Chapter 12

Chapter

Twelve

“ D id you get Paul Wolfe to talk to you?”

Sarena gave them a self-satisfied smile and reclined her office chair, lacing her fingers across her stomach. “Please, Jon. Have a little faith.”

“Well? What did he say?”

Tracey, desperate to know if they could break the case here and now, went straight to the heart of it. “Did he give you a username from Smoldr?” He knew the answer from Sarena’s flicker of disappointment. His heart sank.

“Not exactly—”

Just then, a harried Perry bustled up with a drink tray of coffees. “Sorry I’m late. Started the morning ahead of schedule, but I decided to be nice and get the team these incredible apple and oat coffees I discovered this weekend. I guess everyone else decided to start their Monday the same way.”

After he passed the coffees to Jon to distribute, he dropped into his chair and unburdened himself of his bag, as though everything was effort and he was exhausted already.

Sarena took hers. “You know, you can order ahead on the app and they’ll be ready when you pick them up. Your tardiness is karma for doing it to score points rather than genuine altruism.” Then she sipped. “Okay, that’s good. You’re forgiven.”

Perry grinned. “Told you. I hate the app, though. They make you preload your balance, and the minimum is, like, twenty bucks just to suck up more money. Plus, if you get the timing wrong, your coffee gets cold. I’d rather they make it while I wait. The tradeoff is being late. Even so, the Bureau still gets the better end of my work-life balance.”

Tracey tried the coffee. Oaty mellowness followed the initial burst of cinnamon apple. “Damn. That is good. It’s like apple crisp in a cup.”

Perry slurped loudly. “Exactly. If they put in a scoop of ice cream, it would be perfect.”

“How are you not a million pounds?” Sarena laughed.

“Oat milk.”

Jon cleared his throat. “Can we get back to your progress with Paul Wolfe, please?” When Perry whipped a mock glare at him, Jon held up the cup. “Thank you. It’s good.”

Sarena rested her elbows on her desk. “Wolfe talked once I convinced him we’re looking for a different perp. He didn’t have a name or a lot of detail about the phantom. A setback, I’ll admit. But, he gave me enough that I think we can get a clearer picture.”

She rose to her feet with her legal pad. Rounding their cluster of desks, she stood where they could all see her bullet points. She tapped the pad with the end of her dry erase marker as she talked.

“Malcolm said this guy had a two-day window to meet, so whoever he is, he’s not a Chicago native.” She moved the marker to the next bullet point. “Wright’s and Taft’s killings in D.C. were exactly a week apart. I believe our phantom is also here on a schedule.” This bullet had “Business in D.C.?" circled.

“In contrast, he hasn’t been to Atlanta since killing Powell, or at least, he hasn’t killed anyone there again. If he’s returned, maybe no one else has tripped his killing trigger. Or it could mean his business in Atlanta has wrapped up. Whatever his job is, he travels a lot . These cases are only partially location-sensitive, or the locations are routine for a set amount of time before he moves on to the next city.”

Jon looked speculative as he tapped fingers against his chin. “He could be negotiating business deals on behalf of a company doing mergers and acquisitions. Or it could be about real estate. Maybe he’s buying property.”

Tracey was reminded of his work over the weekend. “Atlanta has become a big filming hub. Lots of shows and movies filmed here, too.” He swiveled to Jon. “I spoke to Curtis Donnelly Saturday morning, very briefly, for more background on Wyatt Powell. Hanover Powell, his grandfather, ran White Oak Film and Sound.” He summarized his phone call for the team. “It occurred to me our phantom could be part of a studio, traveling to cities with filming projects.”

Jon flipped through his ever-growing pile of notes. “Wyatt Powell also married into the Warner family dynasty. If the perp isn’t affiliated with White Oak, he could be someone connected with the Warner side.”

“There’s also some overlap between the gay community and the film and theater industries, isn’t there?” Tracey looked at the others hopefully. “How would we cross reference filming crews with the victims’ deaths?”

“There’s always some crew or other filming in D.C.” Perry wrote on his notepad. “I know a guy plugged into that scene. I’ll call him, see what’s filming and if anything sounds fishy.”

