Page 83 of Handcuffed to the Bear

“What a comedian. Don’t quit your day job.”

They ate for a little while in silence; then Casey said hesitantly, “Jack, there’s something I’ve been thinking about. I’m just floating it out there as an idea, okay? Promise me you won’t laugh.”

He made a cross-my-heart gesture. “I promise.”

“Do you remember on the island, how I talked about wanting to be something like a police officer or a firefighter?”

She looked up hesitantly. He was giving her his undivided attention, and he offered a small nod.

“I was wondering—or I guess I should say, I was hoping ... Do you think the SCB might want me?”

Jack broke into a wide grin.

“Casey, I think you’d makegreatSCB material.”

“Really?” she asked, flattered and delighted. “I don’t know what the qualifications are. Is there some kind of test you have to pass, or, like, the SCB version of Quantico, or something?”

“It’s different for everyone. It depends on what your background is, and what you want to do.” He put his empty plate aside and settled beside her on the bed. “In my case, because I had extensive field experience, they recruited me directly. I went through an orientation and a short probationary period—obviously working domestically as a federal agent has a lot more limitations than being overseas as a free operator. If you want to intern in the office, you could probably start tomorrow. Or, well, whenever there’s an opening and the budget allows for it, so next quarter is more likely.”

“What about being a field agent?”

“You’ll need to apply. I’ll happily sponsor you. There will be a background check and you’ll need to schedule an interview with Pam Stiers—she heads the Pacific Northwest division. If the application gets approved, then you’ll start training. To answer your earlier question, we don’t have anything as organized as Quantico. Field agents are trained by other agents, and you’ll be put in the field as a probie whenever we think you’re ready.”

“And there aren’t any qualifications or anything? I mean, like needing a college degree, or experience with other law enforcement agencies. That kind of thing.”

Jack shook his head. “Not formally. Obviously you’d be a good candidate for a field agent if you have some police or military background, but you definitely don’t need it. Most of our agents don’t have that. Avery and I are exceptions.”

“I could do this,” she said, speaking to herself as much to him. “I could be an SCB agent.”

Jack kissed her, and pulled her against him, arm wrapped around her. “I absolutely believe you could. And I’ll tell anybody who asks the same thing. I’ve seen how you work under pressure, and I stand by what I told you on the island. There’s no one else I’d rather have at my back.”

Casey’s heart lifted. Everything was happening so fast. In just a few short days, her whole world had changed. She’d gone from being completely alone, surrounded by potential enemies, to having a boyfriend and tentative new friendships and the possibility of a career doing the one thing she’d never believed she really could do.

Maybe reality was going to come crashing back down on her soon. But for now, she leaned into Jack and closed her eyes, and thrilled to the possibilities opening up in front of her.

EPILOGUE

Since movingto Seattle at the age of eighteen, Casey had been on the ocean rarely. She and Wendy had taken the ferry to Bainbridge or other nearby islands a few times, but riding a ferry was more like being on a floating parking garage than on an actual boat.

And, after her experience with the Fallons, she didn’t think she’d ever want to go out on the water again.

But now she was leaning into the wind in a small speedboat, salty sea spray dusting her face as they skipped through the waves. Jack was solid at her back, his big hand laced through hers (right in left, as usual), and Eva Kemp was at the controls. The boat was called theBlackfish, according to the name painted on its prow, along with a silhouette of what Casey had thought was a leaping dolphin when she first saw it.

“Blackfish is another name for the killer whale,” Eva had explained. Taking in Casey’s street clothing—a sweater, jacket, and jeans—she’d thrust a life preserver and a water-resistant windbreaker at her.

Casey had to take off her backpack to put them on. Eva held out a hand for it, but Casey shook her head and held onto it, sliding it awkwardly over the vest when she was done.

The weather was dull and gray when they left the port. It was not winter yet, but autumn was definitely closing in: colors blazed brightly along the shore, and red and yellow leaves gleamed among the pine trees on Whidbey Island.

As they rounded the island’s southern tip, the sun broke through the clouds and the sea turned the color of deep green glass. Casey gasped at the unexpected palette of colors: the brilliant water, the autumn foliage on shore.

Eva cut the engine. The boat slowed, rocking gently as the waves rolled beneath the hull. She looked back at Casey. “Does this look like a good place?”

“I guess one place is as good as another.” Casey swallowed, and slipped off her backpack, unzipping the main compartment to take out the urn the funeral home had given her.

Wendy Lebrun had no will and no close relatives. On her employment paperwork at Lion’s Share, she’d listed Casey as her emergency contact. Once the remains identified as hers were released from the SCB’s forensics office, no one had objected to Casey claiming them.

She wasn’t sure if Wendy would have preferred to be cremated or buried. They had never talked about it. But to Casey, the idea of her free-spirited friend having her final resting place in the sound, among the orcas and the sea birds and the adventure-seeking kayakers who flocked north every summer, seemed like something Wendy would have adored.

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