Alex Kava Bundle - Alex Kava [630]
He glanced at the flight arrival board for the thirteenth time. The D.C. flight was still scheduled to arrive on time. That was ten minutes ago. So where the hell was it?
There had already been two streams of passengers but no FBI guy, no Special Agent M. O’Dell. Pakula could spot a feebie a mile away, the same dark suit, the same distant look that took everything in with a sweep of the eyes. He was starting to think the guy missed his flight. He planted himself by the bookstore where he wouldn’t miss anyone coming up the ramp from the gates. He leaned against the wall. He finished his doughnut in three bites and sipped the coffee.
He was watching another stream come up the ramp from the gates when a woman came out of the bookstore and stopped in front of him. She was young, attractive, dragging a black leather computer case.
“Excuse me, are you Detective Pakula?” She addressed him by name, even getting the pronunciation right. And this time he really looked at her instead of his routine brief once-over, trying to remember how she knew him.
“Yeah, I’m Pakula.”
“I’m Special Agent Maggie O’Dell.”
He almost dropped his coffee. Holy crap! He stood up straight, trying to look all nonchalant as he freed up and wiped his right hand to offer it. “Nice to meet you, Agent O’Dell. You been wandering around here long?”
“Not long.”
Now that he got a good look at her—navy blue suit, eyes drifting and catching everything around her—Pakula realized he wasn’t so far off. He just had the M wrong. Geez, Chief Ramsey would laugh his ass off. So would Clare. He wasn’t too sure O’Dell would.
“How’d you figure out who I was?” he asked her.
“I’m a profiler. It’s my job.” But before he could look impressed, she smiled and added, “I could say it was because you didn’t have any luggage. That you were off to the side and didn’t look excited to pick up whoever you were looking for, or that it was the bulge in the back of your jacket. Truth is, the doughnut and coffee was a dead giveaway.”
Pakula wanted to laugh. Here he was looking for the stereotypical FBI agent and she was doing the same thing. He pretended to look insulted. “Geez, O’Dell. You know I could be offended that you’ve already stereotyped me.”
“Then we’re even,” she said, “because you were looking for a man, weren’t you?”
He met her eyes, and there was no drifting this time. He could see that it actually didn’t bother her, that she was used to it, instead of being offended, and that she was simply jabbing back at him.
“Okay, we’re even,” he said, and he decided he liked her.
He started to fill her in on the case, giving her some background that hadn’t made it into the case file. But she seemed distracted as they headed toward the escalators.
“We have to get your bags downstairs,” he told her. “I’m parked just across in the garage.”
“Do you mind if we stop at the restroom?”
“Oh, sure. No, I don’t mind. I think there’s one downstairs you can use.”
She stopped and smiled at him. “No, I mean the restroom where you found Monsignor O’Sullivan?”
Pakula was a bit embarrassed that he’d misunderstood. Of course, she’d want to see the crime scene. “Yeah, sure. Right back here.”
He led her off to the left and down a hallway. When they got to the restroom he went in first, checking to see if therewas anyone at the urinals. They lucked out. A guy was on his way out when Pakula propped open the door and invited O’Dell in.
“He was over here,” Pakula indicated, walking to the area in front of the last sink on the left.