Killing Hour - Lisa Gardner [28]
“No—”
“Well, you should. The NCIS has over eight hundred special agents, ready to be deployed anywhere around the globe at a moment’s notice. They’ve seen murder, rape, domestic abuse, fraud, drugs, racketeering, terrorism, you name it. They have their own cold case squad, they have their own forensics experts, they even have their own crime labs. For heaven’s sake, these are the agents who were called upon to investigate the bombing of the U.S.S. Cole. They can certainly handle one body found in the woods at a Marine base. Is that understood?”
“I didn’t mean to imply—”
“You’re a rookie, Kimberly. Not a special agent, but a new agent. Don’t forget that difference.”
“Yes, sir,” she said stiffly, chin up, eyes blazing at the unexpected reprimand.
Her supervisor’s voice finally softened. “Of course NCIS will have some questions for you,” he allowed. “Of course you will answer to the best of your ability. Cooperation with fellow law enforcement agencies is very important. But then you’re done, Kimberly. Out of the picture. Back to class. And—this should go without saying—as quiet as a church mouse.”
“Don’t ask, don’t tell?” she asked dryly.
Watson didn’t crack a smile. “There are many times in an FBI agent’s career when she must be the soul of discretion. Agents who can’t be prudent don’t belong on the job.”
Kimberly’s expression finally faltered. She stared down at the carpet. Watson’s tone was so stern, it seemed to border almost on threatening. She had found the body accidentally. And yet . . . He was treating her almost as if she were a troublemaker. As if she’d personally brought this upon the Academy. The safe course would be to do exactly as he said. To get up, seal her lips, and walk away.
She’d never been good at playing it safe.
She lifted her gaze and looked her supervisor in the eye. “Sir, I’d like to approach NCIS about assisting with the investigation.”
“Did you just hear anything I said?”
“I have some experience in these matters—”
“You know nothing about these matters! Don’t confuse personal with professional—”
“Why not? Violent death is violent death. I helped my father after my mother’s body was found. I’m now seven weeks from becoming a full-fledged FBI agent. What would it hurt to jump the gun a little? After all, I found her.” Her tone was possessive. She hadn’t meant to sound that way, realized it was a misstep, but it was too late to call it back now.
Watson’s face had darkened dangerously. If she thought he’d appeared stern before, he was downright intimidating now. “Kimberly . . . Let’s be frank. How do you think you’re doing as a new agent?”
“Hanging in there.”
“Do you think that’s the best goal for a new agent?”
“Some days.”
He smiled grimly, then steepled his hands in front of his chin. “Some of your instructors are worried about you, Kimberly. You have an impeccable resume, of course. You consistently score ninety percent or higher on your exams. You seem to have some skills with firearms.”
“But?” she gritted out.
“But you also have an attitude. Nine weeks here, Kimberly, and by all accounts you have no close friends, allies, or associates. You offer nothing to your classmates. You take nothing from them. You’re an island. Law enforcement is ultimately a human system. With no connections, no friends, no support, how far do you think you’re going to get? How effective do you think you can be?”
“I’ll work on that,” she said. Her heart was beating hard.
“Kimberly,” he said, gently now, and she winced further. Anger could be deflected. Gentleness was to be feared. “You know, you’re very young.”
“Growing up all the time,” she babbled.
“Maybe now is not the right time for you to join the Bureau—”
“No time like the present.”
“I think if you gave yourself a few more years, more space between now and what happened to your family . . .”
“You mean forget about my