The FBI held a press conference announcing that we’d caught Ethan Nolan. A special guest attended, one Burke Kagan, formerly of the Oklahoma City office. Kagan was given an honorary citation for his work in advancing the case.
The rest of PAR stood in the wings, except for Richie, who chose not to attend. He didn’t want to give his grandfather the satisfaction of seeing a legacy on the podium. Frank came, too, although he was still healing up from the cuts along his legs and arms.
Oddly, he still hadn’t told us anything about the fate of PAR. Maybe he couldn’t bring himself to face the decision. But I could see it on his face when he avoided my gaze.
An informal ceremony happened a week later, thanking William Banning for his twenty-five years of service to the country. I was invited, and took Cassie as my plus-one.
As everyone expected, Craig Poulton had taken the director’s spot at the top of the FBI. That night, he stood quietly in the wings, letting Banning have his moment.
Cassie and I milled around the edges of the party, which was mostly attended by bigwigs from D.C. and Bureau alumni, none of whom we knew. Cassie wore an orange dress that ended past her knees and a peach-colored sweater atop it.
“You look nice tonight,” I said.
“This little ’fit?” She motioned at herself, smiling. “Why thank you, Gardner.”
After a couple drinks, my partner turned to me. “So,” she said, “would you consider this a date?”
“Every day is a date,” I said. “Today is the nineteenth.”
Cassie glared at me.
“We’re partners,” I said. “This can’t be a date.”
“Sure, sure,” she said. “But, you know…”
“What?”
“You could be Shooter’s partner. Richie’s pretty sweet on you, too.”
“Or I could be no one’s partner.”
“Yeah, I heard about that,” Cassie said. “PAR closing. That would make it real easy. Then again, we’d both be out of jobs.”
We left the notion alone for a moment and ate some finger foods. Listened to a couple speeches. I was thinking of a movie I’d seen, where the man turns to the woman and says, “You wanna get outta here?” Takes her back to his place.
Could I pull that off? Say those words to Cassie?
As I turned to face her, I felt a hand on my arm.
“Camden,” a voice said.
Craig Poulton stood in front of us, a cigar hanging from his mouth.
“Sir,” I said.
“Let’s take a walk.” He looked to Cassie. “You mind?”
She put up both hands, palms out, as if to say “take him away,” and we walked into a side garden. Once out of sight, Poulton tossed the cigar into a trash can. The edge of it was unlit. Like so many aspects of Craig Poulton that I observed, the cigar was a prop.
“I read your report,” he said. “One pop from you, and Banning went down, huh? From someone else, I’d think that was an exaggeration. From you … no way.”
My report was twenty-two pages long, single-spaced. It covered every moment, from PAR’s perspective, as well as Nolan’s. And this was Poulton’s takeaway?
“What can I do for you, sir?” I asked.
The last time we’d spoken, Poulton had told me to get to Banning late, and I hadn’t. The only other official communication I’d received was an email, saying that in lieu of an accommodation for saving the lives of Frank and Banning, I was reinstated as a special agent.
“Very direct, right,” he said. “There’s things in your report, Camden.” He offered me that same sharkish grin. “Maybe they didn’t happen exactly that way.”
I stared at Poulton. “You haven’t filed it yet?”
“I’m still dotting i’s and crossing t’s.”
In my mind, I considered one fact that I’d received directly from Nolan and taken as truth without checking.
“Were you not disbanding PAR?” I asked.
“We were,” Poulton said. “Frank was moving to Dallas, to run that office. That was decided two months ago. With his injury, we’ll hold the spot. Give him time to recuperate.”
So Ethan Nolan was right.
Poulton grinned. “There are other things I’d like you to take a second look at.” He pointed around, at the remains of Banning’s retirement party. “There’s no reason to smear the reputation of a good man, is there?”
Banning.
His affair. His book. Maybe even getting knocked out in one punch. Poulton didn’t need Banning to be pushed out anymore. He was already in charge. So now he’d collect a different favor, by removing anything that slandered Banning’s legacy.
