Breakaway
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The November holiday had been a whirlwind of activity, from the second she had stepped through the front door of Crabapple Farm to the time her brothers and friends had dropped her off at the airport for her return flight to San Diego. Tears misted briefly in her eyes before she blinked them away. It had been sweet, almost unbearably so, to have spent a few days home, within the comfort and loving arms of her friends and family. It hardly made sense to her that the Thanksgiving break had passed in the figurative blink of an eye and that the last few weeks of school of her first semester were nearly complete. She only had a few more days left at the university and in California. One last exam to take; one huge paper to turn in. Then her semester would be well and truly over, with only the worry over what her final grades would be, and she would be returning home again for the long Christmas holiday.
Whenever she thought of her brief trip home for Thanksgiving, it made her melancholy. Glancing up at the thick clouds gracing the normally brilliant blue sky, she smirked. They matched her mood beautifully. It had been so much fun to be with everyone again, to hang out with most of the Bob-Whites, and to stay in the same house as her family. And yet, through it all, something had changed. She couldn't deny it, although she didn't think anyone else had felt it. While being home had been fun, exciting and exhilarating, she couldn't help but feel that it was different. And that difference rested solely within her. She would always belong there, in Sleepyside, but the break she had willingly instigated had left its mark on all of them. Because of it, she had felt more like a visitor than a permanent member. She was curious to see how she would feel with an overly long vacation looming ahead of her.
Her thoughts brought her to a standstill. Ignorant of the people rushing past her on the busy sidewalk or the traffic zooming up and down the street, she focused on the next trip home. The Christmas holiday was only a few days away from beginning. It wouldn't be as hectic or as busy as the past one. There wasn't an open house to help with the second she got home or to assist with the clean-up right after it ended. There wouldn't be as short of a time limit on her vacation, either. It wouldn't be as easy, she knew that. This time home would be much more stressful. It could be summed up in one word: Jim. Her hands started to sweat. She balled them up at her sides, nervously and anxiously. He would be there, just as she had predicted. Honey had nonchalantly confirmed it during a sleep-over at Crabapple Farm the night before she had left. Obviously in deference to her and her feelings, he had only been mentioned briefly in passing. The few times his name had been brought up, every pair of eyes in the vicinity had swung to her. It left Trixie with the suspicious feeling that the Bob-Whites were keeping something from her, something important about Jim. When she had muttered her suspicions to Mart, he had surprised her by saying that if she wanted to find out what it was, she would have to talk to Jim. Her mind had immediately turned to a new girlfriend as the reason for all of the telling looks but she hadn't voiced that thought to anyone. If it were the case, she would prefer not knowing. It made it simpler. Even know, after nearly half a year away and without a single line of communication open between the two, her heart stumbled at the possibility.
Bumped from behind, Trixie was brought out of her reverie. She caught herself on the street lamp post before she tripped. She frowned after the rudeness of the culprit, started moving again, her head bowed and her eyes focused on the gray of the sidewalk. Sighing, she remembered the true purpose. Her huge paper, due in two days. That damn paper was saved on her thumb drive, which she had stupidly left in her computer at the agency yesterday. Inwardly groaning at her forgetfulness, frustrated with herself for making more work for herself, needless work, Trixie picked up the pace and trotted towards the agency.
As Trixie entered the quiet building, she waved to Linda and smiled in greeting. "Hi, Linda," she called out and walked over towards the window that was decorated for the upcoming holiday.
"I thought your semester here was finished, Trixie. Your last day was yesterday," Linda informed her with a chuckle, her eyes twinkling at the young woman. She reached over and flicked off the Christmas lights that decorated the outside of her window. Instantly, the room lost much of its luster from the strands of multi-colored lights. She followed it up by switching off her computer with a gleeful grin. One of her favorite perks about her job was the fact that the agency closed down for the holidays. She was given nearly a month off herself. "Do you miss us already?"
"I had a lot of fun here," Trixie replied easily. She helpfully walked over to the Christmas tree covered in lights, sparkly tinsel, and red and green velvet bows. She unplugged the lights. Looking over her shoulder, she shared, laughing at herself, "I spent a good portion of the morning tearing apart my apartment, looking for my thumb drive. I had to stop and go take my exam at one. During that test, I realized that I had left it in my computer here. Jocelyn gave me permission yesterday to use the computer to print out a copy of the report to proofread since my printer at home was out of ink. With the semester coming to an end, it's been difficult finding an open computer at the lab on campus. I came over here right after I turned my exam in."
