Full Disclosure (20 page)

Paul nodded. “We learned something about her today. We learned she has patience. We're going to have to have more than she does if we are going to catch her. Head home, Rita. I'll see you tomorrow.”

“'Night, boss.”

Paul waited until Rita left, then waved at Ann. She clicked on the audio. “Hi.” He had pulled her out of a train of thought, and she visibly shifted gears to focus on him.

“Our teacher took his mail inside and didn't call anyone, didn't go anywhere. He fixed himself dinner, watched some TV, and just turned in for the night. No one has picked up the package. Apparently it's just sitting there.”

“You have to admire her plan. She just freezes everything you set up to catch her.”

“What do you think?”

“One of you will blink first. You don't want it to be you. You wait.”

“My thoughts too. She's good.”

“I hear admiration in your voice.”

“We would have caught her years ago if she wasn't this good at staying in the shadows. I can admire her tactics even as I try to outthink her.”

“She's had time to plan, and that time has put all this in her favor. I'd guess something simple. He mails it on to her. If he dumps a few hundred letters into several mailboxes on his way to school Monday morning, what are you going to do?”

“Cross that bridge when it arrives.”

She smiled. “She wants the document. She doesn't want you to trail it to her. She'll get what she wants. You should head home, Paul. Lack of sleep isn't going to help this.”

“Soon. Are you about ready to call it a night?”

“I've got a bit more to do.”

“I'll let you get back to it.”

“Thanks for the update.” She was already reading what was on her screen.

He had always understood and appreciated the difference between a night owl and a morning lark, but he was beginning to physically feel it now. She was wide awake, and he could feel fatigue beginning to grip his muscles. He got up to get himself a cold soda.

He wanted to know what Ann was like during what she considered the best hours of her day, and while he hadn't realized there would be an opportunity today, it was here and he wanted
to know. He settled in to watch Ann, wishing he was at home in a more comfortable chair.

She finally stopped writing shortly after one a.m. She saved the work and stretched. Then she yawned and popped her jaw and wilted as the energy that was left in her ran out. She reached for her soda and glanced at the can a second time when she realized it was empty.

“Having read your books, I somehow had a picture in my mind of what writing was like. I didn't expect it to be easy, but I didn't think it was this intense for every step forward.”

“Being a cop is work. This is something I just love to do.”

“I've enjoyed watching you. So . . . you read my personnel file.”

She rested her chin in her hands and grinned. “I did. Want to hear what I thought?”

“Been curious about that all day.”

“I thought you might be. I've got one word for you, Paul, and it's
wow
. You've been holding out on me, buddy. You were a hotshot in your newbie agent days. Out there putting bravery into actions.”

He felt his face get warm and was glad she'd waited until they were alone to have the conversation. “I was too green to realize the idiot I was being. I got shot twice for that enthusiasm.”

“Even though you had told me those episodes were there, they stunned me on the first read-through. But given you survived, I managed to find a glimmer of humor on the third read-through—if you're going to get shot, at least you have interesting stories to tell. First through the door after a murder suspect, and he's waiting by the door to shoot the first cop who enters? I'd say you got lucky to just get shot in the shoulder. Second hit—I don't know how you avoid that one either. A teenager on a stairwell landing pulls the trigger on a shotgun when you come to question his father in a murder. Those kind of volatile encounters are going to happen if you're a cop long enough.”

“The hospital stays were something I never want to repeat.”

“I wondered occasionally why you aren't married already, but now that I see the file, it's a little more obvious. You were all over the nation that first decade. You were never somewhere long enough to have a really serious relationship.”

“That, and I didn't want a wife to temper my do-whatever-needs-done attitude. A wife means being home occasionally, not taking outsized risks.”

“Still feel that way?”

“Time at home still feels like a must. The outsized risks—that more depends on my wife. The line gets drawn in a lot of ways. And what was a risk when I was a newbie is probably not as much of a risk now. At least I want to think experience helps with judgment. What are you smiling at?”

“I've got friends who think a close-quarters gunfight, outnumbered two to one, is a routine day at the office. It's relative.”

“I'd probably flinch if I knew some of the places, circumstances, and times you fly.”

“You would, and you'd have reason to. I can get a plane into some marginal places if it has to be done. I don't go looking for the chance to prove it, but I get volunteered occasionally by a friend.” She leaned back in her chair. “So . . . change of subject. You didn't have a girlfriend in high school, college, that you thought might be the true love of your life?”

“I made a point of having good friends, but not as far as having one lady who thought I was her future.” He hesitated.

“You aren't going to ask me.”

