rest had been developed off her leads. Among the biggest corruption cases the bureau had made in decades.
Smith took her out to dinner the next night, just the two of them, nothing fancy, a barbeque place with wooden benches, paper plates, cold beer, and perfectly smoked ribs. He seemed subdued on the drive over. She didn’t understand what was wrong, until he raised his Coke—he didn’t drink.
“Congratulations, Rebecca. You did it.”
“We did it.”
“Gonna miss you.”
She thought he must be retiring.
No. He walked her through what she’d been too focused on the case to see. She couldn’t stay in Birmingham. The defendants would learn her real name during discovery. Odds were that no one would try to come after her. Doing so would be impossibly foolish. Most of them were looking at one to five years. Even Sullivan was looking at twelve, fifteen at most. They could have gone after him for sexual assault too, but Rebecca had insisted they keep what had happened at the dinner far from the indictment.
So she should be safe from retaliation. But the sheer number of defendants raised the risk. Only one had to be crazy enough to try. And these were privileged men who’d never considered they might go to prison.
“What about testifying? I’ll have to be here for that.”
“Everyone’s gonna plead. Almost, anyway. Bet on it. Can’t argue those recordings and already half of ’em have their lawyers asking about flipping. You have to come in, we’ll fly you back. Old home week. But the sooner you get out of here the better.”
She hadn’t realized until this moment how much she liked Fred Smith. He was plainspoken and honorable. He had helped her through the most difficult moments of the investigation.
“What about Boone?” The cooperator.
“What about him?” Smith said.
“He kept his word. We couldn’t have made this case without him.”
“No way the US Attorney’s Office lets him walk.”
“He seemed genuinely remorseful.” Boone struck her as a guy who might decide a one-way swim in the Gulf was preferable to the public humiliation of being known as a child molester.
“The guy did what he did. He had a lawyer, a good one, he made a deal. Don’t forget those are real live girls in those pictures.”
True enough.
“Let’s talk about you,” he said. “You can go wherever you want. D.C. will take you in a second. New York.”
“But.”
“But. I’d stay in the field for at least one more rotation. Land mines everywhere up there; you really want to understand how the bureau works before you go north. Anyway, you’re too good right now to waste time in meetings.”
“CI?” Counterintelligence seemed like a natural fit for her. She’d spent some of those hours in the CorthoSouth office practicing Russian.
“If you like. The big bosses are still so focused on CT though.” Counterterror.
She could tell he had a specific office in mind. “Out with it, Fred.”
* * *
She came home that night to find Brian in the garage, greasing the chain on his Ducati. He’d bought the bike used a month before. But it had needed fresh brake pads. Then the fuel line had clogged. He’d barely ridden it.
She knelt beside him, rubbed his back. “Kids okay?”
“Asleep.” He reached up and pressed the starter and the engine roared to life. He leaned against the bike, striking a pose. “Come on, Becks, let’s go.”
“What if they wake up?”
“Just around the block.” But he was already nodding, conceding defeat. He turned off the bike. “How was dinner?”
“Fine. Fred’s a really good guy.”
“Deputy Dawg? What’s he want?”
She hated when Brian called Smith Deputy Dawg. “Remember a couple of months ago you said you’d had enough of Birmingham?”
“I’m not sure that’s what I said.”
It wasn’t. What he’d said was, We’d better get out of here, I’m starting to like it.
“I get it, Becks. Your cover’s blown, time to bounce.”
“Busted.” She smiled, hoping to lighten the mood.
“Bet you already have somewhere in mind. You put in for it yet?”
“Of course not. You know I couldn’t—” She stopped herself. She’d been about to say, I couldn’t have done this without you, but she had a feeling the words would only inflame him.
“Couldn’t what?”
“Come on, take me around the block. I’m serious.”
“First tell me where we’re moving.”
“It’s not like that, Bri.”
“No? So if I say I really want to go to LA next, that’ll be cool?”
“Do you really want to go to LA?”
He turned on the bike, straddled it, rolled the throttle until the engine roared.
“Houston. Fred thinks I should go to Houston.” She