Linda nodded in understanding. A regular employee of the agency for the past fifteen years, and completely in the dark about the true reason behind the agency's existence, she didn't suspect a thing about the many secrets contained within the building. She stood up from her chair and put her voluminous purse on her desk. "Almost everyone has left for the day, Trixie. As you can tell, I'm getting ready to leave myself. I have a few more things to see to and then I have a date with the mall!" she laughed delightedly, the red light bulb earring she wore dancing in her ears. "We're closing early for Christmas. Today is our last day. It's tradition for our agency. We always have a long holiday between Christmas and New Year's. We won't open back up until after the first of the year."
There it was again. Christmas. She couldn't escape it. It was a combination of heaven and hell for her. "I know, Linda," she responded, chasing away her own rampaging thoughts, and stared at the fascinating necklace around Linda's neck. Eight tiny reindeer were attached to it. All eight of them had red, blinking noses. It was difficult to look away from such a sight. "That's another reason why I need to get up to my office now. If I don't get my thumb drive out now, I'm sunk. I have to get it so I can make my corrections to my paper."
"Go to it, Trixie!" Linda answered gaily, waving in the direction of the stairwell. She picked up the few faxes she needed to send out before she left. "And a Merry Christmas to you!"
After repeating her best wishes for a happy holiday, Trixie hurried up the stairs. The offices were all eerily quiet and dark. No one seemed to be around. There wasn't a sound or a light on anywhere, except in the hallway. She noticed that Jocelyn's office was as dark as the others so she didn't stop by. Instead, she rushed down the hall to what was affectionately referred to as her office. Pushing open the door, she saw the computer that sat on a long table and breathed a huge sigh of relief. It was there. After competently extracting her thumb drive from it, she stared at the modern marvel in her hand with relief and then stuck it in the pocket of her faded blue jeans.
Used to the quiet, she jumped when a door opened down the hall, followed by the sounds of muffled voices. Chuckling inwardly at her nervous reaction, Trixie dropped her hand from her heart and listened closely. Recognizing Jocelyn's voice first, she quickly popped her head out of the doorway, a smile of greeting on her lips, and ready to call out to them. Then she froze. Absolutely, positively froze. Unable to move, she watched the small group in front of her in shades of deepening horror. Giving her head a tiny shake, she tried to clear her mind, to see if the sight in front of her was really real and not a figment of her overly active imagination. When the people didn't change, stayed exactly the way they were, she admitted how foolhardy the attempt was.
Her breath stuck in her throat. Trixie took the small group in, her eyes the widest blue they could be, and her face a pale, pale white. She saw everything. With her back to Trixie, Jocelyn was standing next to Max, laughing merrily at something Max had said. His arm was around her waist, keeping her a little closer to his body than he normally did within the confines of the building. It wasn't Max and Jocelyn who were causing such a strong reaction. It was the person with them that made Trixie's heart rate triple, in fear and in shock. He was the man who had robbed the coffee shop in the early fall. She recognized him beyond a shadow of a doubt. Same short blonde hair. Same dark brown eyes. Same scar on his forehead. And the same tattoo on his left wrist. What the hell was he doing with Jocelyn and Max? He was not only with them but he was apparently having a grand time with them, acting as if the three of them were the best of friends. She couldn't come up with a single, solitary reason why the three were together. It petrified her.
Carefully, so as not to call any attention to her presence, she inched back into the room, and waited until their footsteps faded down at the other end of the hallway. She heard a door close and then groaned, correctly guessing that they had to have entered Jocelyn's office. Trixie pressed her body back against the wall in her office and tried to puzzle out what she had seen. Other than the outrageous and unlikely idea that the thief had an identical twin, she couldn't come up with any other plausible reason for his presence in the agency. It was as clear as the water from a fresh mountain spring that the thief knew Max and Jocelyn. Judging from the ease of their conversation, he knew them extremely well. Unable to piece it all together, she could only come up with the idea that she did not like what she had seen, not one bit. It reeked of a mysterious happening. For once, she did not want to ferret out the answer to it. She only wanted to get out of the building without being scene by the group of three.
Making as little noise as possible, Trixie peered out into the hallway again. The only way out appeared to be the way she had come in, which meant she would have to walk down the hall and go past Jocelyn's office. The idea didn't have any merit, caused a sick ball of fear to curl up in her stomach. She didn't want to see them, not ever again, not when both Jocelyn and Max were quite comfortable hanging out with the person they had to know from her detailed description to be the robber of the coffee shop.