“Good.” Jon refocused on Sarena. “Let’s also scour press releases for real estate deals or big merger announcements.”

“Right.” Sarena nodded. “Paul also told me Malcolm vetted the guy like every previous hookup, and he’d met all their safety requirements. The only thing the man asked for was the disappearing Smoldr messages, which Paul and Malcolm thought was to hide from a partner. We know it’s because he’s a serial killer, but your average Smoldr user isn’t immediately going to equate disappearing messages with murder, or they’d never meet him. They’re going to figure it’s someone in the closet or covering up infidelity.”

Tracey frowned. “Wait, though. Why do disappearing messages have to mean killer or cheater? It could be both. Our guy might be like Ethan Wright or Wyatt Powell, with a family who doesn’t know about his extracurricular activities. And also keeping him from discovery. Just having the app on his phone is enough to raise a wife’s suspicions.”

“Or a husband’s or boyfriend’s.” Perry raised a pointed brow. “We don’t know our perp’s closeted status.”

Jon got them back on track. “The idea of him not wanting to be discovered does lend credibility to a monogamous relationship. The disappearing messages mean covering his tracks, the reasons why could be multi-faceted. Plus, most dating apps let users change the icon to something innocuous, like a calculator. Our perp’s partner may not know it’s Smoldr if he or she were staring right at it.” Jon surveyed the team to give them a chance to object. When they didn’t, he continued. “Let’s not assume his sexuality. But there are other reasons to believe he could be in a relationship. This perp is committing his kills on trips, so we can speculate he’s keeping his victims far from home, possibly well away from a partner or family. Also, our guy is not impulsive. He’s likely in his mid-thirties to mid-forties.”

Tracey agreed. The self-control it would take to kill someone and have the wherewithal to clean up the crime scene as methodically as this killer required a certain maturity.

Then, to leave the motels without drawing attention to himself—without tipping off a taxi or rideshare driver, because a traveling businessman wouldn’t have his own car unless he rented one—required an amazing level of self-possession and restraint. Which ruled out a psychotic break.

“The phantom’s career is likely high-pressure.” Tracey voiced his thoughts, and the team considered the picture he painted. No one disagreed. “Maybe something with vast sums of money on the line.” He gestured at Jon. “Like Jon said, high-stakes finances or real estate. Or maybe something less tangible than money, like politics where specific legislation has lives at stake.”

Sarena picked up the narrative. “If he’s in politics, he could be part of a party or lobbyist group with conservative values, and he can’t be out. Maybe it’s not a partner and kids he’s hiding from but his career network. And his repression is what’s making him snap in the moment he kills.”

Jon sounded wooden. “We also have the conversion therapy angle for Wright and Taft. After visiting Enlightened Covenant Ministries, I’m not ruling any of their administrators out. I’ve got Patrick Byrne following the money to find names, and I’ll start checking flight manifests to see if their travels match our dates.”

Sarena turned her notepad so she could write and switched her marker for a pen from Tracey’s desk. “So we have a white man, mid-thirties to forties in good physical shape with a high-pressure career who travels a lot.” She spoke as she wrote. “He may have deeply held religious beliefs. Or on the flip side of that coin, he may have escaped a family with them and severely distances himself from religion, including having cut off his family. If he has a political affiliation, he’s entrenched. His coworkers, family, and friends won’t be aware of how much he struggles to reconcile this religious or political persona with his internal self. They’ll believe him to be a success story in whichever groups he’s affiliated.”

“I would add that he’s community-minded, a prominent figure like a pastor or church leader. If he’s distanced himself from religion, that prominence may be as an activist or leader in a volunteer organization. He’s in a position of respect, someone who cannot afford scandal.”

Perry picked up the narrative. “I say he’s got a spouse, possibly children, and if he’s in a position of authority in these other capacities, he runs his household the same way. In public, they’re the picture of a healthy family unit, but behind closed doors, there’s dysfunction. His home life has to be perfect because anything less than that is a failure he cannot abide. In this way, there’ll potentially be signs of domestic violence. He’ll be a college graduate with a very flexible schedule due to the travel, and in these periods he’s not home, his family knows peace.”

