Amanda leaned against the door of her rented Subaru Forester, taking a drag from her cigarette. She inhaled slowly, waiting for the hit to take hold before exhaling the smoke. They had been at it for almost six hours with no leads to speak of.
This didn't surprise her, as she figured Bible would be too clever to conduct his operations in a busy part of the city, but SAC Stefon insisted they work in a pattern starting from the city's center and moving outward. It was logical, though ultimately a waste of time.
Part of the canvass involved investigating suspicious vehicles, with a focus on windowless cargo vans similar to the one that allegedly kidnapped Chloe from the party, along with any semi-trailers or recreational vehicles that they encountered. To cover every possibility, the search would have to include any delivery trucks, either from major shipping companies or local delivery businesses.
The issue was that Angel, although clever, was also stubborn. He insisted on using an unmarked, windowless cargo van as his main vehicle. He'd explained that it provided enough space for all the equipment he needed for his missions, as well as food, water, and clothing for any children he rescued. The van had enough room to hide them securely until he could get them to safety.
Since she'd only called him a few hours ago, there was little time for him to move the van out of the city, and she knew he wouldn't risk drawing attention to himself by doing so. This meant she'd have to cover for him. So, when the search assignments were handed out, she skillfully positioned herself on the team assigned to the grid where his sister's shop was located.
Lo and behold, her instincts proved correct. When they arrived at the block, she took the lead down the street. Determined to be the one to find the van, she quietly rolled her eyes when a younger agent insisted on going with her. As they reached the back parking lot, she spotted Angel's van and told the other agent to stay back and cover her. Putting on the act of approaching it as they would any other suspicious vehicle, she moved to the back, paused, then radioed that it was clear. She quickly jotted down his plate number.
Walking around to meet the other agent, she told him to rejoin the others while she grabbed a cup of coffee from the shop across the street and called in the plate. After he left, she ripped the piece of paper from her notebook, crumpled it up, and threw it into the litter scattered along the fence.
Now, as her shift was ending, she checked her watch: quarter to six. She took one last drag, dropped the cigarette, and crushed it under her shoe. She glanced toward where most of the others were gathering and looked for Agent Tucker, the head of their group.
When they'd first met, she'd sized him up. His compact frame, thinning black hair, and deep lines under his dark blue eyes had aged him beyond his years. His thin beard already appeared to have streaks of white in it. She was shocked when she learned he was only forty-two, not even a decade older than she was. Was this her future, too, to prematurely age from the stress of her career?
Scanning the group of agents, she saw him lecturing a couple of younger FBI men, pointing towards the last building they'd checked. She smirked slightly. The two in question had deviated from protocol when questioning a lady in the main storefront. She'd quickly learned that Tucker was a stickler for procedure. Therefore, even a minor misstep earned a dressing down from him. Despite his cold, professional demeanor, she sensed he was not only devoted to the job but genuinely cared about finding the kids.
When she noticed him finish scolding the two agents, whom she sympathized with, she put her pointer finger and thumb to her mouth and blew out a loud whistle. Tucker turned his attention her way, and she raised her hand to wave him over. Most wouldn't whistle for a superior, but she was a decorated agent and far too tired to walk over to him. They had also hit it off reasonably well, so she hoped he wouldn't be too upset with her lack of decorum.
Stepping up to her, Tucker adjusted the collar of his issued FBI jacket and drawled, "Yes, Agent Sims?"
"Since it's about time to call things off, would you mind if I headed to my hotel? I didn't get a chance to check in this morning after landing at the airport, and I would hate to lose my room due to a no-show."
Tucker pulled his sleeve back and checked his watch. He muttered, "Is it almost six already?" He dropped his hand with a nod. "Sure. I lost track of time anyway. Late August in New Orleans always seems to drag on, especially in this heat. We'll wrap this up in the next few minutes. The next shift starts at seven and continues south. I'll head back to the office to organize tomorrow's search grid for our shift."
"You don't take many breaks, do you?" His weary, aged appearance now made even more sense to her. His dedication was admirable, but self-destructive. It reminded her of Angel. How much longer could he last?
"Not when children's lives are at stake." His thick drawl was filled with frustration. "Go on. Get some rest so you're fresh for tomorrow. We start at 8 a.m. sharp. Don't be late like you were for the briefing this morning." He winked.
Smiling wryly, she promised, "I won't. Thank you, sir."
He nodded and turned away. She presumed he would let the other agents know it was quitting time. She pulled open the car's door and eased herself onto the hot, sticky leather seat. Turning the ignition, she rolled the windows down and switched the A/C to full blast. She grimaced as hot air blew out and quickly adjusted the vents away from her.
She had lied about needing to check into her room, having already checked in right after her flight. She made up the excuse because she only had ten minutes left to meet Angel at their agreed-upon spot, and she knew he'd want to get right to work after their meeting.
Giving the A/C time to do its job, she pulled out her phone, clicked on the text icon, and typed a short message: 'Be at the coffee soup in five.' Too tired to fix the spelling error, she tapped Send. Immediately, the double check mark turned blue, and she waited for his response.
Almost instantly, his reply popped up: 'Already on my way. See you soup.'
Setting her phone on the passenger seat, she chuckled. His sense of humor reminded her how much she missed him. It'd been nearly three months since she'd last met with Angel, and while she tried to keep things professional, she could feel herself slipping back into old habits around him.
The problem with that was twofold. First, to keep him out of trouble, she'd used her charms to seduce Ethan Wilks, the deputy director of the FBI in D.C. Second, what had started as a secret favor for Angel had turned into genuine feelings for Ethan.
Sighing, she clicked her tongue and revved the engine. With the air finally turning cold, she rolled up the windows and quickly checked her face in the mirror. Satisfied that she didn't look like a complete mess, she checked to see that the traffic was clear and pulled away from the curb.
Maybe, just maybe, Angel had some good news to share.