Since that exit was no good, she glanced at the way they had to have come from. Heidi's office, at the opposite end of the hall. She felt a small smile lift her lips. There was a back staircase that led downstairs from her office, a kind of a secret and unused way to get into and out of the building. It led to the back door that could be accessed from the parking lot. An odd memory of the mysterious man from the green sedan floated through her mind, the man she had ironically enough seen on the day of the robbery. Unable to shut off her mystery-oriented mind, Trixie couldn't help but wonder if he had something to do with the odd group down the hall.
Inwardly cursing out her need to figure out the mystery, even when she didn't truly want to know, Trixie got angry at herself. Telling herself that now was not the time to ask more questions or to attempt to find answers to the ones circulating through her mind, she stared down the opposite end of the hall, at Heidi's door. It was invitingly open. Needing action, Trixie didn't waste another second. On quiet, ever so quiet feet, feeling as if she was in some kind of a bad action movie where she didn't know her future lines or her next moves, she walked down the hall, her feet light and deliberate, and slipped into Heidi's office, without anyone seeing or hearing her.
Heidi, friendly, efficient, social Heidi, was not sitting at her desk. Trixie blew out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She didn't want to see anyone, not when she couldn't come up with one conceivable reason why two people she had come to like and trust would be consorting with a criminal who had been described to them by her. She paused in the doorway, stared at Heidi's empty chair, and wondered if she was aware of the mystifying situation. She hated to admit it but, considering the fact that Heidi and Jocelyn were close friends, it was more than a distinct possibility. It made her feel even more betrayed. On feet muffled by the carpet, she started to cross the room to the door that would lead her to the staircase and outside.
Three steps away from safety in the form of the back staircase, she heard a noise from the slightly opened door that belonged to the ever-elusive boss of the agency. Turning, her destination momentarily forgotten, she faced the door to his office, astonished for missing the fact that the door was actually opened and that someone was inside. Not just someone, but the man who was in charge of the agency. She had never met him, had never so much as seen him, and all questions she had ever posed to any member on the staff had been left half-answered or completely unanswered. She didn't even know his name. Intense curiosity warred with a strong desire to leave the premises. Caught between the two powerful emotions, uncertain which one to listen to, the internal debate raged on for the briefest of times before her curiosity won out.
Piercing blue eyes studied the door. She closed in on it, her steps sure and light, and in perfect tandem with her breathing. Reaching the door, Trixie kept her body off to the side, out of the line of sight from the slightly opened door, and listened, all attention focused on the person behind the door. Smooth, deep, and definitely male tones. They sounded vaguely familiar to her, like she should know them from somewhere, a blip on her memory. She couldn't make out what he was saying. He was talking way too low, way too quietly. She could only catch the jist of it. It bothered her that she couldn't put her finger on the identity. In deep concentration, momentarily forgetting that it would be best for her to leave the premises, Trixie took a brave step forward, trying to see what she could through the barest slice of room available through the crack in the door.
She wasn't given much warning at all. One small, not-quite silent footstep alerted her the second the fine hairs on the back of her neck started to rise. Back stiff, she managed to get in a sharp elbow to the person's stomach behind her and a small fist into the face before something collided with the side of her head and she crumpled into nothingness.
Nothing. Not a damn thing but black for what felt like the longest of times but was, in actuality, only a few minutes. The black gradually gave away to gray, the same way the silence became broken by the sounds of people. Lots of people. "I'm sorry. You know I am," a male voice said, sounding sincere, apologetic and the slightest bit harried. It came from somewhere far off in the distance.
Trixie heard it past a persistent throbbing on the side of her head, had a moment to think that it was an odd thing for someone to be saying, but couldn't place who it belonged to or even why someone should be saying it. Coming fully alert, she didn't open her eyes, kept her body still, while the memory of what had happened slammed into her. She had been in Heidi's office, only seconds away from finding out the elusive identity of the boss, when she had been assaulted from behind. That explained the painful ache. Her fingers itched to touch the bump, to find out how bad it was, but she didn't move, intent on playing possum. She wanted them to think she was unconscious. She needed them to think that while she began to take stock of where she was. Her body was stretched out on something comfortable, most likely a sofa, and her hands weren't tied. She flexed her fingers to make certain. And there wasn't a gag around her mouth or anything around her eyes. Satisfied she had taken care of her location and the state of her body, she was left with no other recourse but to listen in on their conversation with growing awareness.
