Page 4 of Secrets

His mouth flattens into a hard line. “We all have to do our part, and we have some truly promising applicants the bureau wants trained here. One of whom is highly qualified in psychology.”

Something nauseatingly close to panic pricks my nerves. “Because you plan to replace me?”

As soon as I speak the thought, I relax. Honestly, I don’t think I would be too mad about it. I could sleep in, eat Pop-Tarts instead of downing a protein shake, catch a movie while it’s still in theaters. Hell, maybe I could even get a job using my skills in more interesting ways.Oh!Like a PI or a bounty hunter. I don’t think theyhaveto follow the laws to a T, do they?

Agent James’ head falls almost completely horizontal as if he can read every syllable of my thoughts. “You’ve outgrown the work this small city has to offer. It won’t be long before they move you to the big metro.”

“Yeah, right,” I scoff, stopping myself from telling him that sounds worse than a broken pinky toe. “Erratic behavior, obsessive tendencies bordering on another diagnosis, unmedicated attention deficit hy?—”

“Frances.” My uncle snaps upright, his face marred with concern. “You aren’t taking your medicine?”

“I’m kidding. Of course I am.” I wave him off, hoping the lie quickly dissolves in the air. “I’m just saying. There are too many reasons why they wouldn’t transfer me. Matter of fact, now that I think more on it, this actually feels like you’re giving me a babysitter.”

My uncle is quiet for a moment, and in the silence, I know I hit the nail on the head.

Annoyance rolls through me as I realize the many different ways this is going to fuck up my plans from now on. I’ll have to get more creative…

After a thick swallow and clearing of his throat, Agent James waves me away, effectively ending our conversation and pleading the fifth on my question. “Behave, Frances.”

I wink, opening the door. “Oh, Uncle. Never.”

With my laugh echoing behind me, I hurry into the hallway and make my way back to my desk.

When I was a kid, no part of me wanted to be in law enforcement, courtesy of the cops around my neighborhood being complete assholes. It always seemed as if they had a hard-on for making everyone toe the line twenty-four seven. Like the artsy kids who were caught painting on dilapidated buildings to spruce the place up ended up being ordered to complete two years of community service. And Willie Joe down the block, the guy who hadthebest parties, religiously got tickets for disturbing the peace even though the whole damn town was there. Then when our history teacher said he’d found Bigfoot and was planning to go hunting? Yep, you guessed it. Jail, because it’s illegal to hunt a mythical fucking creature.

Like I said, rules are stupid, and cops are, too. But there was one tiny, minuscule thing I thought was kinda cool. Just a little.

It was the action. The big boards with the pictures of suspects and red yarn running from here to there and back again. The final moment when they figured out who committed the heinous crime and went on a huge raid.

Busting down doors and throwing flash grenades sounded not only awesome, but right up my alley. At least, the movies made it seem like it was. But then my uncle told me it was all exacerbated for the big screen and there was more paperwork than car chases, and I decided… yeah, fuck that.

So how did I still end up working behind a desk, in between the bleakest of bleak walls with people who literally seem as if they might fall over from low blood pressure? Because I’m an idiot. An idiot who needs to take her damn Vyvanse and stop going off on life-changing tangents.

Something much bigger than a sigh works its way from my lungs as I walk down the long hallway from my uncle’s office and onto the working floor.

It’s almost identical to what I saw on TV as a kid. Desks run down long paths, piles of paperwork on each one, while a steady hum of conversation and old computers fills a room surrounded by dull tan walls. Unlike the shows, there are no conspiracy boards, no suited-up SWAT members, and absolutely no urgency in anything. I’m sure it varies at different locations—ones that have more big-city-level crime—but ours, being only a residency agency, not so much.

It’s funny to think back to the beginning when I wasn’t jaded and thought I knew what I wanted. Back when I had plans to move over to the main office in Atlanta.

But then, I methim, and ATL became way too far away from my favorite little criminal.

Alexi Babin.

Theallegedleader of the Babin family and mafia outfit that runs out of a corrupt town in South Carolina.

The town, Noxus City, is so secluded in its little exclusive community, it reminds me of a private island, and Alexi owns the whole damn thing.

I know, I know. He’s in South Carolina while I’m in east Georgia, so I don’t necessarily have any real reasons to care about what goes on there without being called, and really, it shouldn’t be any of my business if the state wants to let him run around like a king waving his drug-laced pocket knife with more DNA on it than the glory hole down on 5th street, but my vendetta runs deep.

A woman scorned and all that.

Well that, and because of my weird obsession with obsessive personalities. And yes, I see the irony, but it’s the whole reason I even work here.

Having a psychology degree and working in the field for the past eight years taught me I am absolutely fascinated with the human psyche—particularly the ones that society deems abnormal. Unique.Deranged.

I love diving into their minds and discovering what they’re motivated or influenced by—why they make the often moral-less choices they do. It’s also incredibly intriguing to me how very little influence is needed for a completely sane person to turn downright…diabolical. It’s a study I’ve never grown tired of.

“Drinks at The Four?”

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