Back in white - Reaper # 4

Chapter 4

Honestly, I thought it would be difficult, but I just discovered an astonishing talent for writing. Well, the fact that Martin calls me within three seconds of sending my email tells me two things: he didn't read it completely, and I shouldn't have started my message with "I resign." I lacked subtlety on that one. I expected him to scold me or be disappointed, but his tone is strangely neutral. We've known each other for years, and right now, I feel like he's resigned.

"Martin, we've known each other since I was in the MP, it goes way back, back when you started dating Janet. I don't want us to be angry at each other. This is purely a career decision, I thought you would be proud."

"I am proud to see that you found a way to follow through with your idea. It's not the method I thought I'd see you use."

"Is this call secure?"

"Yes. I had imagined you breaking into his place, kidnapping him, and interrogating him."

"That's exactly what I'm going to do, but the fact that I'm no longer with CID will remove the complicity from you. You gave me an order, and I went against it. By being with Homeland investigating a theft of military files and their transmission to a paramilitary group, I have more resources at my disposal."

"Fair enough."

"I don't know when I'll be able to come by and empty my apartment. Can you ask Housing Services to clear it out and put everything in storage for me? I'll call Evelyn and try to make it up to her."

"It's hard for her, she's taking it badly."

"I've always known how to find the right words with her, it'll be okay."

"Be extremely careful, Emily. I'm no longer there to back you up, I can no longer be your professional ear, but if you have difficult moments, I'm still here, and so is Janet."

"You've been more than a boss, you've been a friend, you know that. You mean a lot to me. Goodbye, Martin."

I need a damn hug. I want to go for a ride on my motorcycle. I hate Washington.

But what a shitty afternoon!

The ding of the elevator makes me raise my head, and Lindsay finds me sitting on the floor in front of her door. My ass hurts; marble may be beautiful, but it's hard and cold.

"Why didn't you come in?"

"I don't have the key."

"I gave you one four years ago."

"It's not on me. It's in my plane," I say, straightening up. "Did you have a good day?"

"Oh, my dear, you wouldn't believe it. I climbed thirty levels in Sweet Kisses Crush," she smiles, opening the door and letting me enter first. As soon as she closes the door, I embrace her, resting my head on her shoulder.

"How deep in shit are we?" she asks, holding me tightly.

"Let's just say they brought a file as thick as half the shelf in your library. That was yours. Mine is the whole library."

"Ouch. What are we risking? Given our track records, can we request to be in the same cell?"

"I don't know. I fell asleep halfway through reading about all the money I cost the taxpayers. But the bottom line is, we need to stop taking the F-22. The F-35 is cheaper, seventeen thousand dollars per flight hour. Oh, and I'm a multimillionaire. That's how much my escapades cost, and there's still information missing. We're not at risk; they just wanted to show me they know. They also know you're temporarily under the protection of the First Lady."