Jocelyn. She heard Jocelyn next. Her mouth tilted downwards while the words Jocelyn said registered. It didn't make her feel any better to realize that Jocelyn knew the person who had assaulted her, as well as the thief from the shop. Her stomach clenched but Trixie focused hard on the words. She needed to collect as much information as she could, in order to help put together the larger picture, and hopefully extricate herself from the situation.
"I didn't know she was in the building," Jocelyn said, wondering how the young woman had managed to slip by them. Well-versed in Trixie's schedule, she was deeply chagrined to know that her charge had been inside the agency without her knowledge. Running a worried hand through her hair, she slid a glance towards Trixie and released an audible sigh.
Max slid his thumbs into the loops of his khakis, unaware that Trixie was listening to their every word. He gave the man standing next to him a playful shove. "After we found out that our girl had been rendered unconscious by super spy here, I checked with Linda downstairs before she left for home. Linda said that Trixie stopped in to retrieve her thumb drive from her office. She forgot it yesterday. Apparently she needs it for a paper that's due." Of all the blind, dumb luck, he thought to himself. It would figure that she would get caught spying on their boss. He rather wished he had set up a pool with their friends to guess how long it would have taken Trixie to figure out that everything wasn't on the up-and-up with the private investigative agency of Anderson, Donnelly and Christopher.
"That would explain her presence," Shane said, causing Trixie to bite back a gasp. She remembered it well. It belonged to whoever had robbed the coffee shop. Only it didn't sound as nefarious or evil as it had sounded then. It sounded…normal. "Now if only you had thought to ask her why she was in Heidi's office instead of knocking her out," he spoke accusingly.
The large man glared at Shane, his guilt written plainly across his face. He hadn't realized who the intruder had been. All he had seen was a stranger standing outside of their boss's room, obviously eavesdropping, and a potential threat. He did what he had been trained to do: he took her out. He wiped a small trace of blood from the edge of his lip, thought back to the fist she had given him. For an untrained person, she had managed to get in two pretty quick attacks. He respected that. "Come on, Shane. I didn't think. You would have done the same thing. All I saw was someone nosing around. I had no idea who it was. We've all been trained to take anyone out if we suspect that they are up to no good. She was only a foot away from entering his office."
"Enough of this," an authoritative voice declared, breaking into the confusion and the cacophony of voices. Trixie squeezed her eyes shut as a chair was pushed into a desk and someone came closer to the group surrounding her. She could visualize it perfectly in her mind. Whoever it was had been watching the proceedings, most likely analyzing them, and had to be the unknown boss of the organization. There was a moment of blinding insight while she placed the voice. Mr. Miller! She realized with a start of surprise she couldn't disguise. It was Mr. Miller, the man from the scholarship committee. She had talked to him on the phone numerous times. He had assisted with her move out to San Diego. She couldn't understand why he was at the agency. "It doesn't matter why. All that matters is now and what we are going to do about it." He spoke with the voice of experience.
Jocelyn glanced in Trixie's direction. "You're right," she mumbled, taking comfort from the feel of Max's hand within hers. She squeezed back, hating the fact that Trixie was going to find out about their agency before she had been emotionally and mentally prepared for it. There was also the nagging feeling of guilt, tinted with anxiety, surrounding her. She couldn't predict if Trixie was going to be able to understand or forgive her for her part in their collective duplicity. It worried her immensely.
"I'm always right," their boss answered with a trace of conceit. Then he added with an upraised eyebrow, gesturing towards their guest lying prone on the sofa, "If you four would stop carrying on this unnecessary conversation, you would have noticed that our guest has been awake and hiding it from you for the past five minutes."
Even with her eyes closed, Trixie felt the interested looks coming her way. Knowing she couldn't put it off any longer, she opened her eyes but stared downward, on the floor. All she saw were sneakers, shoes and the intricate pattern of the beige rug shot through with random pellets of a darker brown. The conversation stilled. The blasted red she despised flamed across her cheeks, chasing away the tan she had acquired. Slowly, she repositioned herself into a sitting position, moving cautiously in deference to her head, and kept her hands kept tightly into fists in her lap. She didn't lift her eyes, only stared at her fisted hands. She didn't want to lift her head or meet the faces of the others in front of her. She didn't say a word. Instead, she wondered what the others would say to her.
Jocelyn was the first. Understanding that Trixie was most likely feeling betrayed, hurt, and deeply confused, she quickly slipped down next to her on the sofa and attempted to take Trixie's hand in one of hers. She was not surprised when Trixie jerked back from her and stared at her like she was some kind of an object best left on under a microscope's lens but it still shook her. It had been expected but she wasn't prepared for it. It hurt. Her voice wavered when she started off by asking, deeply concerned and worried for her charge, "Are you feeling all right, Trixie? You took a hard hit back there." She reached out to study the bump hidden behind shoulder-length blonde curls but Trixie ducked away from her touch again.
