Kate Bannon opened her eyes and wondered if she was dreaming again. Bob Lasker, the director of the FBI, sat next to her hospital bed. Struggling to recall what had happened, she wasn’t sure she really could. “Am I dreaming?” she asked loudly, almost as if trying to determine if she was actually awake. She went to scratch her nose but then realized that an oxygen tube was pinching her nostrils.
“This is real, Kate.” The director smiled warmly. “You gave us a scare, though. But you’re going to be all right.”
“I remember being in the garage and not being able to get out.”
“One of your neighbors was taking his dog for a late-night walk, and I guess in the cool air he smelled the exhaust from the opening you made. He dragged his owner closer, and then the guy broke in, dragged you out, and called 911. Any idea how you left your car on?”
She told him about being bought a drink and not feeling well, then waking up to find her car running and not being able to get out of the garage. “I can’t imagine doing that. And then locking the car door with the keys in the ignition? Who locks a car that’s in a locked garage?”
“And this guy who bought you the drink, you never saw him before.”
“Not that I remember. I would have remembered him from headquarters. He was nice-looking.”
“Maybe he was just someone at the bar and saw a pretty girl.”
“Maybe,” she said vaguely, her mind searching for other possibilities.
Lasker stared at her as though there were some question he wasn’t asking.
“What?” she demanded.
“Kate, don’t take this the wrong way, but have you been feeling okay lately?”
She gave a short laugh. “Wait a minute—are you asking me if I’ve been depressed?”
“Yes.”
She thought for a moment. “You think I tried to kill myself?”
The question was asked with such self-assurance that Lasker couldn’t help but say, “No, I don’t.”
“But others do?”
“A deputy assistant director almost dies, there are questions that have to be considered.”
“Meaning what?”
“OPR is going to look into it. Very routine, very low-key.”
“I didn’t try to commit suicide.”
“You know I can’t call off procedure. I wouldn’t for any other agent, and since everyone knows how much I think of you, I can’t in this instance either.” He smiled. “Please cooperate and try not to shoot any of them. As soon as you feel well enough to get out of here, you’ll be returned to full duty while they conduct their investigation.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“I know it is. If it does get to be too much, come and see me.” Lasker patted her on the arm. “For now, get well. Everything else will take care of itself.”
She was staring down at her hands but finally looked at him. “I guess I should be thanking you instead of arguing.”
“Just get better, Kate.”
Soon after the director left the room, an agent whom Kate recognized as being from the Office of Professional Responsibility came in. “Hi, Kate. I’m Roger Daniels from OPR. How are you feeling?”
“Nonsuicidal.”
He laughed. “I know this is a lot coming at you all at once. I can wait to take your statement.”
Kate sat up and took a sip of water from a cup on the table next to her bed. “Don’t be too offended, but the sooner we get started, the sooner I’ll have OPR out of my life.”
The agent chuckled. “Well, that carbon monoxide didn’t damage your sense of humor.”
“Who said I was trying to be funny? Roger, I’m sure you’re a very capable agent, and maybe even a nice guy, but I did a stint at OPR, so please don’t waste any of the artificial sweeteners on me. Just ask me your questions, and I’ll give you my best answers.”
“Fair enough, Kate.” He opened his notebook. “Did you attempt suicide?” His tone was noticeably less friendly.
“I’m the one who stopped the car engine and wedged a trowel under the door to save myself. Does that sound like I was trying to commit suicide?”
“It’s not uncommon during a suicide attempt for people to have a change of heart. They take pills and then call 911. Move the gun at the last moment and just wound themselves. It happens more frequently than you think.”
“Yeah, well, I happen to like my life quite a bit.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but some people do it for attention.”
“How could I possibly take that the wrong way?” she said, sounding more than a little sarcastic. She took a moment and then said, “If you knew me, you’d know I really don’t care what people think. Why would I want to get their attention?”
“Not people—person,” he said.
“Person? Who?”
The agent flipped back to another page in his notes. “Steve Vail?”
“Where did you get that?”
“Answers, Kate, remember?”
“Okay, what do you know about him? And me?”
“We know that he was fired as an agent more than five years ago. That the director brought him back to work on the Rubaco Pentad case in Los Angeles—with you—and that you guys have dated. Recently it ended abruptly.”
“Sounds like you got a running start on this while I was still unconscious. Okay, I’ll tell you about Vail on one condition—that you don’t contact him.”
“If you’re forthcoming, there’ll be no need to.”
“One of the hardest things I’ve had to do in my life was tell him I didn’t want him in it. If you’ve read the Pentad file, you know he was responsible for solving that case almost single-handedly. He would be an incredible agent, but he cannot conform to anything, and that includes a relationship with me. We’ve seen each other three times since L.A. The first time was—I hate to use the word, but it was—pretty much perfect. The last two were absolutely awful. So I told him it would be best if we didn’t see each other again. And that was a week ago. So no, I wasn’t trying to get his attention.”
“Trying to find out exactly who he was, I ran his name through some of our contacts at other agencies and got a hit with the State Department. Seems you and he are going to the Irish ambassador’s reception on New Year’s Eve.”
“Boy, you have been busy. But you’d better check with them again. It should show that my escort is now Eamon Walsh.”
“So you changed it.”
“What’s today?”
“Wednesday.”
“I spoke with him Monday. He’s with the Irish embassy and was the one who called me originally with the invitation. When I phoned him back to tell him Vail wasn’t coming, he asked if I’d do him the honor. I didn’t want to go alone, so I said yes. Maybe he hasn’t gotten around to changing it officially yet. You can call him.”
Daniels was making notes. “So it’s definitely over between you and Vail. You told him not to come for New Year’s Eve.”
“Not in so many words, but I think ‘We shouldn’t see each other again’ carries that assumption.”
“That’s helpful about Vail. It gives you one less reason to . . . you know.”
“Off myself.”
“Tell me what you remember about the night that this happened to you,” Daniels said.
She repeated what she’d told the director about the stranger’s buying her a drink that didn’t settle well with her, then her coming home and going to bed. Then waking up and trying to get out of the garage.
He asked, “You said he told you it was Drambuie?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm,” Daniels said more to himself than to her.
“What?”
“I’ve had Drambuie, and it has a definite strong sweetness to it.”
The OPR agent started making additional notes that she guessed were more than just about Kate’s response. As she watched him, she remembered her time in OPR, how investigations were not about the incident but about the employee’s involvement in it. They weren’t criminal investigators, they were personnel investigators. As Daniels looked up from his pad ready to ask the next question, she knew that he was not going to get to the bottom of this. If anyone was going to find out what had happened, it would have to be her. “If that guy did put something in the drink, maybe he had some other intentions, and when he saw I drank only one sip of it, he got scared and took off.”