was different, and also had a lot more layers of power and bureaucracy.
D.C. was where she needed to be, though, even if it wasn’t easy for her to live there again.
Dean’s forearm rested atop the cubicle partition separating her from another workstation. He drummed his fingers. “Ginger?” Dean tested.
“How about Agent Quinn?” she offered with a smirk.
Dean smiled, showing the slight gap between his two front teeth. “You know I’m just teasing with you.” He winked, the same wink she’d seen him give a source outside the courthouse last week before the commencement of a trial, in which he’d said, “Gonna take care of you at the end. No worries.” That was code for, Keep up your end of the bargain and testify, and you’ll see a payout after.
“Sure,” Ana responded, but it came out more exasperated than she’d meant.
Dean wasn’t an asshole. He didn’t make passes at her, no sexual misconduct, either. He just liked to make jokes in a friendly way, which was one of his more likable qualities. But she was grumpy as hell, nervous, and a bit riled up by the fact her ex-husband was somewhere in the building, so much so she’d nearly spilled her coffee on herself in the break room when she’d walked right into someone who resembled Kyle.
And it didn’t help that Dean had interrupted her while she’d been pining for a man she had no business pining over, all because of an adorably awkward drunk voicemail. But that voice. That Southern accent. Sweet and sinfully seductive. She wanted to take a bath in it and wrap it up around herself like a blanket when she slept, which was insane because since when did a voice get to her like that?
Since A.J., that’s when. Great, now she was talking to herself. She needed to put her focus back to the here and now, which was Dean, still hanging over her cubicle wall.
“Sorry,” she offered since she’d come off stronger than the dark, cream-free coffee she’d just poured for herself. She preferred sugary, unhealthy French vanilla, but the break room had been all out. “Just a bit on edge.”
“The missing sources are on everyone’s minds.” He offered her a sympathetic look of understanding.
Ana’s hand swept to the middle of her throat in an attempt to hide the hard swallow.
“Gray wants us all assembled.”
Gray was their unit chief, but Porter, who left for the Atlanta field office yesterday, was one level above Gray as the section chief.
“I’m surprised Porter opted to go locate that source himself. I mean, I guess he has a lot riding on this, but the big dogs never go out.” Dean lowered his arm from the partition and fixed the knot of his tie. “Not even for an Iranian spy.”
“You know Porter,” she replied with a smile, doing her best not to let him read her nerves. “He’s hands-on unlike most.” She took a breath, hoping Porter would call soon with good news. God, she really, really needed good news.
“We better not make Gray wait,” Dean said. “He told us to meet in the SCIF. He’s got his Monday-morning pissy look going for him already, and I’d prefer not to be the one to make him any angrier, not with the shit storm we’re facing right now.”
It was too early in her new HQ career to be dealing with a shit storm that might wind up getting pinned on her, but what choice did she have? Plus, she knew what she’d signed up for when moving to D.C., and in her mind, it was not only her duty, it was her destiny to be there.
“Right.” Ana smiled. Another fake one. Perfectly crafted over the years. Most were incapable of knowing the difference in her expressions. Even the most skilled agents with the best tradecraft were unable to read her.
She locked up her personal and work cell phones in her desk since they weren’t allowed in the SCIF, which was a sensitive compartmentalized information facility.
She followed Dean down the hall, and he swiped his badge to allow them access to the room. The rest of their unit was inside waiting for them at the conference table off to the side of the work area.
The office was at the backside of the building that faced Pennsylvania Avenue, and in the distance was the National Mall—well, that’s what they would’ve seen had there been any windows.
Ana sat between Dean and Griff. Dean was in his late forties. A family man. Two kids at