"I didn't take a hard hit," she grumbled under her breath, her blue eyes swirling with an undeterminable amount of emotions. "Someone hit me," she corrected haughtily, giving her head a slight toss. If it wouldn't have been perceived as a sign of weakness, she would have scooted as far away from Jocelyn as she could. Trixie stared unseeingly at the large painting across the wall and missed the vibrant flash of remorse on Jocelyn's face.
"That would have been me," a male voice announced grimly. He grimaced when she whipped her face around to meet his. Smiling wanly, he ran a hand through his black hair and said sheepishly, "Hi, Trixie. I'm Adam. Sorry about your head. I wouldn't have knocked you out if I had realized who you were."
"That's…refreshing," Trixie murmured sarcastically, finding an odd satisfaction in seeing the dried blood on his bottom lip. At least she had made some kind of a mark on him. Her hand came up to touch the tender bump on the side of her head. Luckily it was under her hair. She doubted if anyone would be able to see it. The only way they would know it was there was to feel it. Although it didn't make any difference, she fleetingly wondered what he had hit her with.
Determinedly squashing any guilt that he felt, knowing that Jocelyn was feeling more than enough for the both of them, Max went with the only course available to him: humor. He chuckled lightly at her reply. Pointing at her head, he declared jokingly, "We don't have to make that many introductions, Trixie. You've already met Adam. Not with the best or most welcoming of introductions, I have to admit. You'll probably be feeling the effects of it for awhile. I will speak up for him, though. You should know that he is not in the habit of rendering someone unconscious as his first choice of greeting. He generally has better manners than that. You were the lucky one."
Trixie lifted her eyebrows, her confusion evident in her blue eyes. She nodded once. For some reason, she wasn't as intimidated by him as she usually was. She didn't feel exactly comfortable in his presence but, considering the fact that she had been knocked out and had recently seen him conversing with a known criminal, she was surprisingly relaxed. "Tell me about it," she answered dryly.
His face lit up with mirth. Nothing she could have said would have pleased him more. Max tapped Jocelyn on the shoulder, wanting to share his delight with Trixie's response with her, and then slid an arm around her. He could feel the tension in her shoulders and mentally promised Jocelyn a full massage when they had the opportunity. "Well, let me formally introduce you to another person you've been acquainted with, whether you wanted to be or not." He reached behind, drew the protesting man forward. "Trixie Belden, this is Shane. You may recall him from the coffee shop incident of a few months ago," he added with an absurd amount of good cheer, as if the incident hadn't been a robbery that Trixie had witnessed firsthand.
Suddenly more bewildered than frightened, Trixie stared at Shane, who mumbled an incoherent greeting at her that she couldn't decipher. Shaking her head, her gaze swung to an obviously embarrassed Adam, a highly amused Max and finally ending back at Jocelyn, who was wringing her hands with a flushed face and wouldn't meet Trixie's eyes. The epitome of guilt. Having experienced the feeling more times than she cared to count in her life, Trixie recognized it immediately. Her curiosity went on red alert while she wondered why Jocelyn seemed to be the most upset out of them all. Left with nothing else to say, she muttered, lines of worry wrinkling her forehead, "What the hell going on here?" For the first time she understood that it was something much more complex than her mind could ever dream up or her legendary bloodhound nose could sniff out.
"Why don't the rest of you leave us alone?" That same efficient, authoritative voice said from behind. She had forgotten all about him, hadn't even realized that he had left his position by his desk and had moved behind them. Trixie glanced in his direction. He was at the window, staring out over the ocean, with his back to them. The voice stirred up more memories other than their phone conversations from the summer but Trixie couldn't match it to the right ones.
As one, the four immediately started to leave. Jocelyn was the last. She leaned down and whispered quickly, her words for Trixie alone, "You'll understand soon, Trixie. It'll be fine. There's nothing for you to worry about. Truly, there's not. You're safe here. I'll talk to you later and answer any questions you may have then." She inhaled deeply and added nervously, "Don't hate me, okay?" Before Trixie could answer, she was gone, leaving her in the room with a complete stranger.