“Not sure I want to know the answer.”

She smiled. “I got close twice in my twenties. Edged toward falling in love with two good guys—enough to meet their families and spend a lot of time together for a couple years. In both cases, somewhere in those last days before I got offered a ring, I stepped back. One had a tense relationship with his mom that raised a red flag, and the other could slip into moody for no reason I could figure out. The only hint for who they would be fifty years in the future was the subtle stuff I could see about
who they were then. I probably was too cautious—they were and are nice men. In both cases I finally decided I didn't want to live with either one of them for the rest of my life. Then I decided I wanted to be a cop, and that kind of changed my priorities. It was hard enough building a relationship with a guy when my true love was writing, trying to figure out how to tell a story. Add cop to that mix and I had bigger priorities than wanting to be a wife and manage a home and talk about having kids.”

Her remark generated several more questions he wanted to ask her, but it was growing very late. He tucked them away for another day.

She closed down her files. “Would you call me if something happens tonight? I'm curious.”

“I will.”

“Then I'll say good night, Paul.”

“Thanks for today, Ann.”

“I enjoyed it too. You're kind of cute when you are trying to figure out how to kill time.”

“Cute?”

She chuckled and dropped the link.

Paul checked in from home at five a.m. with the agents still watching the house, and again at seven a.m. When he called from his office for an update at nine, a tired-sounding Sam answered the call.

“Where're we at?”

“Still quiet. He's retrieved his Saturday newspaper and otherwise hasn't done a thing. No phone calls on the numbers we have. He's got to make a move soon. Teams just rotated here, so there are fresh eyes watching the house. We've got it covered.”

“Sorry I'm not there to take a shift.”

“It's not so bad. Our host believes in feeding guests, and the coffee is good. I've had worse stakeouts. She says she likes the excitement. I'll call you when something happens, if it ever
does. Miss L.S. could have spotted us and simply abandoned the package.”

“Stay optimistic. She didn't know when it was going to arrive. Maybe she's the one who missed a connection, or intentionally planned a delay to try and throw us off.”

“If she planned with this in mind, it's working. We're going numb watching for something to happen. If it goes another night, I'm going to need to bring in new guys to spell us for a shift.”

“Whatever you need.”

“I decided about an hour ago that we've finally met a worthy opponent. I'm still wondering why she chose this teacher.”

“We'll get that answer eventually. Hang in there, Sam.”

Paul hung up and thought about calling Ann, but didn't have anything to tell her that was different than where they were last night. And hopefully she was still sleeping. He got up and went for more coffee.

Paul's phone rang just after eleven a.m. He saw the caller ID and grabbed for it. “Yes, Zane.”

“The four tapes just arrived by courier along with the signed agreement.”

“You're kidding.”

“It's an original document, even an ink stain where the pen bled.”

“We never saw her retrieve the package. Any further letter from her?”

“No. Just the four tapes and the document.”

“Can you bring them in, Zane?”

“I'm already on the way.”

“Take them to Rita when you arrive.”

“Will do, Paul.”

Sam grabbed his cellphone and answered after the first ring. “Yes, Paul.”

“Zane just called. The four tapes and a signed agreement just arrived.”

“How?” Sam was shocked. “The teacher hasn't gone out since he took in the mail, and no one has arrived to see him.”

“Good question, but she got it.”

“Hold on. I'm going to go knock on his door.”

Sam walked across to the house they had been watching and rapped on the door, thinking with every step that there were few things in life more frustrating than getting conned. The teacher answered, a cup of coffee in his hand and a puzzled look on his face.

“Mr. Lewis Graves?”

“Yes.”

Sam held up his credentials and badge. “I'm FBI Agent Sam Truebone. I need to ask you a question about a piece of mail you received on Friday.”

Mr. Graves stepped back and waved him inside, looking perplexed. “What's this about?”

“You received a blue-and-white overnight mailer.”

“Yes, the school where I teach sent retirement plan options.” He nodded toward the rolltop desk in the next room. The mailer was sitting atop a stack of papers.

“That was the only overnight mailer you received?”

“Yes. What—?”

“We're tracking down a package that was misdirected. It would be helpful if I could have the mailer those documents came in.”

“Sure.” He retrieved it and passed it over.

Sam looked at a woman's handwriting on the shipping label. He had been the one to write the label for the package they had mailed. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate the help. I won't keep you longer.” He stepped outside and pulled out his phone as he walked to his car. “Paul, she switched out the packages. We've
been watching an overnight mailer that was school district materials. Where she made the exchange is an interesting question. She's got someone helping her at the post office branch?”