What is wrong with you? Just chill!
“I lived in this area for a while,” he added, “a long time ago.”
“Oh, cool.”
He gave her a curious look. “Is something wrong?”
“No. Sorry. Um…” She pointed to the Library of Congress’s Madison building. “As long as we’re here, let me get a reader’s card first. Then maybe we can go do the tour thing or check out your friend’s sculptures.” She wasn’t exactly into sculpture because so much of it was sophomoric or abstruse, but she knew it was important to her dad. “I’m sure they’re cool.”
“So, a reader’s card.” He held out his hand to indicate that she could go first, and she started down the steps with him beside her but slightly behind her.
“I’m really glad you could make it today,” he said. She could tell he was trying overly hard to be friendly, but she didn’t hold it against him. It would take them time to connect. It’d taken Patrick and her almost a year to feel natural around each other. “Ever since you and your stepfather showed up at my-”
“Patrick.”
“Sorry?”
“His name is Patrick.”
But even as she said the words, it occurred to her that her comment probably sounded rude. “I mean, maybe if you could call him Patrick instead of ‘your stepfather,’ that’d be cool. I call him Patrick.”
“Sure, right. I meant no disrespect.”
“I know.”
They crossed Independence Avenue.
“Well, ever since you two showed up at my cabin, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”
“Okay.”
“We’ve got a lot to talk about.”
“Yes.”
Paul Lansing put a hand on her shoulder. A friendly gesture. That was all.
Something a father would do.
For his daughter.
But when a clutch of businessmen approached them, she gently eased away from him so that the men could pass between them.
“Cheyenne, hang on a sec.”
Class had just finished, and she was on her way to the door with the rest of the students. When she heard me call her name she paused and glanced my way. She didn’t normally wear makeup, but I noticed that she’d put on lipstick today. “Yes?”
“Thanks again for taking Tessa home last night.”
“No problem.”
My thoughts corkscrewed between her and Lien-hua, bothering me in a way that didn’t exactly bother me. “Listen, last night you asked me if there was anything you could do regarding this case. Were you serious?”
“Of course.”
“Well, I think I can get you into the Joint Op program; it’s where NA students-”
“Sure. Consult on cases in conjunction with NCAVC.”
“You know about-”
“It’s covered in the application process, Pat. It’s not a state secret.”
“Oh. Right.”
“And, yes. I’d love to work with you.”
I noted her choice of words: “with you” not “on the case.”
To work with me.
“But I’ll be in class most of the time this summer,” she said. “Almost every day.”
“We’ll catch up in the evenings.”
A slight pause, and with it, a smile. “That sounds doable.”
“Great. So, actually I’m on my way to NCAVC right now for a briefing. If you’re not doing anything, why don’t you come along? We can put the paperwork through and I’ll show you around.”
She hesitated. “That’d be nice, but the thing is…” She flicked her thumb toward the dining hall. “I missed breakfast. I need to grab a bite or I’ll never make it through the afternoon.”
“We’ll pick up something on the way. My treat. For helping me out by taking Tessa home.”
“Pat, you don’t owe me anything.” Her words had become taut. I might have offended her. “I told you before. I was only trying to help.”
“Okay, then. You can treat me.”
With my comment, the mood of the conversation softened, and she gave me a light, conspiratorial smile. “And why would I do that?”
I thought for a moment, made a decision. “In exchange for me not prying into why you’re really here this summer.”
“Well, then, your car or mine?”
“Mine.”
We started down the Gerbil Tube. “And where exactly did you have in mind?” she asked. “For lunch?”
“Billy Bongo’s Burger Hut. It’s right on the way.”
“Billy Bongo’s Burger Hut? You’re kidding me.”
“Nope. Fastest fast food in town.”
She shook her head. “You and your cheeseburgers.” That’s what she said, but underlying her words was a subtle message: I know you. What you like. We have a history together.
“Well, I never get any burgers at home-one of the disadvantages of living with a teenage PETA member. I have to sneak out for one whenever I can.”
“So now I know your dirty little secret.”
“Everyone needs a couple of those.”
And we stepped outside, into the day.
Okay, so something wasn’t right.
When the Library of Congress staff member asked to see the driver’s licenses of the couple in front of them in line, Paul whispered to Tessa that he needed to make a quick call and that he would be back in a minute, would meet up with her by the door. “You’re going to be all right?” he asked.
“Sure, yeah.”
“Good. Okay, I’ll be right back.”
And as he walked away Tessa felt a quiet, tiny twitch inside of her, in the part of her where she needed most to feel safe. She didn’t know this man very well. Patrick was suspicious of him. She wasn’t supposed to be here, in the city, alone with him.
Just chill.
He’s your dad.
She reminded herself that her mother had trusted him enough to sleep with him. And if her mom could trust him, she could too.
Tessa moved forward in line, pulled out her wallet, and handed her license to the man.
19
The NCAVC building was actually an old warehouse that still had a sign out front for Tarry Lawnmower Supply. Posters of lawnmowers still filled the front lobby, the receptionist still answered the phone, “Tarry Lawnmower Supply, how can we meet your lawn service needs?”
No sense advertising the headquarters for the FBI’s investigative group dedicated to studying and solving the nation’s most violent crimes, as well as the location of ViCAP, and the offices of the fifteen top behavioral profilers in the world.
Cheyenne and I passed through security, I picked up the Joint Op paperwork at the front desk, signed the recommendation forms, and told her, “You’ll need to fill out the rest of these. Don’t worry, Ralph’ll send ’em through.” I handed her the pack of papers. “Try not to get writer’s cramp.”
She weighed the stack in her hands. “I’ll try to not throw out my back first.”
Ralph was on the phone when we entered his office. He gave Cheyenne a quick glance, and I realized that even though he’d visited me in Denver, the two of them had never met. I signaled to him that she was with me, then pointed to the Joint Op forms in her hand and he waved us through to the conference room.
I led her inside.
And found Lien-hua sitting at the table, paging through a file folder.
Oh.
She looked up as we entered. Her eyes flitted to Cheyenne.
The phrase “unintended consequences” came to mind.
“Lien-hua.” I said. “This is Detective Warren. From Denver.”
“From Denver,” Lien-hua said.
“We’ve worked together a few times.”
“Seven,” Cheyenne said.
“I see.” Lien-hua stood, extended her hand to Cheyenne. “Lien-hua Jiang.”
Cheyenne shook her hand convivially. “Cheyenne Warren. So you must be the profiler Pat talks so much about.”
“Really?”
She gave Lien-hua a warm smile. “It’s all good, though, I assure you.”
Lien-hua looked like she was about to respond, but before she could, Cheyenne added, “Pat and I just had lunch together, and he offered to show me around the center.” She held up the Joint Op papers. “And it looks like I’ll be helping with the case.”
“Welcome to the team, then,” Lien-hua said in a tone that was impossible to read. “Detective.”