#youlikeit - BLACKBIRD book 1

7. the offer

**picture: Boston sunset

Brock checked the time. Two hours sharp. He took a deep breath, dialed and stood by the window, gazing at the sunset on the city.

Burton picked up right away. "Brock, it's been a while! How are you?"

Brock scowled. Why did Burton greet him as if they had spent Christmas together? Really! What the hell was going on? "I'm fine, sir, thanks for asking. How can I help you?"

His cold, formal words didn't seem to affect the other man. "I've got news for you, Brock. Good news."

Great, they found a way to force me into early retirement.

Burton knew him well enough to expect any questions from him, so he went on. "You see, we got the countrywide statistics for the first semester, and the brass is concerned about the rate of unsolved cases in some states. Some of those cases fall into our Section, so I was able to sell them the idea of sending you among the agents appointed to assist the field offices with lower rates. And what's even better: I got them to allow you to be transferred there, so you can stop bouncing all over the country every week. You'd be stationed in a state of your choice, and when their rates go up, you can move on to the next."

So they wanted him definitely away from DC—always among the top-five highest rates. That was what this was all about: file him away in some dusty, godforsaken pit, and forget all about him. And they expected him to play along. Like hell.

"With all due respect, sir, you know my daughter lives in DC, so I cannot be away for long periods of time."

"Oh, don't worry about it! You'll have a four-day paid leave a month, so you can come over and visit her."

The bastard had thought of everything. Brock set his jaw, still not willing to give up without at least a little fight. But Burton cut him off when he tried to speak.

"You would be reinstalled as a field agent. They're not giving you back the supervisory rank, but field agent again! That's much better than what you have now, right?"

Oh, the son of a thousand bitches knew where to hit.

"Look, Brock, you don't need to answer right now, okay? Sleep on it. You're coming back to DC tomorrow, right? Come up to see me after filing your report and we'll talk about it."

"I will, sir."

"C'mon, cheer up, man! Told you this was good news!"

Brock would have given anything to be face to face with Burton and punch his lights out. He'd spend the next years in a cell, of course, but that was only a minor detail.

"I'll be waiting for you. And I hope we will be sitting down to fix your transfer."

"Excuse me, sir, but you didn't mention which states you're talking about."

"Oh, you're right! Silly me! There are three the brass is more concerned about: Montana, Texas—you know the borders are always trouble—and Massachusetts."

Brock scowled deeper. "Massachusetts?" he repeated, letting a bit of surprise show in his voice. "Sir, I'm in Boston right now and things seem to be—"

"Oh, yes, Boston's fine. The Iron Lady has it working like a frigging clock, right? But she's been there for hardly a trimester, and her predecessor didn't leave things as he should have, so she's got some hard work ahead to bring things back on track in New England. If you pick Massachusetts—it would make sense, only a one-hour flight away from your daughter—you'd be assigned to Boston, but only as a basecamp. That way, you can run to put out the fire whenever they need you at Boston's subsidiary agencies. And don't worry about Cooper, I'd make sure she doesn't take it as an intervention of sorts."

"Well, just like you said, sir, I'm taking these two days to consider your offer. You'll have my answer when I get back to DC."

Burton tried to keep displaying his generous humor, but Brock managed to end the call in under a minute. He lingered there by the window, looking out at the city. All of a sudden his mind couldn't stop bouncing from memories to Burton's offer to the neutralized threat out there. He didn't seem able to weave two thoughts straight.

Being a field agent again! How many times had he wished it so bad it hurt? At first it'd felt like some kind of treason, as if he were betraying Georgia's memory by only thinking about it. Back then, he'd done what he had to. And if losing his field agent status for good was the price to pay for it, he didn't have the right to regret it. Ever.

Yet the last six years had been so damn long and hard. And it was Burton offering, not him asking for it. So was it still treason? Was he trampling on her name if he accepted Burton's offer? Or was he to keep living like this for another ten years, until he retired?