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Authors: Carla Neggers
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smiled now. “So it is,” he said, starting the car.
6
Washington,
DC
Thursday, 8:00 a.m., EST
Colin Donovan hated meetings, but a meeting at FBI headquarters first thing in the morning with his immediate boss and the director was its own special hell. He knew Matt Yankowski well, but he was just getting to know Mina Van Buren, newly confirmed and not necessarily a fan. Van Buren and Yank had a history. Not a good one, from what Colin had been able to gather.
He was in a suit—his Washington suit, he called it. Dark gray wool, white shirt, red tie. The small meeting room was devoid of anything that would remind him he was in Washington. He could have been anywhere, except for the company he was keeping. He sat between Yank at one end of the table and Van Buren at the other. They both had just gotten in and looked cold, although by Colin’s standards, it was a mild morning.
Last night’s call from Emma and this morning’s call from Mike were on his mind. His fiancée and his older brother. FBI agent. Former Special Forces soldier. Emma had an art thief worried about an unauthorized FBI tail in London. Mike had guys he knew in the military coming in from London.
It didn’t help that Oliver York was inviting Finian Bracken, Colin’s Irish priest friend, out to the Cotswolds.
What the hell was Finian doing in England, anyway?
Not calls Colin had needed before talking about a deep-cover mission with his superiors.
He grinned at the two of them. “Washington’s supposed to get a couple inches of snow this weekend. Would you like some tips on snowshoeing?”
“I don’t want to know how to snowshoe,” Yank said, with barely a trace of a smile.
“I already know how, but I don’t like cold weather,” Van Buren said. “I tolerate snow only when I have no other choice.”
Yank looked like central casting’s stereotypical pick for a senior FBI agent—tall, gray-streaked dark hair, handsome, born in a well-pressed coat and tie. He had flown down to Washington yesterday and was staying at his house in the Virginia suburbs, now, finally, up for sale.
Van Buren looked like Judy Dench, if a younger version. She was in her late fifties, a former federal prosecutor who made no secret she had differences with her predecessor as FBI director. So far, she wasn’t shutting down HIT, Yank’s special unit, and she wasn’t relegating Colin to former undercover agent. From what he had seen so far, she was an efficient, no-nonsense type who did what she had to do to get the job done, whether it was testifying before Congress or hauling him and Yank to Washington to discuss a possible future undercover mission.
“Snowshoeing,” Van Buren added, shaking her head. “I discovered a number of surprises when I came on board here. You’re one of them, Agent Donovan. I expected surprises. I didn’t expect you.”
“Agent Donovan was necessary,” Yank said.
Colin sat forward. “Was? You planning to feed me to the seagulls?”
Another thin smile from Yank. Van Buren snorted. “It’s too damn cold to feed you to the seagulls.”
“Pretty, though, isn’t it? The Washington skyline outlined against the clear blue sky. The cold sharpens things.”
Van Buren eyed him as if trying to decide if he was being serious or sarcastic.
Yank opened a folder on the table in front of him. “Donovan’s a wiseass, but he’s one of the best deep-cover agents you have.”
“Perhaps the cold also sharpens people’s sense of humor.” Van Buren settled back in her chair, as if she were about to take a nap, but her eyes were intense, focused on Colin. “How are your wedding plans coming along, Agent Donovan?”
Her question caught him by surprise, but he kept any reaction under wraps. Look scared, nervous, irritated or eager beaver, and these two would eat him alive. “Fine.”
“Have you settled on a date?”
“First Saturday in June.”
“A lovely time to get married. Agent Yankowski mentioned that the ceremony
6
Washington,
DC
Thursday, 8:00 a.m., EST
Colin Donovan hated meetings, but a meeting at FBI headquarters first thing in the morning with his immediate boss and the director was its own special hell. He knew Matt Yankowski well, but he was just getting to know Mina Van Buren, newly confirmed and not necessarily a fan. Van Buren and Yank had a history. Not a good one, from what Colin had been able to gather.
He was in a suit—his Washington suit, he called it. Dark gray wool, white shirt, red tie. The small meeting room was devoid of anything that would remind him he was in Washington. He could have been anywhere, except for the company he was keeping. He sat between Yank at one end of the table and Van Buren at the other. They both had just gotten in and looked cold, although by Colin’s standards, it was a mild morning.
Last night’s call from Emma and this morning’s call from Mike were on his mind. His fiancée and his older brother. FBI agent. Former Special Forces soldier. Emma had an art thief worried about an unauthorized FBI tail in London. Mike had guys he knew in the military coming in from London.
It didn’t help that Oliver York was inviting Finian Bracken, Colin’s Irish priest friend, out to the Cotswolds.
What the hell was Finian doing in England, anyway?
Not calls Colin had needed before talking about a deep-cover mission with his superiors.
He grinned at the two of them. “Washington’s supposed to get a couple inches of snow this weekend. Would you like some tips on snowshoeing?”
“I don’t want to know how to snowshoe,” Yank said, with barely a trace of a smile.
“I already know how, but I don’t like cold weather,” Van Buren said. “I tolerate snow only when I have no other choice.”
Yank looked like central casting’s stereotypical pick for a senior FBI agent—tall, gray-streaked dark hair, handsome, born in a well-pressed coat and tie. He had flown down to Washington yesterday and was staying at his house in the Virginia suburbs, now, finally, up for sale.
Van Buren looked like Judy Dench, if a younger version. She was in her late fifties, a former federal prosecutor who made no secret she had differences with her predecessor as FBI director. So far, she wasn’t shutting down HIT, Yank’s special unit, and she wasn’t relegating Colin to former undercover agent. From what he had seen so far, she was an efficient, no-nonsense type who did what she had to do to get the job done, whether it was testifying before Congress or hauling him and Yank to Washington to discuss a possible future undercover mission.
“Snowshoeing,” Van Buren added, shaking her head. “I discovered a number of surprises when I came on board here. You’re one of them, Agent Donovan. I expected surprises. I didn’t expect you.”
“Agent Donovan was necessary,” Yank said.
Colin sat forward. “Was? You planning to feed me to the seagulls?”
Another thin smile from Yank. Van Buren snorted. “It’s too damn cold to feed you to the seagulls.”
“Pretty, though, isn’t it? The Washington skyline outlined against the clear blue sky. The cold sharpens things.”
Van Buren eyed him as if trying to decide if he was being serious or sarcastic.
Yank opened a folder on the table in front of him. “Donovan’s a wiseass, but he’s one of the best deep-cover agents you have.”
“Perhaps the cold also sharpens people’s sense of humor.” Van Buren settled back in her chair, as if she were about to take a nap, but her eyes were intense, focused on Colin. “How are your wedding plans coming along, Agent Donovan?”
Her question caught him by surprise, but he kept any reaction under wraps. Look scared, nervous, irritated or eager beaver, and these two would eat him alive. “Fine.”
“Have you settled on a date?”
“First Saturday in June.”
“A lovely time to get married. Agent Yankowski mentioned that the ceremony
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