Neither had had a real family growing up.
Both had been loners.
Both had gone down certain paths in life, only to be pulled from what would probably have been early deaths, to serve on behalf of their country.
Both had problems with authority.
Both liked to go their own way.
Both were extremely good at their job.
Neither had ever failed.
Now one of them would be guaranteed to do so.
Only one winner per contest.
No ties allowed.
She scrolled down until she came to two photos on the screen.
The first was an attractive, tenacious-looking woman in her late thirties. Even if Reel hadn’t known she was a federal cop, she would have assumed it from the look.
Special Agent Nicole Vance, known as Nikki to her friends, of which she didn’t appear to have many, according to the notes accompanying the picture.
She was a die-hard FBI agent. She had bucked the gender bias that lived in every agency and workplace. Her professional star had risen like a shuttle rocket blasting off from Florida, all based on pure merit and sheer guts.
She was the one investigating the death of Doug Jacobs.
She knew Robie. They had worked together.
She could be a problem. Or an unlikely asset. Only time would tell.
Reel memorized every feature of Vance’s face and all the accompanying information as well. Memorization was a skill that one grew adept at in this field, or one did not survive in this field.
She focused on the second photo.
The girl was young, fourteen, the notes said.
Julie Getty.
Foster care. Parents murdered.
She had worked with Robie, in an unofficial capacity of course. She had shown herself to be resilient, quick-witted, and adaptable. She had survived things most adults would have succumbed to. Most importantly, Robie seemed to care about her. He had risked a lot to help her.
Reel rested her chin on her knuckles as she gazed into that youthful countenance. In its depths she saw age beyond the official years. Julie Getty had clearly suffered much. She had clearly survived much. But the suffering never really left you. It became a part of you, like a second skin that you could never shed no matter how much you wanted to.
It was the shell one showed to the world every day, hardened, nearly puncture-proof, yet nothing really could be. That was not how humans were built.
We have a heart. We have a soul. And they can be obliterated at any time.
Reel ordered some room service. After it came she ate her food, drank her coffee, and stared at that photo.
The facts behind the face she had already memorized. She knew where Julie Getty lived, whom she lived with, and where she went to school. She knew that Robie had not once visited her.
And she knew why.
He’s protecting her. Keeping her separate from his world.
My world.
It was no place for amateurs, capable or not.
But she wasn’t separate.
She had ceased to be separate from the moment she met Will Robie.
Julie was an only child. An orphan now, with her parents killed. That was something Reel could relate to. Being on your own.
She had really been on her own since she was younger than Julie. One didn’t do what Reel did for a living by growing up in ordinary ways. There had to be a hurt present, a pain that never left you, to make you take a gun or a knife or your hands and force the life out of another human being over and over and over. You didn’t go to school and play sports and join debate team or become a cheerleader and then go home to a loving mom and dad and end up doing what Reel had spent most of her adult life doing.
Reel took another sip of coffee and cocked her head as the rain started up outside. As it pelted against the windows she kept looking at the image of Julie Getty.
You could be me like me, she thought.
And like Robie.
But if you have to make the decision, if the opportunity presents itself...Walk away.
No, run away, Julie.
Reel closed the laptop and the image of Julie vanished.
But not really. It was still there. Burned right into her brain.
For in some ways, when she looked at Julie Getty, it seemed Jessica Reel was simply staring at herself.
CHAPTER
15
MORE POLICE TAPE. IN THE wind and rain it looked like golden strands of rope shimmying against the dark. FBI vans, police cars, barricades, press people trying to push through, uniforms pushing them back.
It was always the same.
At the center of it was always at least one dead body, usually more. It was getting to the point that every day brought a new slaughter for people to dissect.
Robie watched all of this activity with an informed eyed as he stood behind the barricades. He had thought about many things since nearly dying on the Eastern Shore. One in particular was nagging at him.
I didn’t clear the outbuilding before going into the cottage.
He imagined there might have been some interesting things in that outbuilding. But there was no way to go back there now. The police would be all over the place. He wondered what they might find.
He called Blue Man and asked that very question.
“The outbuilding is no longer there,” Blue Man said.
“What do you mean it’s no longer there?”
“About two minutes after you left, it disintegrated into flames. Accelerant plus perhaps a phosphorus-based incendiary component. The temperature would have been so hot it would turn metal to liquid. I just watched the feed from one of our satellites. The police are there now, but finding nothing.”
“She covered her tracks well.”
“Did you expect anything less?”
“I guess not.”
“Don’t forget to come in,” said Blue Man.
“You’ll see me at some point.”
Robie clicked off and watched the police and FBI go about finding nothing.
The Town Car sat in the same spot, but it was partially blocked from view by a blue plastic tarp shield that had been erected around it.