If Jocelyn's words were meant to appease, it didn't work. It had the opposite effect instead. Warily, even more worried than she had been before, Trixie inched forward onto the edge of the cushions. Her feet nervously tapped on the carpet. Her hands were clasped together tightly. And her face, her ever expressive face, was an open canvass. It carried every single strong emotion for anyone to see. As the seconds ticked by, she waited on the sofa for the elusive boss to start his explanation to her. Her head continued to ache. She rubbed at it and then saw a large hand holding out two aspirin and a bottle of water to her. Flinching away, she didn't accept it.
He wasn't surprised. She didn't have any reason to trust him or anyone else that had been in the room. "It's okay, Trixie," he assured her soothingly and put the items down on an end table. He came around to the front of the sofa, let her get a good, long look at him, and then watched her closely. He knew to the second when she recognized him. "You can trust me. You already have, if you remember correctly."
"You're Chief Ogilvie!" Trixie stared at him in absolute disbelief, recalling, him immediately from the time the Bob-Whites helped him discover gun smugglers along the Mississippi River. He looked older. The lines on his face had deepened. His hair had started to gray at the temples. His eyes…they were more business-like than she remembered. And they had hardened during the four years since she had seen him last. Or maybe they had always been hard and he hadn't allowed anyone to see it. Either way, it didn't matter. She hadn't known who he really was, that much was certain.
"Yes," he confirmed, a slow smile spreading across his face. It wasn't warm and friendly but it did soften his features a bit. He ran a finger along the name plate on his desk, which read 'Chief Leighton N. Ogilvie.'
She drew back, her head tilted to the side, and spoke without thinking, "What are you doing here? This isn't the Secret Service. It's a private investigative agency. Why are you here?"
Pushing aside the nameplate, he set a hip down on his desk and looked at her. "We should probably start at the beginning. I wasn't working for the Secret Service when I met you in Missouri, Trixie," he informed her, ready to start the explanation she was demanding, and overlooking her question about his presence at the agency.
"Yes, you were." Trixie wanted to get up and move but something about him made her stay very still, on the sofa. If she thought being around Max had been intimidating, she was wrong. Chief Ogilvie was far worse. "I remember it perfectly. You were the chief of the St. Louis division of the Secret Service. I was there. The Bob-Whites were there. We saw your building. We were questioned in your building. We saw you and talked to you, numerous times."
"I did present myself as a member of the Secret Service, Trixie." He shook his head and picked up a pen. Twirling it through his fingers, he started ticking off the answers to her questions. "It was a pretense. I was only posing as a Secret Service agent, as were the rest of my agents with me. It is true that I was there working on the case for Diego Martinez, aka Pierre Lontard. I was leading the group of agents that were searching for him and for the guns he was hoping to smuggle into South America. But I wasn't working for them. At that point in time, the Secret Service was our cover, our front, for our true agency, which is much more powerful and far-reaching than any agency you may be aware of."
"You're not making any sense to me," burst out of befuddled Trixie before she could stop herself. She remembered it all perfectly, the exciting Bob-White adventure on the Mississippi, but what he was saying to her was about as clear as the muddy river water. She shook her head sharply, forgetting the throbbing ache, and winced. Since the aspirin looked tempting, she gave in and swallowed them. "You're not. I don't understand any of this."
He held up his hand to halt the torrent of questions ready to come his way. "Wait, Trixie. Let me explain. I understand your confusion. I'll do my best to clear it up for you." He laid the pen down, stared at her, and started at the beginning, "I work for a secret agency, not the Secret Service. In fact, our agents are not allowed to talk of the true nature of their work in the outside world. They take on other jobs as covers. For instance, Jocelyn and Max technically work for the Anderson, Donnelly and Christopher Agency. That's what the tax man thinks. However, they are much more than mere private investigators. We are a secret. Few people even know about our existence. Those that have an inkling about us think we are more of a myth than an actuality."
Myth? Secret agency? Jobs as covers? Raising a quivering hand to her forehead, she wondered if she had been hit harder on the head than she had originally thought. "What are you talking about?" Trixie couldn't keep the questions down. She frowned at him, feeling the urge to bolt out of the room and get away as far and as fast as her legs could carry her.
He was losing her, could practically feel it, but didn't let it show. It wasn't the way he wanted to make the proposition to her. He had hoped she would have had at least two years under her belt at CU and that she would have become used to being away from her family. Since it wasn't an option, he went with what he had. The truth and, for the first time ever when he recruited a potential agent, he prayed that it was enough. He wanted her. She had the potential to be one of their best ever. With an outward calm, he continued, "Our agency. We don't have to answer to anyone, other than ourselves, of course. We take on assignments anywhere that is needed. Our jurisdiction isn't relegated to one small corner of the globe. It is the entire world. We're very powerful and are able to supersede any law enforcement agency at any given time, including the Secret Service, the FBI, the CIA and Interpol. You name it, we have done it, and then some."
