Crandall had exactly one weapon he could use against Wyatt. One card he could play that would bring him to heel and have him doing whatever the man wanted. Fortunately, though, he did not yet know that one weapon was still alive.
If asked directly, would Wyatt have lied about it? Said he didn't know if Lily had survived, or where she might be? Considering his aversion to lies of any sort, he wasn't sure. Thankfully, he'd been spared from having to decide because the question had not come up.
A knock on the closed office door was quickly followed by someone opening it and stepping in uninvited. "I heard you were meeting. I think I should be a part of this."
Tom Anspaugh. The agent, with his ill-fitting suit, his crooked tie, and his red-rimmed eyes didn't look well. In fact, he looked like someone who had filled a lot of long, sleepless nights with a lot of cheap liquor. But he had apparently begun to work his way back into Crandall's good graces by bringing news of Wyatt's secret investigation to the deputy director's office.
"Oh, excellent," Wyatt said, forcing himself to nod politely at the other agent, whom he had disliked for a long time, but truly loathed after he'd left Lily unprotected and vulnerable. "Deputy Director Crandall was updating me on the new information you've received about my case."
He didn't know who looked more shocked at his gall, Crandall or Anspaugh.
"Your case?" Anspaugh finally snapped. "I'm working this case now."
Ignoring him, Wyatt addressed the deputy director. "Is there some problem here? Didn't we just agree about the Internet aspects of these murders?"
"Yes, but-"
"Then why is this even being discussed?" He tossed a disdainful look Anspaugh's way. "I mean, Special Agent Anspaugh has most recently been working on bankruptcy-fraud cases, hasn't he?"
The other agent's eyes nearly bulged from their sockets. He didn't like being reminded about his loss in status.
Crandall, however, needed the reminder. In his zeal to screw with Wyatt, he'd somehow managed to forget he'd made Anspaugh a fall guy as well.
"Look, Blackstone " Anspaugh said, "you're out of this thing now. I got the call about Lil. You can't very well investigate one of your own employees for murder."
Wyatt managed to convey a look of complete surprise. "Excuse me?"
Crandall cleared his throat and frowned at Anspaugh. "To be clear, we're not assuming Agent Fletcher is a suspect. We're not even assuming she is actually alive, despite the evidence to the contrary."
"You have evidence that she is alive?"
"The badge-"
"Was obviously taken from her by the man who shot her and drove off with her in the back of that van last January. Who knows where it ended up after that night? Besides, even if she were alive, do you really think she'd be stupid enough to leave her own badge behind at a crime scene?"
Anspaugh, beginning to appear nervous, shot off his mouth again. "Look, maybe she's not actually alive, but this case involves her somehow. And her last boss can't be the one investigating it."
His tone silky smooth, Wyatt replied, "As I recall. Tom, on Lily's very last assignment, she was under your supervision." Pure, unadulterated anger must have shown through his eyes, because Anspaugh almost imperceptibly drew back under his stare. "Your protection. You did promise me she'd be protected, remember?"
The other man's neck worked as he swallowed, hard. "We couldn't have known."
"Anybody knows you don't leave two inexperienced agents used to doing only electronic surveillance alone in a van with no backup." Wyatt crossed his arms over his chest, needing to hide his hands, which were clenching into fists. "Kowalski was a computer specialist, just like Lily, not a field agent. They should have been covered at all times."
Crandall tilted his head back, his disdainful mood now focused on Anspaugh as much as on Wyatt. Anspaugh had been crucified in the investigation, and Crandall hadn't forgotten the black eye it had given him, as well.
Apparently seeing he was losing ground, Anspaugh jumped right back in the fight, stubborn and belligerent. "Look, Blackstone, we all know her body was never found and she could be alive. If she is, then she's gone rogue, turned into some kind of vigilante. And you know as well as I do that rogue agents aren't investigated by the Cyber Division."
A slight smile touching his lips, Wyatt addressed Crandall. "Excuse me; I was under the impression that Agent Fletcher's employment with the bureau expired when she did."
He didn't have to go on. Crandall's frown and the sneer on his lips said he understood. An FBI agent suspected of a crime would require an internal-affairs investigation. A former agent? Now it got sticky.
Anspaugh gave it one more shot. "Come on, I've done a lot of work on this____________________"
"Since yesterday?" Wyatt asked, lifting one brow. "I can't imagine how you could possibly have more information on this case than I have accumulated in the past several weeks. Especially considering I was on the scene of all of the first three murders, two of them before the bodies were even removed."
Another argument Crandall could not deny. This time, he didn't even try to stall, or wait for Anspaugh to throw up another false objection. He merely waved a weary hand in the air, gesturing them both out. "Fine. Get back to work. Blackstone, I want to be kept apprised of this situation every step of the way."
Tom Anspaugh shot to his feet. "But I need to be part of this! I lost everything because of Fletcher, the stupid little-"
Before he could even form the final word of his vicious comment, Wyatt leapt up as well, leaning in until his face was two inches from Anspaugh's. The fury he'd felt toward the man for so many months made his voice shake and every muscle in his body contract. "Don't you blame somebody else because you couldn't manage to keep your own people alive during your fucked-up undercover operation." He stepped closer, lowering his voice to a near growl. "Don't you even dare."
Then, knowing Crandall had to be as shocked as Anspaugh appeared to be, Wyatt spun around and strode toward the door, not casting a single look back at either of them.
In the old days, by four o'clock on a Friday afternoon, Will Miller would be parked on a stool at his favorite bar, having had an appetizer of Bud while he worked his way toward the main course of Wild Turkey, with a few shots of schnapps in between strictly to cleanse the palate.
Not anymore.
"We've come a long way, baby," he told his young grandson as he unbuckled the car seat he'd just bought for the kid from the car he'd just bought for himself! This weekend, he would take his daughter out and buy her one, too. Nothing ritzy or glamorous, something reliable and used like this one. He had money to spend, but not millions. He wanted it to last, to give them all a chance at a better life.
Whatever she drove would be an improvement on the bus. Even better, if he had his way, she would soon be driving it to the community college, to work on the degree she'd given up on when she got pregnant. Getting her to quit that lousy job at the diner was his number-one priority.
"She's gonna ask us questions about the money, isn't she?" he asked little Toby. 'Can you say lottery? Lot-ter-y."
The kid babbled something, his stuffed-up nose making the gibberish even more impossible to translate. The medicine he'd just picked up for him would fix that.
"Mommy's gonna be happy, isn't she? She thought I was just babysitting you today, but we surprised her with a trip to the clinic, didn't we?"