Salvage: A Shadow Files Novel Read online

  2

  GJ sat at the conference table listening to Special Agent in Charge Derek Westerfield lay out information for Walter and her. Keeping her hands clasped in front of her, she tried to hide both her excitement and nerves. She did not want to come across as giddy, which she was rapidly getting. On the other side of the table, she saw Walter’s hands clasped in the same manner. It must have been quite a feat given that one of Walter's hands wasn't even human; it was robotic. That woman was the fucking Terminator and everyone knew it.

  Agent Westerfield went on, even though GJ hadn't quite been paying attention. "I can't have the two of you inserting yourselves into my investigations."

  "Sir," Walter interrupted, "if I may."

  Just like a soldier, thought GJ.

  Westerfield nodded at Walter, and the other woman continued. "I was actually asked to come into the operation."

  Acknowledging that with a second subtle nod of his head in Walter's direction, he replied, "That's absolutely true. However, you were inserted into the operation because you went to the home of one of my agents and poked around until you discovered things about this agent that you weren't supposed to. Then you followed him. Does that sound about right?"

  Walter only looked back at him. GJ could tell the other woman was debating whether to agree or tell him that he was absolutely wrong. The way GJ had heard it, Walter had gone to Donovan's house and he'd seemed to be missing, so she looked around. As far as she’d been told, that was the whole story—though she didn’t believe it. Whatever it was that got Walter into the investigation was pretty big, and GJ was dying to know. No one was going to tell her today, that was for sure.

  So she sat patiently with her hands neatly folded and waited for Westerfield to speak again. He’d told her on the phone last week that he was looking to offer her a position with his team. She was hopeful that the position was not as a secretary. If she was lucky, it was possibly as a laboratory scientist, and she couldn't think of anything that would make her any happier than becoming an FBI research scientist.

  She'd been on her way to a PhD, and she was currently calculating the number of course hours she’d need, the time it would take her to do her thesis, and how she could possibly balance both—a job with the FBI and the schoolwork to finish that degree—when Westerfield said, "I only work with agents."

  Well, there went that dream. But she kept her ears perked, hopeful maybe he'd throw her a bone in some other way. Sure enough, he did.

  "My first option, given what the two of you have seen, is to kill you." He delivered it in such a way that GJ felt her own bones suddenly go steel hard and frozen.

  Was he serious? He could not have brought them here to an FBI facility with the intent of murdering them in cold blood simply because his agents hadn't done their job well enough.

  He interrupted her thoughts. "The other option is to hire you." There it was! She'd known this was coming.

  "So I have a proposition for the two of you. I'm starting a new division still under the umbrella of NightShade. While my NightShade agents operate with . . ." he paused, searching for words, and GJ wondered what he wasn't telling her. Then she figured if she was going to work for the FBI, she probably ought to get used to it.

  "My other agents have certain skills, skills the two of you don't have. But, in the meantime, if the two of you, together, can pass training at Quantico, I'll put you on my team."

  GJ felt her jaw drop open, but then she clamped it shut because that was horrifyingly crass and she was desperately trying to look professional here. Walter looked at him. GJ looked at him. They looked at each other for a moment, but it was GJ who found the words first.

  "Excuse me, sir, I'd just like to clarify." There, she thought, that sounded good. "You're actually offering us positions as agents? And we'll go through agent training? Or are you talking about analysts?"

  "No, ma'am, not analysts. Agents. I need more agents on my team. The two of you have proved yourself useful at ferreting out details, in fact even details that you never should have been able to ferret out." GJ hid a smile as he continued. "Thus, if you'd like to be a field agent, it's a position I'm offering to you."

  She didn’t even need half a second. "Absolutely, sir. I'm in. Where do I sign up?"

  Well, it wasn't going to be quite that easy, was it?