Jon looked around at the team. “That’s our preliminary profile. We can refine it, but let’s get the basics out to the law enforcement jurisdictions working in Atlanta, Chicago, and D.C. so they can narrow their focus for suspects. Good work, everyone. Sarena, thank you for taking one for the team and going to Chicago this weekend.”

She laughed. “I’m taking that on the back end for extra days off at Christmas.”

Jon smiled. “I’ll see if I can put in a good word for you.”

“Thank you.” She tossed Tracey his pen and smiled sweetly at Jon as she resumed her seat. “You’re the best team leader ever. Sutherland should give you an award or something.”

To his credit, Jon gave away nothing about Sutherland’s upcoming retirement or the offered promotion.

Tracey hoped one day his poker face would be that stellar.

They spent a couple of hours distributing the preliminary profile. Tracey threw himself into researching recent business deals big enough to make the news. So far, nothing matched cities and timelines, but that didn’t mean there weren’t possibilities.

“Come on, kid.” Perry rose from his chair and beckoned Tracey to follow. As Tracey fell into step with him, he explained what they were doing. “I’ve arranged lunch with my friend in the film industry. Let’s see what he knows.”

In the elevator, Tracey watched the floor numbers light up as they descended to the parking level. “Should we have let Jon know what we’re doing?”

Perry looked up from his phone. “You can if you want to, but you do know we don’t have to run our movements through him every time, don’t you?”

Embarrassment flushed Tracey’s cheeks. He was glad he decided to keep and trim the beard he grew during his medical leave instead of staying clean-shaven. “Yeah, I know. I just thought… never mind.”

“We’re pretty autonomous when running down leads. I know he’s mentored you quite a lot through the last several weeks, but you’re a full-fledged Special Agent. You don’t have to stick to him like glue.” Perry’s eyes sparkled. “Unless you want to.”

Tracey’s gaze snapped to Perry’s face. What do you know? But Perry had returned his attention to his phone, not bothering to wipe away the teasing grin.

“There are worse people to learn from, wouldn’t you agree?”

“This is true.” Perry gave in way too easily.

Which also made Tracey uneasy. “I’m glad you asked me to come with you, though. I was going to ask you how the other night went.”

Perry went blank, confused. “What about it?”

“The project you told Jon you were working on?”

“Oh!” The elevator dinged and they exited to the parking garage, Tracey half a step behind Perry. “Nothing big. That’s just hobby stuff.” He waved it off as though it wasn’t interesting enough to talk about.

Perry’s Jeep Grand Cherokee tail lights flashed as he unlocked the doors, and Tracey climbed in the passenger seat. “What’d you do this weekend?”

Tracey prattled on about playing video games with Tristan while Brian worked—decidedly avoiding Friday’s date—now that he’d made decent headway getting his townhouse unpacked.

“I wasn’t aware you were that close with Jon’s friends.” Perry’s tone was so disinterested, it actually gave away his piqued curiosity.

Tracey had to tread carefully. “I met them when I was staying at Jon’s. Tristan’s a travel agent and he’s going to help me get my parents decent airline tickets for Thanksgiving.” As he watched the scenery go by, He debated how much personal stuff to bring up. Sarena talked about her family, so he didn’t see why he couldn’t. “Actually, Tristan helped me with coming out to my parents recently. He’s a good guy.”

Perry had, unfortunately, backed Tracey into a corner during the Family Man case, inadvertently pressuring him to come out to the team. Any time Tracey mentioned his newfound sexuality now, Perry was his biggest cheerleader. At first, Tracey had resented him, but now he was just glad to have another friendly ear.

“You came out to your folks?” Perry glanced over, then followed the GPS directions, turning at the next light. “How’d that go?”

“My dad’s great. We’ve always been close, so I’m relieved nothing’s changed.” He picked at a hangnail, then winced when it started to bleed. “My mother isn’t taking it as well. Dad says to give her time. But that stings, you know?”

Perry shook his head as he pulled into a restaurant’s parking lot. “Not my area of expertise. Sorry.”

