Commitment (23 page)

“I know, but he’s magic,” he reminded his mother. Cassidy sighed. “And, I heard you.”

“Heard me?” she questioned.

“Yeah,” he looked up to his mother. “You told YaYa if you could ask Santa for anything it would be a baby.”

A new understanding swept over Cassidy. “You heard that, huh?” Dylan nodded. “Well, that’s true, Dylan.”

“Did you write him a letter?” he asked. Cassidy’s eyes twinkled as she shook her head. “You should,” he told her.

“I should, huh?”

“Yep. And then, if you get your present, he won’t feel left out.” Cassidy raised her brow in question. “He has to have a present too. I mean if he’s our present.”

Cassidy nodded. Part of her was tempted to sit her son down and try and explain why Santa couldn’t bequeath them with a baby, but the sincerity and the wonderment in Dylan’s expression stopped her. She was reasonably sure that Dylan understood Santa would not fly in with an actual baby. Ever since his cousin was born, Dylan had been adamant that he wanted a little brother. Alex and Cassidy had both explained that babies take time and that someday they were sure he would have a sibling, but they couldn’t promise when, and they certainly couldn’t promise a brother. Dylan was seven. He saw the world through innocent eyes, and Cassidy had no intention of breaking that spell today.

“Dylan, you know it could be quite a while before you have a brother or a sister,” she said softly.

“Yeah. It takes time. He still should have a present, though,” Dylan said decidedly. “I don’t want him to be left out,” he explained.

“Always a him,” she chuckled. Dylan shrugged again. “So, can I see what you have here for this magical baby?” Cassidy asked.

Dylan opened up the paper to reveal the Lego Batcave he had spent hours upon hours building by himself. Alex had been worried that Dylan’s frustration would get the better of him when he announced he wanted to complete the project on his own. There were many nights that Cassidy would catch Alex watching him as he struggled to follow the diagram. It took him weeks, but he finished. Cassidy still remembered how he stood so proudly in front of his creation. He had covered it in a blanket and revealed it as if it were an engineering wonder. And, for Dylan, it was.

“Dylan, that’s your Batcave,” Cassidy said in amazement.

“I know.”

“You worked so hard on that,” Cassidy observed.

“Yeah.”

“You want to give that away?” she questioned him carefully.

Dylan nodded. “That’s what I am supposed to do,” he said. “I am supposed to protect him. I mean, Alex is Nick’s protector. He said so.”

Cassidy kissed her son’s head. “So, this will protect him, huh?”

“Sure,” Dylan said. “It protected me from bad dreams and stuff.”

“I didn’t know that,” Cassidy said holding Dylan to her. “Don’t you want to keep it then?”

Dylan shook his head. “I’m seven. Besides, I still have Batman over my bed if I have a bad dream…and anyway,” he continued his explanation thoughtfully. “I’m not a baby. I can walk into your room. Babies can’t do that,” he explained.

Cassidy looked at him thoughtfully. He had clearly given this a great deal of thought, and she found his reasoning and his sentiment unbelievably touching. “I suppose that is all very true,” she agreed. She kissed his forehead and put her hands on his small shoulders. “All right, Dylan. I think I have a box
in the garage we can use. Then we will wrap your present.” Dylan smiled broadly and bounced a bit on his mother’s lap. “Someone is going to be very lucky someday to have you be their big brother,” she complimented him.

He basked in her praise and hugged her tightly. “I’ll help you write to Santa,” he whispered in her ear. “I’m really good at that.”

Cassidy chuckled softly. “Okay. Let’s get this done,” she said as she hopped to her feet.

“And then we can write your letter?” he called after her.

She winked at him. “And then you can help me write a letter,” she promised. Cassidy turned back and watched as Dylan ran his hands over his creation proudly. She was certain that Alex would be amazed by his gesture, and Cassidy wished that her wife had been there to hear her conversation with their son. “I can’t wait to see Alex’s face,” she laughed.

Brian Fallon walked into the conference room and pulled out a chair. He set his coffee in front of him and smiled at the woman across the table. “How are you doing?” he asked.

The woman looked up to him and shook her head. “I wanted to see Agent Toles.”

“Agent Toles hasn’t been with the bureau in months. You know that,” he said. She shook her head. “If you wanted to speak with Alex, why didn’t you just go see her? You’ve done that before; haven’t you?” he asked. She did not answer. “Cheryl? Look, I don’t know what has happened. I certainly know you did not show up here without a reason. You know Alex is no longer an agent, and yet you still came here. I want to help you, but…”

Cheryl Stephens looked up at him, skepticism mingling with hope. “Who is listening?” she asked. Fallon looked at the mirror and nodded. “I do watch television,” she said.

Fallon chuckled softly at her feeble attempt to make light of the situation. He sipped his coffee. “The only person listening is my boss.” He gestured to the window.

“Do you trust him?” she asked.

Fallon looked back at the far wall knowing Joshua Tate was listening to every word and watching every expression that crossed both their faces. He considered his reply for a moment. Did he trust Joshua Tate? He scratched his cheek in consideration, nodded and answered truthfully. “Yes, Cheryl. I do.”

Joshua Tate watched and listened with rapt fascination as the woman looked toward him. He had a decision to make, and he made it quickly. In less than a minute, the door to the conference room had opened, and Joshua Tate walked through. “Not here,” he said in Fallon’s ear.

Fallon looked up to the assistant director and nodded. He turned back to Cheryl to excuse himself. Before he could stop her, she spoke. “He tried to kill her,” she said. “He doesn’t think I know. I know. I heard him. He’s…he,” she took a paper out of her bag and handed it to Agent Fallon.

