Dangerous Games Read Online Free PDF Page B

expect me to contribute a goddamn thing to this case. I’m a prop, that’s all.”
    “Time,” someone called out.
    “We have to get out there,” Michaelson said.
    “ You have to get out there.”
    “I’m ordering you—”
    “All right.” She shrugged. “Then I’ll go.”
    That stopped him. “You will?”
    “Certainly. If it’s a direct order, I can’t refuse, can I?”
    “No,” he said warily. “You can’t.”
    “So it’s settled, then.” She waited for him to register a faint smile of triumph, then added, “But don’t bother giving me that prepared statement. I’ll make some extemporaneous remarks.”
    His smile was gone. “What sort of remarks?”
    “Oh, how the LA office values image over substance, that sort of thing.”
    He stared at her, assessing her seriousness. “You really would,” he said finally, “wouldn’t you?”
    “Sure.” She doubted she would actually commit career suicide in front of a battery of TV cameras, but she was happy to let Michaelson think otherwise.
    He gave in. “I’m not going to forget this, McCallum. You just screwed yourself, big-time.” He stalked off, hustling after the mayor and the other dignitaries headed for the rotunda.
    Tess released a slow breath. She should have known. Of course they hadn’t wanted her for her expertise or insight. She was only a symbol, the heroine of the Mobius case returning to slay another dragon.
    Sometimes she hated this job.
    She recrossed the room and found Rick Crandall by the door. “Car keys,” she said, palm out.
    “What? Aren’t you…?”
    “I’m not ready for my close-up. Car keys. Now.”
    “Technically the car wasn’t assigned to you.”
    “I outrank you. My luggage is in that car. Keys, Crandall.”
    He surrendered the keys. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Agent McCallum.”
    “I always know what I’m doing.”
    Tess left the room, thinking that Michaelson would have laughed if he’d heard that last declaration.
    What was worse, he would have been right.
     

 
    3
     
     
    Tess didn’t calm down even after she’d pulled out of the parking garage. As usual when she was in a state of serious rage, there was a part of her that seemed to stand back, observing her anger with slightly amused detachment. She knew enough about psychology to recall that this irritating presence was called the witness. Its purpose was to preserve some sense of perspective when the ego went haywire.
    In this case the witness was wondering, in its quiet voice, exactly why she was so upset. From a public relations standpoint, Michaelson’s arguments made sense. The Bureau had taken a black eye after the death of the second victim. Bringing in the woman who’d bagged Mobius was a way to restore public confidence. It was also a kind of tribute to her. If she’d played it smart, she could have used her importance as leverage for a position of authority in the investigation. She could have enhanced her status in the eyes of the honchos in DC. And, heck, she could have been on TV.
    Instead she had stormed out, further alienated Michaelson, reinforced her reputation as a loose cannon, and damaged her career prospects. The witness wanted to know why.
    “Because I won’t be used,” she said aloud. “I won’t be put on display….”
    Like a department-store mannequin—yes, she’d sung that tune already. Not entirely convincing, was it? Truth was, she had allowed herself to be used at other times in her career. Every agent did. No one in this business could escape from politics and bureaucratic games.
    No, there was another reason, one that the witness, in its infinite smugness, already knew.
    Danny Lopez.
    That was why she’d recoiled from the prospect of the show Michaelson had arranged. That was why she hadn’t been willing to face the cameras and accept the accolades.
    She couldn’t stand there preening, selling herself as Joan of Arc returning to do battle, when she slept every night with images of Danny