“Yeah, and I don’t want to be all down and depressed before we talk to your guy. Shit, we probably should have talked about this meeting on the drive over instead of my personal life.”

“Brent’s cool, and I can ask the questions if you want to observe. It’s not a big deal, Rook.”

Tracey rolled his eyes. “Are you ever going to stop calling me that?”

Perry grinned as they exited the Jeep and went to the door of the nondescript bar and grill. “Sure. When you’re in your second year.” He held the door open for Tracey to enter in front of him.

Lunch was uneventful, though pleasant. They learned quite a bit about the current filming projects in and around the D.C. area. Brent was a wealth of information about the crews.

Perry went into detail about their profile, but unfortunately, it didn’t ring any bells for Brent. Crews were mostly local, and the ones who weren’t didn’t travel in and out every week. They were in town for months on big projects. He promised to keep them in the loop if anyone matching the profile popped up on his radar.

When lunch concluded, Perry paid the bill and promised to keep in touch. On the way back to Quantico, they were mostly silent, so Perry turned his radio on with the volume low.

They got back to the office and Tracey sighed as he sat at his desk.

“Where’d you go?” Sarena asked. “I thought we were getting lunch.”

Tracey blinked in surprise. “Oh. Wow. I’m sorry. I completely spaced out about that. Tomorrow?”

She gave his forearm a squeeze. “It’s okay, we didn’t set a day, so that’s my fault for assuming. Tomorrow would be good. Or we could just get a coffee this afternoon. But I’m supposed to meet with the M.E.’s office to go over Taft’s autopsy results, so that might be a rain check, too.”

He leaned closer and dropped his voice. “Is everything okay?”

Her ponytail bounced with her vigorous nod. “Yeah, yeah. I just thought it’s been a minute since I asked how you’re doing after, you know, the whole getting shot as a hostage thing, and I thought it would be a good idea to make sure.”

“Oh.” He straightened and gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m fine, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t love to get a caffeine fix with you.”

Her dimples showed before she returned to her computer. “Let’s try this afternoon, but I’ll have to let you know.”

She was right, that afternoon ended up busy. Perry went off to follow other leads and Sarena had long since gone to the medical examiner’s office.

Patrick Byrne had come through with a list of people affiliated with Enlightened Covenant Ministries and emailed them to Jon. Tracey offered to help. There weren’t more than fifty names, but going through flight manifests for each airline and all flights to the victims’ cities for the dates in question meant hours of cross referencing. Tedious work Tracey could lose himself in.

When Sarena slapped a file onto her desk, it startled him so badly he jumped in his chair.

“Sorry!” She laughed, but it was full of sympathy and self-consciousness. “You were totally lost, huh? Wanna go get that coffee now?” She put her hands on her hips, not bothering to sit.

“Uh, sure.” He stood and threw on his suit jacket. “Let’s go.”

She drove, of course. They navigated toward the nearby marina and the closest café, the late afternoon already feeling like early twilight.

“Did Beckett Taft’s autopsy reveal anything surprising?” Work felt safe. Tracey knew she wanted to check in after the St. Louis ordeal, but he was in the zone and wasn’t ready to drop the case.

She shook her head, biting her lip. They were stuck behind a school bus that stopped every couple of blocks to disgorge children, its red flashing lights and retractable stop signs warning other drivers not to pass. Sarena didn’t seem impatient, though. Distracted, more like.

“Hmm? Oh, no surprises. Tox screen is still pending, but preliminary results are in line with the others. Strangled. The body was cleaned up. No DNA on this one, and so far, no fingerprints. Unless forensics uncovered one from the scene. I’m not sure how we’re going to connect Taft to the others.” She frowned. “Except for the probability of GHB in his system. Which we only know because of the information from his ex, so thanks for that interview.”

“Of course. His ex-boyfriend finally called with the names of his sponsor and attorney, so hopefully we can dig further into his social circle and reconstruct his last few days.” Silence lengthened between them, until he cast around for something to say. “So, was your family okay over the weekend? Did they bother you too much?”

