“Travis doesn’t do well when he doesn’t have choices. If he thinks he could lose Abby over it, he’ll fight. Losing her for lying or losing her because he’s in prison aren’t great choices. He might turn down the deal.”

“He loves her that much?”

“I don’t think that’s an adequate word to describe the way he feels about her. Threatening him with losing her is like threatening his life.”

“That’s awfully…dramatic.”

Maddox considered that. “Drama is the nature of their relationship.”

“Noted.”

“Trent has organized a surprise bachelor party the night before in my hometown—Eakins, Illinois.”

“I’ve heard of it,” I said. When Maddox shot me a confused look, I continued, “I’ve driven by the exit a few times on my way to and from Chicago.”

Maddox nodded. “The next day, we’ll drive to O’Hare International Airport and then fly from there to St. Thomas. I’ll have Constance email you the dates and itinerary.”

I had mixed feelings about returning home so quickly after leaving. “Okay.”

“Like I’ve mentioned, we’ll be posing as a couple. My family believes I’m in marketing, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“They don’t know you’re an FBI agent?”

“That’s correct.”

“May I ask why?”

“No.”

I blinked. “Okay. I assume we’ll be sharing a hotel room in Eakins and in St. Thomas.”

“Correct.”

“Anything else?”

“Not at this time.”

I stood. “Have a good afternoon, sir.”

He cleared his throat, obviously surprised at my reaction. “Thank you, Agent Lindy.”

Turning on my heels to leave his office, I was aware of everything—how fast I walked, the way my arms swayed, even how straight my posture was. I didn’t want to give him anything. I didn’t know myself how I felt about the upcoming trip, and I certainly didn’t want him to speculate.

When I returned to my office, I shut my door and nearly collapsed into my chair. I crossed my legs at the ankles and hoisted them onto my desk.

Agent Sawyer’s knuckles tapped on the door, and he expectantly stared at me through the glass wall. I waved him away.

Maddox had been glad I had transferred to San Diego, and the S.A.C. had thought I lacked finesse—even less than Fuck Off Val or Agent Davies the Slut. I looked down at my crisp light-blue button-down blouse and knee-length skirt.

I have motherfucking finesse. Just because I speak my mind means I’m not tactful?

My whole face flushed red with anger. I thought the days of women in the Bureau being called breast-feds and split-tails were over. Most male agents making sexist remarks would be quickly shut down by other male agents, even when they weren’t aware of my or any other female’s presence.