Page 8 of Whispers at Dusk
He had thought at times about seeking an interview with Adam Harrison or Jackson Crow. But he’d discovered he was good at working alone. He wasn’t married and he didn’t have children. That meant he could keep going at any time he wanted on his own—all day and into the night—when he was hot on a trail.
But now, he was intrigued.
He had been called in by them. He was sure that meant they’d been observing him from afar.
And they knew.
Just as he had known the truth about the Krewe.
That morning, the three of them were alone in the office. When the introductions were done, Jackson Crow began his speech.
“Due to recent developments, we’re forming a new team, attached to our current unit. Loosely, we’ve been referring to our new operation as Blackbird—but officially, it will be the Euro Special Assistance Team. You’ll be working with me as your immediate supervisor, and you’ll still be stationed out of our Northern Virginia offices. But you’ll be on the move a great deal—should you accept this, of course,” Jackson Crow told him.
Mason shook his head. “Accept... I’m not sure what. I mean... Well, truthfully, I know you run aspecialunit, and you must know that I—”
“Speak to the dead. Yes, of course. Gideon didn’t fill you in?” Adam Harrison asked him.
Mason’s brows shot up. Then he grimaced.
He’d assumed the people who were selected for this unit were found from across the country. Some were possibly found through the academy, and some because they stumbled into a case while working with other law enforcement or because they’d simply become involved.
Mason smiled, nodded, and leaned back. “I guess you’ve met Gideon.”
“We started up in New Orleans,” Jackson said. “We have many...friends here.”
“Of course,” Mason acknowledged dryly. “No, Gideon didn’t tell me much. But Euro—”
“Yes, we’re the Federal Bureau of Investigation, but the world has grown very small in the last several years. You are aware the Bureau has sixty legal attaché or legate offices around the world, as well as at least fifteen offices in our embassies in foreign countries?” Adam Harrison asked him.
He nodded. “Of course. I’ve been with the Bureau six years, ever since I got out of the service. Yes, I was aware. I admit—”
“We’re federal, yes, and our focus is this country. But as Adam said, it’s a small world these days, and when we have an American causing havoc abroad, conspiracies that involve Americans, felons we wish to apprehend abroad, hostage situations, and so on, we need a presence. Do we have great relationships with all countries? No. But with most of Europe and beyond, law enforcement likes to be reciprocal,” Jackson said.
“Okay, so...”
“I was asked by someone as high up in the chain as you can get to begin this project, to open support on strange cases that stretch outside of the country,” Jackson told him. “Someone who doesn’t want to admit we have help from strange places—yet still wants to make use of our rate in solving crimes and catching killers—wants us to get a team to Norway as quickly as possible. They’ve now found four bodies, stretching from France to England to Norway, completely drained of blood along with strange writing on the river embankments where the bodies have been displayed,” Jackson said. “There might have been earlier victims here in the States. They are afraid theVampireisn’t working alone, or perhaps something even more sinister is going on. You’d work with Interpol and local police over there—”
“I don’t speak Norwegian.”
“Neither do I. The amazing thing is most Europeans speak English or a minimum of two languages, something I wish we were better at here,” Adam said.
“You said ‘a team’. So—”
“We’ll be starting this with two agents and detectives from England, France, and Norway, as well as an Interpol liaison, a Frenchman named Bisset who seems able to get anything needed at the drop of a hat. And, you’ll be working with support back here in anything tech or forensic. You’ll be the first of a team with Special Agent Della Hamilton,” Jackson told him, then nodded his head toward the door to the office.
It opened on cue.
And Della Hamilton walked into the room, wearing a pantsuit today, her long sweep of hair tied in a knot at the nape of her neck.
Very pro. When taking down the Midnight Slasher, she had made herself appear to be all casual and cute—and naive.
Today, the woman was all professional.
“Della, thanks. And Mason, you, too,” Jackson Crow said. “First, we’d like you both to accept this venture. As I’ve explained, I hope you’ll still be working with me. We have Angela—my wife and one of our first Krewe members along with a few others—and an amazing team of techs and experts in our offices to help with anything at any time. We really have a great team to deal with any evidence no matter how small. They’re brilliant with video and so much more. So, here we are. We want you willing to begin this new venture, ready to accept it, and move forward. If you’re hesitant, that’s all right. We want you, for many reasons—”
Mason was surprised to discover he was slightly amused.
“You’ve been stalking me?” he asked.
