"That's…" Faith didn't finish her sentence.

Mostly because the Boss was right. She looked back at Turk. He gave her a grin. His eyes looked into hers with more love and trust than any human could show.

But if he retired, then all that was left for him to do was die. He was smart and strong and sharp now because he was always called upon to use that intelligence. If he stopped, then he would age fast. She wasn't ready to watch him grow old.

"I looked it up, Faith. They live thirteen years on average. It's rare that K9s make it even that long. They stay strong and sturdy for a while, but when they slow down, they slow down fast. Give Turk some time to enjoy life while he's still strong. If you want, you can take him home and work as a field agent with another K9 partner. Or, if you'd feel better about it, I'll remove you from the K9 handlers list."

"But he's helped me solve so many cases. I owe a lot of my recent success to him."

"You were successful before you partnered with him. Honestly, Bold, he was only supposed to be a therapy dog for you. You were supposed to be a temporary handler until you both recovered from what you suffered at Trammell's hands."

Both Faith and Turk had been nearly killed by Jethro Trammell, the original Donkey Killer that Franklin West copied. Faith hadn't wanted a dog at first, but she'd quickly fallen in love with Turk, and now the two of them were inseparable.

Faith had considered the Boss's offer of taking Turk home as a pet while she continued to work in the field, but that would mean being separated from him at least half the time if not more. He could stay with David, but then he would only see Faith when she was off duty. They could still take their morning runs and watch TV together, but that wouldn't be the same.

And she was sure that he was happy. She could see it in his eyes whenever they were working together. It wasn't just being with Faith. It was being with Faith and working together to catch bad guys. That's what fulfilled him. If she took that away from him, he would know it was because he was too old. He would sense it, and that would age him fast, just like the Boss said.

"Let him work," she pleaded. "Please. Until he begins to slow down, let him work. Trust me, I know him. He'll decline so much faster if you take him out of the field. He's happy, and he'll live longer if he's working."

The Boss sighed. "Maybe, Faith, but not much longer. You're only delaying the inevitable."

"Well, then why don't you retire?" she snapped. "You're going to die one day. Why don't you just go home, sit on your ass and wait for the heart attack?"

"You finished?" the Boss asked coldly.

Faith looked away, her lip jutting out in a pout. She knew what she looked like, but she couldn't stop herself.

"We'll table the discussion of Turk's retirement for the moment except for the following bit of information that you should know. It's not my decision if Turk retires. The mandatory retirement at nine years old is Bureau policy. In order for Turk to keep working, he'd need a special exemption signed by you, me, a licensed vet approved by the Bureau, and the chief of the Bureau's K9 division."

"I'll sign. So will David." Her boyfriend, Dr. David Friedman, was Turk's vet and approved by the Bureau to work with their K9 units. "If you sign, then it'll be easy to convince the K9 chief."

"Na?ve doesn't look good on you, Faith," the Boss said, "and anyway, I said the discussion's tabled for now. What's not tabled is the discussion of what you won't do. Specifically, return to your apartment or involve yourself in this investigation."

Faith sighed and crossed her arms. "Okay. I was planning to move in with David soon anyway." She actually had serious reservations about that, but her opinion didn't appear to matter. "I'll stay with him."

"Good. As for Turk's last… next month, consider what I said. Take him out. Have some fun with him. Go traveling. Let him do something other than chase bad guys. Who knows? Maybe you'll reconsider giving him a comfortable retirement."

"Na?ve doesn't look good on you," she retorted.

He chuckled. "I'll let you have that one." His smile vanished. "I mean it, Bold. No snooping, no harassing people, no charming cops into slipping you some details. You are off this case. I find out you're not respecting my wishes here, then I will join the chorus of voices singing for you to be put to pasture yourself."

"Loud and clear, Boss," Faith said. She stood. "Is there anything else?"

"Nothing that's an order. Plenty of advice, but you won't listen to it."

"Probably not. I'll see you later, sir."

She left the office in a terrible mood. It must have shown on her face because the other agents on night shift avoided eye contact. Turk looked at her with concern, not sure why she was suddenly so upset.

When they reached her car, he laid his head in her lap and looked up at her with his beautiful brown eyes. She smiled wistfully and scratched him behind his ear. "You're a good dog. You're not old yet. Look at you. I'll bet you could beat up any of those young pups at the dog park."

Turk barked firmly, not sure what he was agreeing with but sensing it was important to Faith that he agree anyway. She chuckled and hugged him close. "You're not old."

But he would be. Sooner or later—probably sooner—he would be. Maybe the Boss was right. Maybe it would be better to let him have some time in the sun while he was still strong enough to enjoy it.

But if she did that, would she hasten his end? With nothing left to do, what else remained but to grow old and die?

She sighed and said again, "You're not old."