She gave a short laugh. “I make them sound worse than they really are sometimes. Yeah, I hate the invasive questions, but it lasts a few minutes while I tell them I’m not doing the mom thing yet. They drop it when I ask them to. It was good to pop in, and yes, before you ask, I got my tamales.”

“That’s good. Because of you, I got some enchiladas this weekend. They were good.”

“What?” She laughed as she pulled into a parking spot at the café near the marina. It was too late in the year for the outdoor tables, but there were people bustling about near the door. “Where’d you go?”

“We got takeout.”

“We?”

“A friend came over for a game night, and I ordered Mexican from this place Jon introduced me to. He’s been helping me unpack and get my house set up before my parents visit for Thanksgiving. Jon’s been helping, not the friend. Him, I only just met.” He held the door open and followed her inside to the counter. They spent the next several minutes ordering and paying before finding an unoccupied table to wait for their drinks.

Sarena chose a spot by the window, away from the bathrooms where a gaggle of moms with strollers congregated. The café was busy, but not overflowing, and they could hold a conversation without straining to hear.

“So, you wanted to catch up?” He couldn’t figure out why she seemed hesitant now that they were here, so he broke the ice. She may need to talk about her part in St. Louis, not his. Sarena was the one who’d taken a life, after all. Not him. “Is everything all right?”

She took a deep breath, and then made strong, very deliberate eye contact. “Tracey, there’s something I have to ask, but I don’t know how to bring it up delicately.”

“Uh oh. Have I done something wrong?” Unease uncoiled in his gut like a snake disturbed.

“Not to my knowledge, but I… ugh, fuck.” She looked to the side, pressing her lips together so hard, her bold lipstick disappeared.

Hearing her lightly accented curse in relation to him really unsettled him. “What? Sarena, you’re freaking me out.”

“Okay.” She breathed out and studied the table. “Listen, when we were at Jon’s house—”

“Sarena! Tracey!” A barista shouted over the coffee shop hum. She shot to her feet to retrieve their cups.

Tracey’s heart was about to beat out of his chest by the time she sat back down. “Will you tell me what’s going on?” He ignored his drink completely, glaring at her for taking a big drink.

She nodded as she swallowed and straightened her diminutive shoulders. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. It’s just, this is uncomfortable.”

“Spit it out.”

“Last time we worked at Jon’s house, we broke for a quick bathroom break. Perry took the main floor bathroom, and I asked if I could go upstairs. Of course, Jon said yes and directed me to a guest room, but I took a wrong turn and ended up using the master bathroom.”

Tracey froze, suddenly not wanting to meet her eyes. There was more knowledge in them than he wanted to see.

She confirmed it. “There was a second toothbrush and electric razor by the double sink in the master bath, Tracey.” She waited for him to say something, but he didn’t. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be nosy. But yeah, side-by-side occupied sinks say a lot.” She took another sip, giving him a chance to speak.

He raised a brow. He was going to make her say it. This was none of her business. Irrational anger churned in his stomach. Did she really do this? Get him alone to confront him about seeing Jon when it had nothing to do with her?

“I know you told us in St. Louis you and Jon aren’t together, but Tracey, how do you explain this? You’re staying at his house. He’s driving you around.”

“That’s because of my rehab and leg stuff. And I’m not staying there anymore.”

“Your toothbrush was beside his in his bathroom. Your clothes were in his closet.”

“How do you know those weren’t his clothes?” She went in the closet? That took nerve.

“He wears University of Illinois sweatshirts, too? When he went to college in Washington state?”

“How is this any of your business?” He didn’t bother to keep the defiance out of his tone. She went in the closet .

She narrowed her eyes. “Because you’re my colleague and, I hope, my friend? So is he. Because I care about what happens to both of you and I don’t want to see either of you hurt.”

All the fight left Tracey. They were caught, simple as that. He went from stone-faced to pleading. “You cannot, under any circumstances, tell anyone what you know about this.”

