Special Clearance

#𝟎𝟎𝟕

chapter seven

I know what it means to be disappointed, I shared a bed with Warren Sinclair for two years.

The room held their collective breath waiting for Agent Peterson—taking his sweet time connecting his laptop to the monitor. I got a gut feeling that this meeting could have been an email.

     A secure email, but an email nonetheless.

     So, when the monitor came on to reveal...absolutely nothing, I was glad I'd managed my expectations well.

"So, question, Peterson," Chris raised his hand. "Which FBI are you from? Is it the one that actually investigates case, or is some other FBI I don't know about where they use my tax dollars for shitty haircuts and middle school Powerpoint presentations?"

"Oh, no, it's the one you couldn't get into, and that's why you worked at the DOD." Peterson clicked to the next slide with missing a beat.

     Angie snickered. She was lucky Chris was all out of pens.

     It was a white background with black letters at the top that read: LINES OF INQUIRY. 

     Isaac was still towering over me from behind, but somehow felt even closer. I could smell his cologne. It was nice, bergamot and something earthy. "You said you found something," he pressed.

"I might've been going for dramatic effect," Peterson admitted. "Sorry to burst anyone's bubble, but we have multiple leads to chase down. These things don't come to light overnight. Whoever did this went to lengths to stay cover it up. No major terror organizations have taken responsibility, so...we believe the threat is domestic."

Four subsections appeared under the title: DEVICE, EX, BILL, AARON. The slide changed.

     I found myself staring at a smoldering wreak, a picture of what was left of the SUV. It was a lump of curled up metal and exposed undercarriage.

Slide switch: a picture of a hunk of frayed wiring and circuitry. "This is what was left of the explosive device used in the attack," Peterson pointed at it. "It was detonated remotely, which meant the whoever was involved had to be nearby."

The idea that Aaron and I were being watched that morning made a chill run down my spine. Not just watched, hunted. Who's to say they wouldn't try again? If they could close enough to strap a bomb to the underside of my car, they could get anywhere, be anywhere...

     Isaac must've had some special SEAL Sense or something, because his hand brushed against my shoulder. It wasn't intimate or anything, just a way of letting me know he was there. That I was safe in that room, safe with him.

     Then again, I'd thought I was safe with Aaron too.

     Peterson moved on. "And, while we're working on tracking down the manufacturer, you'll be happy to know we've cleared one of our suspects..."

    I felt my stomach turn when Warren's stupid face popped up on the screen. It was his official headshot from his company's website. Angie used to say he looked like an evil Ryan Reynolds. The truth? Warren was a Waspy, spoiled brat from Newport.

     "Warren Sinclair. CEO of Vagrant, the military contractor. We went through Warren Sinclar's personal and professional correspondence, no red flags. We made a timeline of his travel and personal engagements leading up to the attack. Nothing sticks out. We're moving on to more promising leads."

Isaac stopped hovering over me, taking the seat closest to the door. He was giving Warren's picture a critical look, then raised two fingers to pose a question, which, for some reason, was hot as fuck. (Goddamn, I'd been single too long.) "Sorry, why is he a person of interest? Or was, rather."

The room got quiet, even Peterson didn't say anything right away. Leave it to Chris to break an uncomfortable silence. "Mr. Sinclair and Rep. Richmond were engaged."

Isaac's jaw twitched. Okay. Maybe it wasn't about me. Most people had an adverse reaction to seeing Warren. "Did things end badly? What was the motive?"

I stepped in to spare anyone else the second hand embarrassment. "...I'm against an upcoming bill. It would make it easier for military contractors to charge the Defense Department more than they should—it's wasteful overspending and they need to be kept in check. Contractors like Vagrant will benefit if it passes. Warren and a few others donated to the campaigns of a few members of the committee overseeing that spending. One of them is up for my seat again this year, across the isle: Natasha Ewing. Warren's also...dating her now."

There was more to the story than what Peterson could fit in his briefing. He missed the part where I walked in on Warren and Natasha fucking in my bed, drinking my Napa Valley Merlot. (That was the first time Aaron had to protect someone from me.)

The look on Isaac's face read 'good god, woman.' Yeah, I know. Pretty pathetic. It'd be even more pathetic if she won, so I had to bring my A-game. And crush her bill.

One thing at a time.

"That leads me into this..." It was a list of names—abet, a short list. Natasha's was at the top. Everyone on it were members of the committee who received campaign donations from military contractors. "This is who Rep. Richmond's managed to piss off regarding the spending bill. It's where we're going to focus most of our efforts."

     Natasha was conniving and utterly soulless. If she was willing to bang Warren for campaign money, I wouldn't put murder past her either. Apparently Peterson had the same idea.

"Let me be clear, we're taking a deeper look into everyone on this list...but Rep. Ewing is on the top for a reason," Peterson assured us.

I checked my smart watch. Had we really been sitting here for an hour? I was itching to get on with the day, snag a personal win and talk campaign stuff with Angie. Not relieve my life's biggest failures laid out for Isaac to see.

Isaac did his finger raise again. "Have there been any recent threats against Miss Richmond's life? Credible ones?"

People tweeted horrible shit about me all day long. That was just your lot in life when you choose politics. But, the FBI monitored my social media accounts closely. Vetting every threat, no matter how ill-conceived, was a task taken seriously.

"None we've seen to be actionable, no." Peterson stretched. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to be across town in a half hour. I hope I've painted a good picture for Mr. Flynn." He unplugged his laptop, wrapping the cord tightly.

     "Well, yes, but—"

     I cut Isaac off, knowing he'd just realized the same thing I did. "There was something about Aaron...on the index page. What was it?"

     Everyone else was on the edge of their seats now, even Darcy had straightened up. We might have been at each other's throats, especially these days, but Aaron was too damn important.

     Peterson froze, like a deer in headlights. "I figured it was best to leave it for when we have something more concrete in that vein of the investigation. It's just a theory, really."

     "Just spit it out," Angie snapped. The impatience in her voice was palpable. Not just that—anger too. I felt it, the whole team felt it. We'd gone so long without answers. Maybe now, there was something new. Something I could tell Kelsey at dinner that night without feeling like total crap.

"The FBI has to work every angle of a case, no matter how uncomfortable it might be. Aaron Ramirez was in tens of thousands of dollars worth of debt—"

Nausea bubbled in my gut, twisting and turning it. Desperate for air, for answers, I felt a hitch in my breathing. Debt? He and Kelsey both worked. He made out just fine every year, even after taxes. What the hell was Peterson getting at?

"—and desperate people make easy targets for those with agendas."

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