From behind his laptop, Chris looked up over his glasses—frowning, sleep-deprived, badly in need of a shave—a man who appeared older than his thirty-eight years. Once, a few years ago when they were working past midnight, he’d confided in Vanessa how much he hungered to be back in the field, how much he missed it. Anything but surprising, given the present atmosphere—frequent shifts in management, congressional probes, even the best of the best hunkering down defensively. But he was stuck at Headquarters for a few more years in order to take care of his aging parents. “I heard you just got back,” he said, his gaze narrowing intently as she stood facing him. “I hand-delivered my asset’s phone and BlackBerry to Tech, and the files to Lee in financial analysis, and I think some of the data will turn out to be pivotal for Operation Ghost Hunt.” Chris nodded but he looked distracted, almost as if he hadn’t heard her, and Vanessa pulled up internally.