  Westerfield glanced at Walter and then back at GJ. "It's not like that. My team doesn't work that way. This only works if the two of you go through training together. If either of you fails, both of you are out. Because of the situation with my division, the two of you are going to be partners in the field as well. So I'm putting you through training together. It's a bit unorthodox. Usually we pair up agents after training—but usually, we don't have agents who've been involved in major investigations prior to going to Quantico.” GJ could hear the ire in his voice, but she didn’t care. “So as you can see, doing things the usual way isn't quite going to be possible."

  Walter spoke again. "Sir,"—this time she didn't wait for him to acknowledge her—"you're offering me a position as an FBI field agent provided I can pass training at Quantico? However, you're suggesting that while I'm passing training, I'm also responsible for her passing training?" She pointed at GJ.

  For the first time, Special Agent Westerfield cracked a smile. "That's exactly what I'm telling you." Then he turned back to GJ and said, "And for the record, you're also responsible for her."

  It took Walter a full week to make a decision. On the one hand, she already had a relatively cushy job. She'd known what it was to be homeless. She'd known what it was to be a jarhead. Now, as a private investigator working out of Los Angeles, she had relatively steady income, an apartment of her own, and the chance to set her own schedule. Why would she trade all that for an FBI job that required months of training and an at-the-hip attachment to GJ Janson?

  SAC Westerfield seemed to think that this was an assignment she and GJ should be taking. He seemed to hint that Walter was in trouble for snooping—which was both too strong and too belittling a word for what she had done—into Donovan's life. Walter knew a lot about Donovan, but that was only because he'd been missing and there had been a wolf in his yard. What was she supposed to do? It wasn't her fault she was smart enough to put two and two together and get Donovan.

  While she enjoyed her work as a P.I, she had to admit, some of it was beyond dull. That was probably true for all jobs. She hadn’t held many different ones herself, just Marine, homeless person, and private investigator. All three had involved interminable stretches of down time. She could surmise there would be times as an FBI agent that she would sit around and do things she absolutely abhorred, like paperwork. She’d not had to do so much of that as a Marine. If she took the FBI job, she'd almost become like a recruit again. She'd once again be beholden to a large organization that didn't feel it was necessary to tell her what she was really doing or why, only that she needed to do X, Y, and Z.

  Probably the thing that tipped the whole decision for her was the fact that she would once again be part of a unit. That's what Walter Reed was made for. In the very end, though she was a great P.I.—and while she had an excellent head sitting on her shoulders—she worked best when she was part of a team. As of right now, she had no team. She had friends, and that was good, but she had no unit to work with. She had no orders to follow.

  What she had were clients, and she had to admit there were a lot of days that she just wanted to tell them where to stick it. The only reason she didn't was because she knew if she did, she wouldn't get paid. And once she'd started getting paid, it had become addictive.

  An FBI agent job would mean a steady paycheck and even vacation days. It meant a full, one-eighty shift from where she'd been just a little over a year ago. An FBI job meant flying off to new and exciting places in the middle of the night, and an FBI job meant a holster and gun on her hip again.

  Still, she peppered Donovan with questions. What was it like being an agent? How was working for
SAC Westerfield? Had Westerfield ever threatened to kill Donovan? That had gotten Donovan a little bit riled up.

  "He threatened to kill you?" he asked. "This is the FBI. This is a federal agency. They can't do that. This isn't MI-6 or James Bond or anything."

  Walter had laughed. “He didn’t really threaten to kill me. Well, us,” she corrected, since Westerfield had been talking to GJ, too. “He just hinted at it. He said we were a problem for the agency.”

  “How are you a problem for the Bureau?” he asked. “The main office hardly even knows the NightShade division exists. If you two came out and told everything you know, my guess is the FBI would say ‘Agent Westerfield who?’ and then ‘Agents Heath and Eames, and all the others who work under him, don't even exist!’ So I'm not sure how much of a problem you could possibly be. Can you even imagine telling people what you’ve seen? I hate to say it, but only the conspiracy nuts would believe you.”

