Cold Trail (Sue Thomas FBEye)

Cold Trail - Intro

"Come on, Rudolph, you know better than to sniff what you sell." In the dark alleys, Myles didn't always deal with the brightest minds, but even Santa wouldn't ask this one to lead his sleigh.

"I stopped using months ago." In his mid-twenties, the man fidgeting behind the dumpster with his cigarette looked old enough to be his own father. "Or you wouldn't have recruited me to squeal on Vixen."

Myles didn't like to be reminded of his mistakes. "The storage locker contained pet supplies, Rudolph, not weapons."

The raid had caused major embarrassment for the Bureau, and Myles had taken enough heat to melt the dump of snow they'd received over the weekend. December weather was as unreliable as Rudolph's tips.

"The weapons were there. I saw them, I swear." A dull thud reverberated into the night, the result of Rudolph's foot connecting with the side of the dumpster. "And my little sister was there. I did not hallucinate her."

"You have no sister." With no known sibling, an unknown father and a well-known mother, he'd grown up in foster care. Myles had run a full background on the man before turning a blind eye on his unlawful transactions in exchange for information.

"I do. Her name is Jolly. She showed me her birth certificate."

"Jolly?" Girls didn't walk around with their birth certificates in their jeans pockets. "Your mother didn't stay out of jail long enough to have another child, Rudolph. The girl played you."

"She did not." He threw his cigarette butt on the ground, and stomped on it. "You have to help me find her. You owe me for the storage locker."

"Dog food, Rudolph." The argument had come full circle, it was late, and he had to work in the morning. "Good night."

"You'll regret this, Leland."

Myles already regretted ever meeting the guy.

~ * ~

The voice at the other end of the line awoke Myles more efficiently than any alarm clock.

"Of course, I remember." He'd completely forgotten about the party on Saturday night, but he couldn't stomach a lecture before his first cup of coffee.

"We're looking forward to see you and your date, Myles. Have a great day."

"Date?"

But his mother had hung up before he could argue the numbers around the dining room table.

"What a great Friday morning." Between Rudolph and Mrs. Claus, he barely got a few hours of sleep.

On the corner of the night table, unwritten Christmas cards mocked him. Nobody wrote Christmas cards anymore, but his parents and their acquaintances still expected them.

"Scrooge had the right idea," he grumbled. He wasn't dating anyone, and he couldn't think of anyone who'd want to accompany him to a party on twenty-four-hour notice, except maybe...

He took a Christmas card and a pen discarded near the phone. Normally he'd scribble a draft before writing the final version, but time wasn't a luxury he could afford this morning.

How should he address her? Her first name sounded too casual. Princess sounded too intimate. Mrs. sounded too stuffy.

"Dear Friend..." It was personal, but not too intimate. He didn't want her to think he wanted to date her, although... "Concentrate, Leland."

Dear Friend,

Would you do me the honor of your company at my parents' Christmas party on Saturday night? I'm sorry for not giving you much notice but I only learned of the event this morning.

The last few words weren't totally true. He'd known for weeks, but when he didn't find any reasons not to attend, he'd buried the event in the back of his mind, where it should have stayed. The reason behind the last-minute invitation would be easier to explain in person than in a card, though she would wonder why he chose her.

The evening will be long and boring, but I'm still expected to show up with a woman since my mother dreads odd numbers around the table. If you have nothing planned for tomorrow evening, and are willing to share a friend's misery for a few hours, I would be grateful for the sacrifice. I could pick you up at your place around 6pm. Let me know.

Myles

P.S. The food should be delicious.

He placed it in an envelope with a snowflake in place of a stamp. On it, he scribbled 'To a Special Woman'.

Women loved to be called special, and she was special, in every sense of the word.

In the Bullpen, he would slip the card on her desk while his colleagues weren't looking—and wait for an answer.

~ * ~

Two weeks before Christmas, and they dumped all those claims on his deck. "Who do Hudson and his team think I am? Santa Claus?"

Intent on telling them he had no intention of processing any of them until after the holidays, Randy marched down the hallway.

Voices he recognized were coming from inside the Bullpen.

"—telling you, Bobby, she's special."

It didn't take a genius to know Hudson was talking about Thomas. The grapevine was currently silent about them, but Randy had seen how the agent looked at the blonde analyst, and it wouldn't surprise him if they were dating in secret. All the claims Hudson submitted proved he didn't like to follow any rules anyway.

"What about telling Sue instead of me?"

Agents were paid to work, not discuss conquests. Randy stepped inside the Bullpen. Aside from Hudson and Manning, the Bullpen was deserted. "Where's everyone?" He didn't want to waste his speech on two people.

Manning reclined his chair backward, and stretched. "The girls aren't in, yet, and Myles is talking with Public Relations. Why? You need to bug someone?"

"Yes, Manning, and I may just start with—"

"Sorry, Randy, but we're late for a meeting." As Hudson stood, his chair rolled away from his desk. "Bobby, time to go."

Like a crony, Manning jumped to his feet, and flung his jacket over his shoulder. "Sorry, Randy."

The draft of cool air that their jackets created ruffled the papers on their desks. They hurried to exit, and in their wake, an envelope glided in the air. It landed at Randy's feet.

"Reckless bunch." He picked up the envelope with a snowflake on its corner. "To a special woman."

How that team managed to solve any cases when all they did was fool around never ceased to amaze him.

He tossed the envelope on Thomas' desk, and left.