Now, her face went stony. “Tracey Smith. Have either of you been called to Sutherland’s office to explain the nature of your relationship? Have you been reprimanded despite clear non-fraternization rules or a power imbalance since he’s your supervising agent?” She jabbed a finger at the table. “It’s been weeks since that work session. This conversation is the first word I’ve uttered about it.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. You’re right. Credit where credit is due. Forgive me for being defensive. But you can’t blame me, Sarena. You’re interrogating me and presenting evidence, not asking as if you’re concerned. And you can stop. It’s not like either Jon or I planned on this happening.”

She sighed and sat back, taking another drink of her coffee. “You’re right. I’m sorry, too. I asked you for a little powwow to make sure you know what you’re doing, not to scold you. I guess being around my mama this weekend kicked up my maternal instincts.” She had the grace to look chagrined. “I could have worded this better. In my defense, I did tell you it’s touchy and I didn’t know how to ask it delicately. Cut me some slack.”

He let a little grin through. “You think of me like your kid?”

“Don’t get too cocky, Rookie. You’re too old to be my kid.” She rolled her eyes, but they held a hint of mischief. “This is big sister energy.” Then she sobered. “I am concerned though. Have you thought this through? Do you know what you’re doing?”

This time, he let her concern mean what it truly meant, without getting testy at her nosiness. “Not a fucking clue, to be honest. And I might end up losing my mother over it.”

Sarena gasped. “What? Are you serious?”

He filled her in on coming out to his parents.

“Wow. You’ve had a rough few weeks. This is what I mean by being worried about you. It’s not great, Tracey.”

“I’m okay, Sarena. I appreciate you checking on me, though. No, the work part of this isn’t ideal, but outside of that, Jon’s….” He couldn’t help the corners of his mouth turning up as he finally gripped his cup. “He’s been great. Considering I’ve just been through the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, our timing is… complicated.”

She side-eyed him while he took his first sip. At least waiting to drink it meant he didn’t burn his tongue.

“Are you sure about this?”

“No.” He freed a small laugh, but then met her eye. “And yet, I’ve never been more sure at the same time. It’s weird. Do I want to lose family over him? Hell no. But do I want to lose Jon over intolerant family? Also no. What the hell am I supposed to do? Things were moving really fast. But he was great when I said I wanted to slow down and date first. Honestly, the easy part has been when we’re together. It’s all the stuff around us making it weird. When we’re together, it’s… peaceful. Have you ever been with someone who just settles you? That’s how I feel with Jon. We click.”

She nodded. “I can see that. And you guys, you know, don’t let the job get in the way?”

“No. We actually do gut checks all the time.” He took another drink. “That’s how this started. Adjacent rooms in St. Louis. I heard him having a nightmare, and he told me things he struggled with. I listened. It went from there. After the shooting, he listens to me. It’s really… open.”

After several long moments of studying her cup, she finally looked up with a soft expression. “You know, you could be perfect for him, thinking about it. It’s just such a huge risk, Tracey. For you both. Are you willing to put your career on the line? Is he? I mean, you have it all out there, don’t you?”

He nodded gravely. “We do, yeah. But it feels… worth it. And very fucking scary.”

Her hand was warm from her cup when she gripped his with a tight squeeze. “I have your back, okay? I won’t say anything to anyone. Not even to Perry. If you need to talk things through with someone, you can come to me. I’ve known Jon a long time.”

He covered her hand with his. “That means a lot to me. Thank you.”

“Yeah, well. I’ve already killed a man to save your butt. What’s a little cover-up?” Her grumble was joking, but her worry was still visible.

“You’re the best big sister ever.” He raised his coffee for her to knock cups with him.

After a slight hesitation, she did. “God, Rookie. You’re nuts.”

“ C ome in, Anderson.” Sutherland motioned him into the office, his phone’s receiver to his ear. Into the mouthpiece, he said, “Let me call you back in a bit. Sure thing. Bye.” Replacing the handset, he focused on Jon as he took a chair in front of the desk. “Did you have a good weekend?”

Recalling flashes of Friday night with Tracey, Jon nodded stoically. “I did, sir.”

“Any updates on the Phantom case?”

Jon stared, not understanding. “The what case?”

“The Chicago, Atlanta, and D.C. murders. The one your team is actively working.”