Pursing her lips together, Trixie ran a hand through her rioting curls. She stayed where she was and tried again to get an answer that she could hold onto. "I know who you are but who are you?"
"CDA," Chief Ogilvie answered proudly, his mouth set in a thin, straight line. "We're the CDA."
"That doesn't…" Then she paused, remembering the tattoo she had seen on Shane's left wrist as he took on the role of a robber. She had seen the first two letters, small and italicized, in his tattoo. "CDA," she murmured to herself in a blinding flash of insight. He had turned his wrist over before she had read the A but it made sense, in a unique sort of way.
"Criminal Defense Agency," he clarified for her, his words ringing with a conviction she couldn't deny. "We were originally intended to be a reactive agency, to step in after a crime was committed and track the perpetrators down to deal with them as we saw fit, but we have evolved in the years since our creation. We're not strictly defense anymore. We are extremely proactive and search out any way possible that we can to take out the criminals in the world. We're the good guys, Trixie. We're the ones who go after the bad guys without a second thought." And without a mound of red tape or even the long arm of the law standing in-between them. They had the power to do anything they wanted, to right the wrong as they saw fit.
It didn't make a lick of sense to her. Her face reflected her confusion. She couldn't wrap her mind around the fact that Chief Ogilvie wasn't who he had pretended to be, all those years ago, or that the private investigative agency as she knew it to be was something quite different. "I'm so confused," she admitted lowly.
"It is a lot to take in." He steepled his fingers under his chin, understanding her confusion. Attempting to make it clearer for her, he continued his explanation, "We are covert, as I said, and we are the very best. We search out criminals, hunt them down, capture them or dispose of them, and all without the nightmares of bureaucratical red tape. We can handle anything, anywhere, at anytime, without the thought of possible repercussions afterwards. Free reign, Trixie. We have it and we utilize it to the best of our abilities. Our jurisdiction is the entire world. And we answer to no one else. There isn't a higher agency than ours, Trixie. We are the top." There was an arrogance to him that led credence to the astonishing information he was giving her.
She couldn't help but note how he referred to it. Ours. We. While she was in a state somewhere beyond confused, a small part of her was flattered by the fact that he included her in on it. She worked hard to crush that part of her. She didn't believe that she wanted to be a part of it. It sounded too far-fetched and certainly too dangerous for her own liking. "The top? What do you do?"
One lip curled up in a portrait of arrogance. "We do what you like to do, Trixie. Nothing more; nothing less. We investigate. We search out clues. We take care of the bad guys. It's as simple as that. The best is that we get to do it without answering to anyone. At all. There aren't any Sergeant Molinsons waiting in the wings, ready to lecture us after it is all said and done," he added, wanting to bring in a little levity into the discussion and to make a connection to her own life.
Under any other circumstances, from any other person, she would have laughed. As it was, she wasn't absolutely certain if she believed him. It bothered her that he knew about Sergeant Molinson. On the tip of the tongue to ask him why he knew something important about her personal life, she bit it back. "If I were my brother Mart, I could come up with some really impressive word to describe what you're telling me. All I can think of is that this sounds like a television show or a kids' Saturday morning cartoon," she murmured quietly.
"It is hard to believe that what I am telling you is the truth. I know. I understand your dilemma. That's one of the reasons why I hoped to invite you in later, when you were older and had more experience here." He shook his head and sighed. There wasn't anything he could do about it now except try to explain it to her and bring her in. Her curiosity had done her in, as surely as Adam's quick reaction to her presence.
"Invite me in?" She felt like she was parroting everything he said back at him. It made her feel stupid, young, and very, very naive. "What do you mean by that?'
He didn't hesitate. His words rang true with conviction, hoping that she would hear how much they wanted her to work for them. "We want you, Beatrix Belden. We want you to join us, to become an agent for the CDA. We want to train you and then set you loose on all of the criminals in the world." She had the makings of an amazing agent, if only she would agree to it.
"You want me, little Trixie Belden from Sleepyside, to become some kind of a super secret agent?" Her spark of laughter was tinged with a desperate mixture of hysteria and disbelief. "You've got to be kidding me. Sergeant Molinson, as you just said, wouldn't even consider me for a summer internship this past year at our police station. There's no way you can be serious. Why on earth would you want me to join your organization?"
