I’m just about to lift the first squished cupcake to my lips when a shadow falls across my little patch of sunshine. Peeved at having my daily dose of Vitamin D cut short, I glance up sharply, ready to snap at whoever has come to bother me. But instead, I bite my tongue as I feel my breath catch in my chest. Peering down at me is a stoic, impeccably composed man I’ve never seen before. I wouldn’t call him handsome, exactly, but his carved features are certainly striking. And rather intimidating. His spotless black suit almost shines in the afternoon sun, and his forty-something face is totally unreadable.
“Agent Quinn Collins, I presume?” he says, his voice smooth and even.
“Um, yeah. That’s me,” I stammer dumbly. “How did you know my—”
“I know all about you, Collins,” he cuts me off lightly. “But please, don’t let me interrupt your, uh...lunch.”
I blush furiously, imagining how I must look in this man’s eyes. A pretty little girl, playing FBI agent, eating her cupcakes in the sunshine. What a darling first impression.
“Oh. This isn’t—these were my mentor’s idea of a joke,” I laugh shortly, chucking my treats in the nearest garbage can. “Agent Jones has a...unique sense of humor. I’m sorry,” I go on, holding out my hand to him, “I didn’t catch your name.”
“That’s because I didn’t offer it,” he chuckles, shaking my hand firmly. “I’m Special Agent Max Mitchell. I run things over at the Las Vegas field office.”
“Nice to meet you, I’m—Oh. Never mind. You already know,” I mutter, making a mental note to kick myself later. I can’t help but be flustered by this guy. Why would a senior agent have any idea who I am?
“I do know, indeed,” Mitchell replies. “You’re the whole reason I’m here in Los Angeles, after all.”
“I am?” I reply, taken aback. “Is something, uh, wrong? Did I—?”
“I’m not here to discipline you, Agent Collins,” Mitchell assures me. “Quite the contrary. But perhaps we can discuss this somewhere a bit less public?”
“Of course,” I say quickly, rise and moving toward the front door, “I only have a cubicle, but—”
“It’s alright. Agent Jones’ office will do just fine,” he replies. “I’ve already confirmed as much with him.”
“Chuck knew you were coming?” I ask, trailing Mitchell inside.
“Sure,” he says, raising an eyebrow, “didn’t he mention it to you?”
“Like I said, unique sense of humor,” I grumble.
Plenty of heads turn my way now that a high-ranking agent accompanies me. Looks of suspicion and jealousy cloud the faces of my mostly male coworkers. Many of them still haven’t gotten used to my presence in the office, especially since I found my sea legs and started doing well. For all its diversity initiatives, the FBI is still something of a boys’ club. But I’m not going to let their insecurities bother me today. It would seem I’ve got more important things to worry about.
Chuck appears in the doorway of his office, beckoning us in to join him. “Get in here, Mitchell,” he barks good-naturally. “Good to see you again, sir.”
“And you, Jones,” Mitchell replies, clapping Chuck on the shoulder.
“Thanks for the heads up, Jones,” I mutter, closing the door behind me.
“I didn’t want to ruin the surprise,” Chuck grins, winking theatrically at me.
“Have a seat, Quinn,” Mitchell says, as he and Chuck settle into their places. I perch on the edge of the unforgiving foam chair, anxious to know what’s behind this surprise meeting. “First of all,” he begins, lacing his fingers over his knee, “let me congratulate you on completing your first two years here at the Bureau. From what I understand, it’s been a very successful time, indeed.”
“I guess that’s true,” I smile, looking back and forth between Chuck and Mitchell.
“Oh, don’t be modest,” Chuck says. “It’s not as endearing as your finishing school teachers would have you believe. You’ve been kicking ass here, Collins. Best addition to the cyber division I’ve seen come out of Quantico in years.”
“You feeling OK, Jones?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow at my surly mentor. “Outright praise isn’t exactly your thing.”
“Just ‘cause I’m not made of rainbows and butterscotch, doesn’t mean I’m not proud of everything you’ve done here,” Chuck says, granting me a rare, sincere smile.
“Well, thanks. But I started at the FBI Academy with a bit of an advantage, technology-wise,” I allow. “I got my BA—”
“In computer science and journalism from Pace University,” Mitchell rattles off from memory, baffling me further. “It’s not the most typical background for an FBI agent, I’ll admit, but extremely useful all the same. And you proved yourself a physical force to be reckoned with at Quantico.”
I allow myself a smug smile, remembering how shocked my fellow FBI trainees had been at the Academy when I was able to outrun them all, not to mention beat many of them in a good old fashioned arm wrestle. I may be small, but I’ve been using exercise as a natural antidepressant since I was fifteen. When it comes to physical stamina, I can certainly keep up with the boys.
“Let me cut to the chase, Quinn,” Mitchell goes on, leaning toward me in his chair. “I’ve got a tricky case underway in Las Vegas, and you’re perfectly suited to work on it. This opportunity is practically tailor made for your expertise.”
I stare back at the senior agent, floored by his confidence in me. I’m good at my job, sure, but there are plenty of other cyber-savvy agents working in the FBI. He’s probably got ten of me at the Las Vegas field office alone. What makes me so special that Mitchell would come all this way to recruit me?
“You’re wondering why I’m asking you, specifically, to come on board here, right?” Mitchell smiles.
“That I am,” I reply. “There must be other agents—”
“None as perfect for this job as you are,” he cuts me off. “This is a one-of-a-kind assignment, a chance for you to distinguish yourself. You must be dying for a new challenge, after two years stuck behind a desk.”
“I really am,” I admit. “Not that I don’t enjoy my work—”