  “You’re right.” She took a deep breath and tried to let the SAC’s veiled threats roll off her.

  “Don't let Westerfield bully you into anything you don't want to do.”

  She'd taken that under sincere advisement—but in the end, Westerfield wasn't bullying her. And despite the fact she was going to have to drag GJ Janson kicking and screaming through Quantico training, she was really looking forward to it.

  3

  GJ packed her suitcase. She'd packed some things from her grandfather's estate, some things from her own small apartment, and some things from her parents’ house. It had taken four days to get to all the different locations and gather all the items she might need as a recruit at Quantico in the newest FBI Training Academy class.

  While she'd said yes to Agent Westerfield's offer right there in the conference room, Walter had not been so quick to jump. GJ had waited, alternately twisting her fingers and taking time to sneak into her grandfather's basement lab. She tried to read as much as she could to keep her mind off the fact that her entire future hinged on the decision of a woman who was a former solider, and very clearly was not a fan of GJ Janson.

  It had taken a full week for Agent Westerfield to call and tell her they were going to be in the next class. GJ had no idea if that was how long it had taken Walter to decide or if that was how long it had taken her new SAC to bother to call and let her know. She didn’t ask.

  Of course, once that interminable week had passed, she had only a week left to get ready and show up on campus. A new class was already entering and Westerfield wanted the two of them in training as soon as possible. He told her he’d pulled strings to get them in and that their butts had better show up on time. So GJ had kissed her parents goodbye two days ago and headed to grandfather's to pack the last of her things. Then she'd hugged him like she meant it. The fact was, she did mean it. He was her grandfather. He'd inspired her to become a scientist and go into forensics. Unfortunately, while she loved him more than anything, she worried about what he was into. GJ had to admit it didn't look good.

  This training would last almost six months. But it wouldn’t feel too long if she was lucky enough to win Walter Reed over and turn the two of them into a real team. The problem was, she had no idea how to go about doing it. She had a distinct feeling Walter Reed didn't suffer fools or nerds lightly, and GJ Janson was definitely a nerd. Her father had taught her the common right triangles at the dinner table. At three, when she'd asked him why the sky was blue, he'd answer with a detailed description of refraction. Her grandfather had taught her all the proper anatomical names for every organ in her body and she was able to list all two hundred and six bones of the adult human skeleton before she was seven years old. Long before high school, she’d known about tendons and ligaments and why fighting dogs had that ridge at the top of their skulls. By senior year, she still could not catch a ball to save her life, but could readily explain resistors in series and parallel and why a dielectric helped improve a capacitor.

  On the drive to Quantico, she loaded up on Cheetos and Coke, certain she wasn’t going to get anything like this for the next few weeks. Even if it was offered, she was going to turn it down. She had to look like she was serious. More than just looking like it, she needed to actually be serious. But she had a handful more hours and Cheetos to go before that happened.

  Physically, she was in pretty good shape. A forensic scientist often had to drag a dead and bloated human carcass however many yards to a flat surface for study. Or she would have to pull it up out of the earth where it had been buried five or more feet deep. That was physically taxing. People didn't realize how strong she was. Still, she would bet dollars to doughnuts that ... well ... that Walter Reed hadn't been eating any doughnuts.

  She stayed in a hotel overnight and timed her arrival so she'd get to Quantico during the morning hours. Once past the gates, she went through a series of background checks to get in. Since they were expecting her, GJ figured it was just a tactic for intimidation. So she smiled and stood her ground until they directed her to the FBI agent portion of campus.

  Several groups were being trained simultaneously, as was apparently always the case. The DEA and other agencies also held extensive trainings at Quantico. So while she was getting a new inauguration into class, other agents were graduating, or close to it. Police were learning advanced techniques. SWAT officers were upping their game. There was noise from the firing range. There were people running in groups out on the trails—something she was actively not looking forward to.