Jon suppressed his cringe. Sure, it was in people’s nature the name things, but he’d only heard that word bandied about on the team. It wasn’t supposed to be a new moniker, and the FBI worked to keep these things out of official reporting. Typically the nicknames for pattern killers came from the press, not from law enforcement. Had they been calling the killer this name outside of casual rhetoric?

Of course, he couldn’t call out Sutherland for it. He’d just have to make sure the name didn’t hit documentation. It didn’t surprise him, though. Hell, Perry had a new nickname for him every other week.

“We’re doing our best.” He filled Sutherland in on the medical examiner’s preliminary findings on Taft. Jon had scanned the emailed report just before this meeting so he was up to speed.

“We got the latest victim’s contacts, and we’re rebuilding his final days. We’re following leads concerning the Powell’s family’s film studio and other connections in Chicago; the D.C. film connections didn’t turn anything up. I’m also tracing conversion therapy connections, and cross referencing with flight passenger manifests. In better news, we’ve given the local jurisdictions our preliminary profile. As we go, we’ll refine it, but it’s more than we had last week. It’s progress.”

“Excellent work, Anderson.” Sutherland’s chair creaked as he shifted forward, lacing his fingers together. “Now, let’s talk about my offer. Have you considered succeeding me when I retire?”

Jon straightened and met his boss’s gaze head-on. “I have, sir. I sincerely appreciate the opportunity. At this time, I’m declining the position.”

Sutherland blinked, as if the words took a minute to sink in. “Oh. Well.” He shifted his attention to his desktop and picked up his stapler. Put it down a few inches over. Fiddled with his pen. Set that down, too. “May I ask why?”

“I know it’s not the answer you expected, Ron.” He gentled his tone and dropped all the honorifics, speaking friend to friend. “I’ve long respected the admirable job you do overseeing the BAU, and I’m not just saying that to butter you up. It’s a tough responsibility, wrangling agents, answering to the brass, keeping the peace, keeping the budget flowing but not too fast. You’re a pro and filling your shoes will be an enormous undertaking. You do your job really, really well.”

“Thank you, Jon.” Ron seemed taken aback by his candor. “Those are all things I firmly believe you’d excel at.”

“I appreciate your faith, but I’m not entirely convinced.” He let a rueful smile cross his lips. “I like head games, but only with suspects. I don’t like playing politics, and this desk requires it. I don’t believe I’d be able to work with the upper echelon in the necessary ways. I can lead the agents, but with so many to oversee, I couldn’t give them the attention I can give my team now. Anything less, I feel, is a disservice.

“Along with that, I’d miss the field work. That is very much a deal-breaker for me. I’m in the Bureau to bring down the bad guys, which I know you know. But have I ever told you why ?”

Ron furrowed his brow and studied Jon, sitting back. “Actually, I don’t think you have.”

“My brother was killed in an armed robbery when he was a teenager. That’s fairly common knowledge.”

Sutherland nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Right.”

Jon kept eye contact. “What few know is Danny was killed by the police. He was one of the perps. It’s a long story, but it boils down to him being dragged into a bad situation by one of his idiot friends who set the whole thing up. When it went sideways, my brother tried to run. His stupid friend thought he’d win a gunfight with police. The friend fired, police fired back, and my brother was caught in the middle.

“People often join law enforcement due to past traumas from crimes. Usually, they’re victims hoping to empower themselves and others. After Danny died, I was obsessed with why perps do it. I spent my formative years studying bad guys’ motivations. It’s how I can identify with them. I learned so many ways people let the darkness win.

“Now, I use their darkness against them and stop them with their own games.” He dropped his voice, speaking just above a whisper. “I can’t do that from behind a desk. I can’t play those games in budget meetings.”

Ron stared, unblinking for a long moment. Then, he gave Jon a once-over, as if he were seeing him for the first time. “That may be the best answer I’ve ever heard for why someone has joined the Bureau. There’s no doubt about your close rate, Jon. You’re an incredible asset as a BAU team lead, and you’ve mentored many of your peers who’ve become incredible agents themselves. You’re good at what you do.”

