A laugh hovered in Tomasetti’s throat, but he withheld it because he knew it would sound as bitter as it tasted. As far as he was concerned, BCI didn’t give a good damn about him. They just wanted to sweep this dirty little incident under the rug where no one would trip over it.

“I guess that commendation only goes so far when it comes to politics,” he said.

“This has nothing to do with politics,” Rummel said.

Tomasetti let out a sigh. “How long?”

Bogart and Rummel exchanged glances. “As part of your leave package, you will be required to attend regular weekly sessions with a licensed psychiatrist contracted by this agency,” she clarified. “And a drug test. Every week.”

“You gotta pass it,” McNinch added.

Tomasetti couldn’t help it; he laughed. An inappropriate sound that echoed in the room like the growl of some wounded beast. “Oh, for chrissake.”

“It’s a condition of your continued employment,” Rummel clarified.

That was the point when Tomasetti knew he was sunk. There would be no negotiation. No defending what he’d done. No undoing the past. No lying his way out of a reality he himself had created.

Of course, he tried anyway. “Those drugs were prescribed by the same doctors you’re telling me to see now.”

“Those drugs were prescribed by different doctors at different times,” Bogart pointed out. “You abused that.”

“Look, I don’t think we need to get into ancient history.” This from Rummel, the advocate, looking out for the well-being of one of his top agents. “That’s not the purpose of this meeting. I mean it, John. This is an opportunity. Try to look at it that way. Make the best of a bad situation and move on from there.”

All Tomasetti could think was that he’d been making progress. As far as he was concerned, work was the best therapy. Putting him on leave now was like yanking the rug out from under him just when he’d found his balance.

“What about my case load?” he asked, his voice sounding inordinately reasonable.

“Your open cases will be dispersed to other agents,” Denny McNinch said.

Tomasetti didn’t like to share. Not his cases. Not anything. He could feel the anger, the old bitterness rising into his throat. His heart bumping against his ribs, the blood squeezing through his veins with so much force he could feel it pulsing at his temples. “I guess the three of you have it all figured out.”

Denny sighed. “I know this isn’t ideal.”

“Nobody likes this sort of thing,” Bogart said.

“But we have your best interest as well as the interests of this agency in mind,” Rummel added.

“Not to mention the best interest of your collective asses,” Tomasetti put in.

Nobody had anything to say about that.