I struggle to think of an excuse to give my cousin. A reason I can’t work for her friend’s friend or whoever the hell this guy is. But it’s hard to resist when the familiar pull is there. The tugging in my gut that I get whenever a case would land on my desk. Tracking down serial killers with a special taskforce. That’s what I did for the bureau for six years.
“Please, Mitchell? That’s the beauty of starting your own company, really. You can take whatever kind of clientele you want.”
“You’re going to give me guilt.” I rub my forehead, knowing I’m going to regret this in some way or another. She’s right. I did start my own company, and I could definitely use some more clients. “Fine. Who do I have to ring?”
“I love you! I’ll ring Ellie to have someone email the contact information you need straight away.”
“Yeah, yeah. You owe me, cousin. Twice, now.”
“Of course! Whatever you need, love. Let me ring Ellie and tell her the good news.”
“Okay, Gemma.”
“Thanks, Mitchell. Ta, love.”
“Bye.”
The line disconnects. I can’t help but smile. Gemma always knew how to get her way. She’s a master manipulator. Our mothers are sisters. My dad was working for the U.S. Embassy in London when he married my mom. We lived there until I was eight, hence the diluted and inconsistent accent. Dad took a job at the State Department in D.C. and I lived there myself until I quit the bureau.
I’m an American citizen because of my dad so working for the FBI was never a problem. We may not have lived on the same continent in twenty years, but Gemma and I stayed close, neit
her of us having siblings.
I close my eyes and curse. “Hailey,” I murmur as I drum my fingers nervously on the desktop.
Hailey is the girl I’ve been seeing the last month or so and the only one I’ve dated since moving here last year. She already gives me grief about how much I work. Now I’ll have to tell her I’m taking on another client—one I’ll have to spend a lot more time with in person.
This won’t be like my other jobs where I set up security for a company and it ends there. This will involve investigative work—spending time with the client, looking out for strange behavior. Tracking a psychopath.
My skin buzzes with excitement. Maybe I miss the bureau more than I realize. Then I remember what happened when I left and cringe at the familiar pain in my chest.
Great.
Sighing, I snag an apple out of a bowl on the tiny kitchen table and munch on it as I head for my office. I press my thumb to the panel, allowing it to read my fingerprint to open the secure door. The contractor thought I was crazy when I asked him to install a fire proof, temperature controlled, windowless, panic room type space with state of the art surge protectors and anti-static flooring, but he did as I asked.
The low hum of computers fills the small room. Because of the nature of my work—the things I’ve seen hackers do during my time with the feds—I have incredibly sophisticated computers. An entire roomful.
I log into the main system and pull up my encrypted email program to get some work done. I clear out a few random messages, returning important ones and erasing others. While typing up a response to one of my engineers, an email appears in the inbox.
Ross Evans, Licensed Talent Agent, Brickworks Talent Agency
That was fast. I open it and start reading.
Mr. Hale,
Thank you for your willingness to help with an ongoing issue involving one of the members of Sphere of Irony. If you can let me know your availability, we can arrange a meeting to discuss specifics.
Please call me on my personal cell phone at…
At the bottom are two phone numbers, office and cell. I stare at the message. This Ross Evans guy knows enough not to put anything with regards to the stalker in an email. That tells me I’m not dealing with complete idiots, which is helpful. They’re desperate as well, having already contacted me. May as well get it over with. I pull up my calendar app and dial the number.
“Evans.”
“Mr. Evans. This is Mitch Hale.”
“Mr. Hale. Thank you for your quick response.”
“Not a problem. When did you want to meet?”