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Chicago FBI field office
FBI Special Agent Nolan Colton hated suits almost as much as he hated today’s unexpected summons to his boss’s office. As he waited to be called back, he tugged at the collar of his dress shirt and readjusted the tie that threatened to strangle him. His knee bounced while he waited. Patience had never been his forte. What the hell could have happened to warrant this urgent confab with the special agent in charge? Nothing good.
Nolan reached in his coat pocket for an antacid and chewed it. His gut had been torn up with dread all night. His boss’s tone of voice when he’d called last night instructing Nolan to report to this meeting had been grave and terse.
When the SAC’s administrative assistant finally called him to the inner office, he took a deep breath, tugged his shirtsleeves to straighten them and strode into his boss’s domain with his head high and his back ramrod straight.
The first thing Nolan noticed when he entered Special Agent in Charge Dean Humboldt’s office was that they weren’t alone. Deputy Assistant Director Jim Greenley sat in one of the chairs opposite Humboldt, and a man Nolan didn’t know but who seemed vaguely familiar occupied the seat to the left of Humboldt’s desk. The second thing Nolan noticed was he wasn’t invited to take a seat.
He assumed a rigid stance, feet slightly apart, shoulders back, hands clasped behind him. “Good morning, sirs.”
“Special Agent Colton,” the deputy assistant director said by way of greeting, adding a quick dip of his chin.
The SAC’s administrative assistant left, closing the door behind her, and Nolan experienced a brief moment of claustrophobia. His tie seemed to tighten like a noose.
“Thank you for coming this morning, Special Agent Colton,” Humboldt said.
“I didn’t get the impression when you called me last night that I had a choice.”
Humboldt cleared his throat. “No. A rather serious matter has been brought to my attention, and we need to address it.”
“I’ve never known the Bureau to handle anything that wasn’t serious.” He twitched a grin, but his attempt at humor fell flat. Humboldt scowled, and Greenley exchanged a look with the third man, who had yet to be introduced. “Sorry. What matter is that, sir?”
Humboldt opened a manila file folder and slid a large black-and-white photograph across the desk. “This.”
Nolan stepped forward to look at the picture, and what he saw there shot adrenaline to his marrow. A shot of himself. In an erotic and compromising position with a fellow special agent.
Well, hell. He’d thought the ill-advised, one-time tryst with his partner had been discreet, something he could bury. They’d been alone in her hotel room. So where had the picture come from? The obvious answer rattled him. Angered him.
“Um.” Nolan blinked. “Where did you get this?”
“We’re asking the questions today, Special Agent Colton,” DAD Greenley said.
“You recognize the woman in the photo, Special Agent?”
He jerked a nod. “Special Agent Charlotte O’Toole. We worked a case together last year in Portland.” He drew a slow breath, deciding honesty was his best policy. “Obviously, things got out of control one night. It was a mistake, but it