“Thank you. That means a lot, especially from you. I admire you very much, Ron. I just don’t think I can do what you do. My purpose is where I am.” Jon tilted his head. “I hope you understand.”

Ron nodded and relaxed into his chair, swiveling it slightly side-to-side. “I do. But it does leave me with a conundrum. Who should take my place if not you?”

Taken aback, Jon frowned. “Surely I wasn’t the only agent on your list.”

Pursing his lips, Ron considered him. “Well, no. There was a short list The Powers That Be found acceptable, but you were the clear frontrunner. The other candidates all had one tick or more in the cons column. You were the one with unanimous support.”

“I’m… wow, that’s flattering. Do you mind me asking who the others were?”

Ron hesitated.

“I only ask so that I can possibly help you consider them. I’m not interested in spreading juicy rumors. You know me better than that, sir. Maybe I can help you frame your decision and avoid delaying your retirement by ensuring there’s not a political stalemate about your successor.”

Jon knew the offer was a little over the top, but he truly did want to help. It was also self-serving; he wanted to know who might soon be running the BAU, and by extension, overseeing his team. If he could steer that, so much the better.

Okay, so maybe he was a tiny bit interested in office politics.

“Well, your buddy Perry is on it. Tim from cybercrimes and public corruption, and Jennifer from counterterrorism.” Ron paused. “Like I said, it was a short list.”

“What were the strikes against Perry?”

Ron paused, then seemed to decide he’d come this far. “Perry’s penchant for bending the rules could mean he’s harder to predict, or even worse, harder to control. On the other hand, Jennifer is very by-the-book, and that’s a possible flaw, too—she’s too rigid and that inflexibility means she can’t pivot in dynamic situations. Tim was the runner-up compared to you, until someone pointed out he’s not that much younger than me, and the retirement conversation would come up again in a few years. We carefully considered all of you based on merit, and each of you have strengths and weaknesses.”

“Just out of curiosity, what was my weakness?” Jon didn’t bother hiding his smile.

“Like I said, you were the one we wanted most. If anyone had anything negative to say, it was that you work too hard. Given our need for commitment to the Bureau, that’s not such a bad thing.”

Jon’s smile dimmed. If only Ron knew his commitment had wavered lately, thanks to his growing feelings for Tracey. Not to mention ignoring orders to drop the Hypnotist case.

He cleared his throat and crossed one leg over the other at the knee, clasping hands, ever the picture of relaxed composure. “If you want my honest opinion, I’d put my vote in for Perry, and not just because I work with him more than the others. A certain willingness to bend the rules is necessary in, what did you call them? Dynamic situations. He knows how far rules can be bent before becoming a liability. I don’t believe he would cross that line.”

Ron considered him for a long moment. “I agree with you. Jennifer is a fantastic agent, but she’s younger than you are, and I believe she could benefit from more experience. With your turning it down, it likely will be a choice between Tim or Perry.”

Jon nodded. “I also think Perry is decent at the politics. He knows when to listen and when to stand up for what he or the team needs. At least that’s my experience. His only difficulty will be knowing when to be serious. However, his sense of humor is a benefit to all of the teams. We see terrible things. Having a leader who can lift the mood is a commodity. And, his easygoing nature endears him to most people.”

Sutherland’s eyes twinkled. “I believe you’ve just made my case for Perry, SSA Anderson. Thank you very much.”

Jon chuckled. “Glad to be of service, sir. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you the answer you wanted, but I do believe this is the best move for the BAU.”

Ron stood, and Jon followed suit. When he stuck out his hand, Jon didn’t hesitate to shake it. “It doesn’t surprise me you would put a colleague above yourself for the good of the department. I would expect nothing less from you, Jon. You’re an asset to the Bureau and we’re lucky to have you in any capacity. You just keep doing everything you’re doing. Now get back out there and catch me some more bad guys. Starting with the Phantom, yeah?”

“You got it, sir.”

As nerve-wracking as this meeting had been—both anticipating it and being in it—Jon left Sutherland’s office feeling lighter than he had all weekend. Now, to rebuild Taft’s last few days.