Neither had had a real family growing up.
Both had been loners.
Both had gone down certain paths in life, only to be pulled from what would probably have been early deaths, to serve on behalf of their country.
Both had problems with authority.
Both liked to go their own way.
Both were extremely good at their job.
Neither had ever failed.
Now one of them would be guaranteed to do so.
Only one winner per contest.
No ties allowed.
She scrolled down until she came to two photos on the screen.
The first was an attractive, tenacious-looking woman in her late thirties. Even if Reel hadn’t known she was a federal cop, she would have assumed it from the look.
Special Agent Nicole Vance, known as Nikki to her friends, of which she didn’t appear to have many, according to the notes accompanying the picture.
She was a die-hard FBI agent. She had bucked the gender bias that lived in every agency and workplace. Her professional star had risen like a shuttle rocket blasting off from Florida, all based on pure merit and sheer guts.
She was the one investigating the death of Doug Jacobs.
She knew Robie. They had worked together.
She could be a problem. Or an unlikely asset. Only time would tell.
Reel memorized every feature of Vance’s face and all the accompanying information as well. Memorization was a skill that one grew adept at in this field, or one did not survive in this field.
She focused on the second photo.
The girl was young, fourteen, the notes said.
Julie Getty.
Foster care. Parents murdered.
She had worked with Robie, in an unofficial capacity of course. She had shown herself to be resilient, quick-witted, and adaptable. She had survived things most adults would have succumbed to. Most importantly, Robie seemed to care about her. He had risked a lot to help her.
Reel rested her chin on her knuckles as she gazed into that youthful countenance. In its depths she saw age beyond the official years. Julie Getty had clearly suffered much. She had clearly survived much. But the suffering never really left you. It became a part of you, like a second skin that you could never shed no matter how much you wanted to.
It was the shell one showed to the world every day, hardened, nearly puncture-proof, yet nothing really could be. That was not how humans were built.
We have a heart. We have a soul. And they can be obliterated at any time.
Reel ordered some room service. After it came she ate her food, drank her coffee, and stared at that photo.
The facts behind the face she had already memorized. She knew where Julie Getty lived, whom she lived with, and where she went to school. She knew that Robie had not once visited her.
And she knew why.
He’s protecting her. Keeping her separate from his world.
My world.
It was no place for amateurs, capable or not.
But she wasn’t separate.
She had ceased to be separate from the moment she met Will Robie.
Julie was an only child. An orphan now, with her parents killed. That was something Reel could relate to. Being on your own.
She had really been on her own since she was younger than Julie. One didn’t do what Reel did for a living by growing up in ordinary ways. There had to be a hurt present, a pain that never left you, to make you take a gun or a knife or your hands and force the life out of another human being over and over and over. You didn’t go to school and play sports and join debate team or become a cheerleader and then go home to a loving mom and dad and end up doing what Reel had spent most of her adult life doing.
“I guess not.”
“Don’t forget to come in,” said Blue Man.
“You’ll see me at some point.”
Robie clicked off and watched the police and FBI go about finding nothing.
The Town Car sat in the same spot, but it was partially blocked from view by a blue plastic tarp shield that had been erected around it.