  It took several hours to get through all the red tape. Even so, GJ was the first to arrive at the dorm room assigned to her and Walter. Apparently, when Westerfield said they were going to be partners, he’d been dead serious. He made sure they were roomed together—absolutely no questions asked. Well, actually the agents had asked her one question: they'd asked her where Walter was and when she was expected to arrive. GJ had been confused for a moment, since they’d inquired after “Lucy Fisher.” It had taken her a moment to remember that was Walter’s real name, and she began wondering if things were going to go a little bit wonky when everybody called the woman “Lucy.” From what she’d gathered before, Walter wasn’t a fan of her given name.

  Being the first one in the dorm, and seeing that it was perfectly symmetrical, GJ wondered if she should wait for Walter to make a decision about who got which side of the dorm room. Then she shook off the feeling. The room was perfectly symmetrical; there was zero difference between the two sides. And Walter would likely appreciate a decisive partner. So, after looking back and forth rapidly, GJ made a snap call and set everything on the bed on the right-hand side. For a moment, that was all she did: put the suitcase on the bed and looked at it. There. She had staked her claim. Putting aside that thought—which was as dumb as it could be—GJ opened the suitcase and began unpacking her things into the drawers and onto the shelves. She was three-quarters of the way done when Walter showed up. Without so much as a knock, the door opened and there stood her new partner.

  There were no squeals, no welcome hugs, no "Oh, it's been two weeks since I've seen you!" Honestly, GJ hadn't expected anything different. There was nothing girly or soft about Walter Reed.

  Walter's amber-colored eyes tracked from one side of the room to the other. Without any expression at all, she asked, "You've already decided? You picked that bed?"

  GJ nodded, standing firm in her decision. Walter slowly examined the room though she didn't move from her spot just inside the doorway. Then she looked to GJ and took a breath. "Is it possible we could trade?"

  GJ thought for a moment, Stand your ground and You're as strong as Walter. She smiled and shrugged. "I'm mostly unpacked." Then she waited for a good reason.

  Walter nodded accepting her decision. Good.

  Then her new roomie spoke again. "It's okay, but I prefer to sleep on that side of the room. My left leg and my lower left arm are removable. I have to take them off at night. Having my right side away from the wall is actually safer for me."

  Oh, Jesus, GJ thoug
ht. Here she'd come in and made a firm decision and she hadn't even begun to think about the fact that Walter Reed, while bionic, was also technically handicapped. Trying to be as straight-forward as she could be about it, she said, "Well, that makes sense."

  Then she slowly undid all the work she just spent the last twenty minutes doing—pulling her things, one by one, out of the drawers, walking them across the room, and putting them away on the other side. Wow, what a way to make a great first impression.

  4

  Two weeks into training, Walter reached her limit. "You have got to be fucking kidding me." She turned and looked at GJ.

  GJ was loading bullets into her magazine. All the NATs—New Agent Trainees—had to hand-load each magazine. The first bullets—because of the spring mechanism pushing upward inside it—went in relatively easily. The last ones were harder. Much harder. That made perfect sense. However, GJ was practically whining.

  "I can’t get them in. My fingers are not this strong. I'm not sure I can push them down in."

  Two weeks. For two weeks, Walter had been watching this. They hadn't been allowed to fire a gun yet. Instead, they'd taken them apart, cleaned them, reassembled them. They'd been given a set of pieces and told to make a gun out of it. Sometimes, the pieces didn't actually all belong to the same kind of gun. It was their job to figure it out, to know that—for example—the firing pin was missing. They had to know the difference between rimfire and center fire ammunition. They needed to know full metal jackets versus hollowpoints.

  Walter had no problem with this. She had been trained in weaponry before. For the first time, she was the star pupil in a class. When she'd been in the Marines, she'd been very good. But, like everyone else, she’d been learning the material for the first time. This time around, it was just review for her, and it was fun to get to play with all the guns again. She could assemble an AR-15 in her sleep. In fact, she was pretty sure she’d had that dream just last night.