Fallon read it and handed it to the assistant director with the raise of his brow. “Cheryl, here is not the best place. Do you understand?” She looked at him fearfully, and he placed his hand over hers in quiet reassurance. “Alex is my friend,” he said. “Trust me.” She nodded. Tate motioned for Fallon to follow him outside.

“Make this solely about the accounts on that paper,” Tate said. “Take a statement. Leave that comment out of it. I need to take care of the recording.” Fallon understood. “I know you still have your doubts, Agent Fallon, but you need to trust me. She may be the link we need.”

“I know,” Fallon said. “Just…what she handed me puts her at risk; doesn’t it?”

Tate nodded. “Take the statement and then take her here,” Tate said, handing Agent Fallon a business card.

“Sir?”

“Fallon, you are going to have to trust me on this one,” Tate said. Fallon nodded. “All right. I will meet you there at four o’clock. Don’t let her out of your sight. Do it as discreetly as you can.”

“Sir….should we place her in protection?”

Tate shook his head. “Agent Fallon, her decision to walk in here so boldly just guaranteed that is an impossibility. There isn’t an agency that can provide that assurance.”

Fallon swallowed hard. “I’ll get her statement.”

Tate watched Fallon as he re-entered the conference room. He made his way back to the observation area and retrieved his cell phone. “I know I am the last person you expected to call. We have a problem…..No. It’s O’Brien…..His girlfriend walked in……Agent Fallon is with her now…..I know that…..I know that…..If we do this, it puts her….I know….I don’t like it, but I agree…..Fine. Merry Christmas,” he said in disgust.

Brian Fallon pulled into a deserted parking lot at four o’clock and waited. Cheryl jumped when the backdoor to the sedan opened and Joshua Tate slid in beside her. “Drive,” he told Fallon.

“Where?” Fallon asked

“Anywhere. Just drive,” he ordered. He turned to Cheryl and softened his gaze. “What made you walk into the FBI?” he asked.

“I can’t. I can’t live with knowing. I know he would do it. I believe it. He’s capable,” Cheryl rambled.

“Capable of what?” Tate asked.

“Killing someone,” she said.

Tate nodded. “You think Congressman O’Brien tried to kill someone?”

“No. He did. I thought it was all talk. It’s not. He was with her….that redhead. I don’t know who she is,” Cheryl seethed.
Fallon glanced in the rearview mirror and caught Tate’s eye. “Well, he thinks I am stupid. I’m not stupid. He meets her at all hours; you know? This little dive on the corner of K Street. Didn’t even notice me there.”

Tate groaned. “Ms. Stephens, the information you gave Agent Fallon….when did you discover that the congressman opened accounts in your name?”

Cheryl looked at him directly. “I went in his office Sunday. He was out. I can’t begin to imagine where,” she rolled her eyes. “Probably at a
meeting
. Well, I wanted to know…who she was…who she is. Was it true? Or just more of his egotistical bragging. Killing Agent Toles, I mean.” Tate listened quietly. “Well, I don’t know who she is. But…I believe it. I saw my name on the top of a paper on his desk. At first…well…I thought maybe it was…I don’t know what I thought. I certainly don’t have five million dollars.”

“She’s an agent,” Tate said plainly. Fallon looked in the mirror again, stunned. “Well, Agent Fallon? She put herself in this. There’s no point in lying to her,” he asserted. He turned back to Cheryl.

“She’s an FBI agent?” Cheryl asked.

Tate laughed. “Not exactly.” He glanced out the window and then returned his focus to the woman beside him. “What makes you think he’s capable of killing someone?” Tate asked curiously.

Cheryl unzipped her coat, slid it down and slid her blouse off her shoulders, revealing a set of dark bruises on her collar bone. Fallon felt his stomach lurch in the front seat. He couldn’t see clearly in the darkened car, but he didn’t need to see anything to understand the awkward silence in the backseat. He had spent many years as a cop, both walking a beat and as a detective. Abuse was something he had seen one too many times for his taste. His thoughts immediately traveled to Cassidy.

“You don’t think he could?” Cheryl asked Tate pointedly as she pulled her coat back on.

“No. I believe you because he did try,” Tate answered. He looked to the front seat and saw the tightening in Fallon’s shoulders. “He shot Agent Toles last spring. What is it that you want us to do?” Tate asked her.

“Arrest him. Throw him away,” she yelled.

“Not quite that simple,” he said. “Are you willing to help?

Fallon could taste the bile in the back of his throat. Cheryl was not an agent. She was not a detective. She had no way to protect herself. “Sir…”

“Agent Fallon,” Tate warned him sternly. He turned back to Cheryl.

“What would I have to do?” she asked.

He retrieved a card from his pocket. “Tell him you are leaving. Go to this hotel. Your room will be waiting.”

“When?” she asked.

“I understand he is away until tomorrow?” She nodded. “Tell him when he comes home.”

“On Christmas Eve?” she questioned.

“Were you looking forward to the holiday with the congressman?” he asked with as much sincerity as he could muster.

“No.”

“Good. Then tomorrow.”

“When he asks why?” she looked to Tate for guidance.

“Hand him this,” he said retrieving a photo.

“What is this? This isn’t her,” Cheryl said as she studied the photo of her lover and a tall brunette engaged in a fiery kiss. Tate just nodded. “Jesus Christ,” she yelled.

“He is quite the catch,” Tate’s revulsion seeped through his words.

“What will that do?” she asked.

“Remove you,” he answered.

“How is that?”

“Ms. Stephens. The less you know, the better. Tomorrow, I want you to file a domestic violence complaint.”

“What? I don’t…”

“Go to the hotel first. I will have someone keeping an eye on you,” he promised. “Do it.”

“I don’t understand…”

“I know you don’t. It’s better if you don’t. Now, where can Agent Fallon drop you?”