I thought of Anna and Saul. Of the decisions I’d made in Miami seven years ago. Of how rigid I was.
And I thought of what Frank would say.
“I serve at the whim of the director of the FBI.”
Poulton nodded, pleased. He put his arm around my shoulder. “I’m glad you said that,” he replied. “I know you’ll figure out what to edit. How to tell the story better. I also think there’s a real need for a team like yours.”
I squinted at Poulton. “Permission to speak frankly?”
“Wow.” Poulton smirked. “You mean you’re learning how to turn it on and off?”
“When you say there’s a real need,” I said, “you mean to say that, now that you’re in charge, you want a safety valve, correct? A bunch of … what did you call us … brilliant freaks?”
Poulton’s smile faded. “I’m offering you something real, Camden. You see anyone else with their hand out?”
“I’m tired of staring at the parking lot,” I said.
“Take Frank’s office, then. It looks out over the lawn.”
“My daughter is in Miami.”
“So we put PAR in Miami.” He shrugged. “You think I give a shit where you’re housed?”
I blinked.
I had met the previous night with Rosa. Told her that I was taking Camila with me when school began next year. But if Poulton’s offer to put PAR in Miami was real, it meant that Rosa would not have to travel to Jacksonville to see her granddaughter. Camila would not have to switch schools. And my daughter could see her Nana whenever she wanted.
Perhaps things were turning up.
Just that morning, I’d received a text from a nurse in Texas. My mother’s right hand had begun trembling, a positive sign in coma patients.
“I’ll give you one year in charge as a test,” Poulton offered. “Maybe two. Let’s see how many times we come to blows after you throw some insult my way. Tell me I’m obtuse. Or unintelligent.”
“Just those two words?” I asked.
He stared at me.
“That was a joke,” I explained.
“You’d report directly to me,” Poulton said. “So … I don’t know what Frank told you in terms of me being some asshole. But the guy tried to sleep with my wife at an FBI function. Not sure what you’d do in a situation like that, if you were me.”
Poulton hesitated, and his smile got bigger. “At least I can be sure that if I invite you to one of those events, you’re not gonna make that mistake. I mean—you wouldn’t even know how to hit on someone, right? Part of your whole … living inside your head thing.”
I thought of Cassie, back at the party. Let’s get out here, I’d say when I got back to her.
“So?” Poulton asked.
I didn’t like Craig Poulton. But I didn’t like William Banning, either. Neither was as brave and committed as the 226 agents I had interacted with over my years with the FBI. Those men and women, despite any personal flaws they might have, represented the best of America.
Poulton put out his hand. “We have a deal or what?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Good.” He patted me on the shoulder. “I’ll have Olivia call about a relocation package. We’ll cover your moving. But I want you set up in a week, Camden. Ready to go.”
“Yes sir,” I said.
“Congratulations,” Poulton said. And then he was gone.
I stood there by myself, thinking about my mom. How proud she’d be of me. And of the Head Cases, a real unit, no longer stranded in a satellite office.
As I turned to head back to the party, my phone buzzed with a text.
Cassie.
I grabbed an Uber. Two drinks and I start saying crazy shit.
See you Monday, partner.
I stared at the words. Maybe it was for the better, especially if I was the new boss.
I turned and moved out to the parking lot. Used FaceTime to call my daughter. As I got in my car, she came on the line.
“Daddy,” she answered on her iPad. “It’s late. I’m in bed.”
Camila was in her PJs, her face illuminated by a pink nightlight I’d bought for her.
“I’ve got news, honey,” I said.
“Good news?”
“Great news. You are talking to the head of the Miami office’s … brand-new association … of very, very, very significant agents.”
Camila started laughing then. Louder and sweeter than I’d ever heard anyone laugh. And a tear came to my eye. Strange, I thought. A tear. Rare for me.
Miami, here I come.