Coffee. Not tea — coffee. She wanted something stronger this morning, something that matched her energy. She was humming while it brewed, an old song she couldn't quite name.
*Last night was nice*, she thought. Really nice.
She was pouring the coffee when someone knocked on the door.
She opened it still in last night's clothes, coffee in hand, still smiling.
Hannah stood in the hallway.
"Morning," McGee said. "You want coffee? I just made—"
She stopped. Hannah's face wasn't a morning-visit face.
"What?" McGee said. "What happened?"
"Can I come in?"
McGee stepped aside. Hannah walked in, glanced at the blanket on the couch, the two coffee cups — wait, no, one coffee cup. McGee followed her gaze and felt her face warm.
"So," Hannah said, a small smile breaking through. "Last night went well?"
McGee laughed, embarrassed and pleased at the same time. "You left too early. Tom — the British guy — we kept playing pool for a while. Then we came back here."
"And?"
"And nothing. Well — almost nothing." McGee set her coffee down. "I passed out. Too much whiskey, I guess. He just covered me with a blanket and left. Left a note." She picked up the paper, showed it to Hannah. "He was such a gentleman."
Hannah read the note. Smiled — a real one.
"Good," she said quietly. "You deserve something good, McGee."
McGee felt the warmth spread through her chest. For a moment, everything was okay. The ballroom, the bull, the riddle — all of it felt far away.
Then Hannah's face changed.
McGee knew that look. "What?"
Hannah set the note down carefully. "I came here to tell you something, and I wanted to do it in person."
The warmth drained out of McGee's chest.
"A senator's dead, McGee. Sixty-three people gassed at a fundraiser." Hannah met her eyes. "This is federal now. The Bureau's taking the case."
McGee stared at her. "Taking it?"
"Full task force. My superiors running it." Hannah's voice was steady, but McGee could see the anger underneath. "I don't agree with it. I fought it. But it's orders."
"So I'm — what? Off the case?"
"No." Hannah shook her head. "They want you as a consultant. On the task force. Your insights, your connection to him — they know you're valuable, McGee."
"But I'm not the lead."
"No." Hannah didn't look away. "You're not the lead."
McGee sat down on the couch — the same couch where she'd fallen asleep on Tom's shoulder. The blanket was still there. She picked at a loose thread.
"A couple of weeks," she said quietly. "I was a detective for a couple of weeks."
"I know."
"And now I'm a consultant."
"You're still in the room, McGee. That matters. I made sure you're still in the room."
McGee nodded. But she was thinking about the alley — about a man in a mask who said the system protects the guilty. The system was certainly protecting itself.
McGee looked up. "Thank you."
They sat in silence for a moment. The coffee steamed on the counter, forgotten.
McGee thought about Tom's note. About the best morning she'd had in weeks, evaporating in about ninety seconds.
"You ready?" Hannah said, standing up. "We should get to the precinct. The task force is briefing at nine."
McGee stood up. Grabbed her jacket. She glanced at the note one more time — hope to see you again soon — and slipped it into her pocket.
"Yeah," she said. "Let's go."
They walked out together, into the morning.
Chapter 18