"Your Sergeant Molinson is a good police officer but he is rather shortsighted," Chief Ogilvie replied, straight-faced. "He never acknowledged the truth of your potential, even after you gift-wrapped criminal after criminal for him. He hardly had to lift a finger while you solved countless of Sleepyside's problems for him. You were remarkable."
"Ah…thank you, I guess." The need to get up couldn't be contained any longer. She shot out of her seat and started pacing the carpet, nervous over the fact that he knew so much about her life.
He watched her, could practically feel the energy that she needed to burn off. "Basically, you need to know that we have had our eye on you for a long time. I, as well as my agents, were very impressed with you when we worked together in Missouri." He started to tick off some of the important things she had done. "Your doggedness caught my attention. You managed to find the map that was key to our operation. You outwitted Lontard, as well as my well-trained agents, and you were even instrumental in saving your life and that of your friend when you were kidnapped. If you hadn't pushed that key under the doorway, I doubt if you would have been found alive. Yes, Trixie. I was impressed with you and your ingenuity. We've followed your progress carefully ever since. The list of successful arrests kept right on growing. That is why we want you to consider joining our agency. No," he corrected himself hastily. "That's not right. We don't want you to consider joining us. We want you to do it. We want you to be our next agent."
Her blue eyes widened as it sank in. They wanted her. They really wanted her. She rubbed her head, felt the bump one of the agents had given her, and, for one of the first times in her life, stepped back cautiously from the unknown. "I'm not really certain about all of this," she admitted, inching her way towards the door. "It's just too fantastic for me to believe."
"No. I can see that." He kept his hands at his side, wished he could take back the blow that had knocked her out. He didn't need to chastise his agent Adam for it. The man was already doing enough of it on his own. "You would be a valuable asset to our organization."
Her head was spinning on information overload. There was one important piece of information she needed to know about. "And the scholarship to California University, the summer job here, as well as my practicum placement…" Trixie's voice trailed off into a hush as the magnitude of what had happened hit her full on, with the force of a Mack truck.
He interrupted her, calmly, soothingly, prepared for the next line of questioning. "It was all part of our plan. When you applied for the scholarship, we made the decision to offer you two options: the standard one and the full ride to California University. We wanted you out here but we couldn't force you to come to San Diego. You had to make the choice on your own. I was ecstatic when you called the scholarship committee over the summer and accepted the full scholarship. We wanted to start training you as a potential agent for the CDA as soon as possible, even without your knowledge or acceptance."
"Training me?" She remembered the incident in the coffee shop and shuddered in remembered fear. Covering her hand over her mouth in astonishment, she declared lowly, "The coffee shop. The robbery there. That was planned, wasn't it? It was planned for my benefit." It wasn't a question but a statement of truth. She waited, watching him out of huge blue eyes, for his answer.
"Yes." Walking over to the window, he gazed out over the ocean and gave her a few minutes to let it sink in but didn't tell her about the other tests. He figured she was smart enough to discover that they had intentionally planted the 'criminal' for her to find, both in the files and also in San Diego, and that they had placed the wallet on the beach, with only the barest amount of clues in it to see if Trixie could track down the owner. All were plans to see how she reacted to different situations. She had passed all three of them with flying colors. "Agents have to be able to handle themselves under all types of strenuous situations. They have to be ready for the unexpected. If they aren't, they could get seriously hurt or die."
Good Lord, it was beyond anything she had ever imagined. She took another step towards the door, this one larger and more forceful. "I, ah, I think I'd like to go home," she mumbled weakly, unable to make her voice as strong as she wanted it to. When referring to home, she wasn't certain if she meant her apartment or Crabapple Farm. All she knew was that she wanted out of his office and now.
"In a minute." He followed her slowly, trying not to make her think he was stalking her and damned the fates for throwing them together now. It was blatantly obvious that she wasn't ready to hear what he was sharing with her. If anything, she was getting ready to run, as far and as fast as she could. He made a mental note to get in touch with Jocelyn, to have her act as damage control. When he reached her, he put his hands into his pockets and waited until she brought her eyes up to meet his. "This is a fabulous opportunity, Trixie. Not everyone is cut out to work for the CDA. We only recruit the best. The best," he reiterated strongly. "That's you, Trixie. You will be the best. I've seen it in you. So has Max and Jocelyn. It's rough and needs some fine-tuning but it is definitely there. You would make a superior agent, if you decide to join us."
"Yeah, well…hmmm." She didn't know how to respond and blushed ferociously at the compliment.
"You need to take some time, to consider the opportunity," he told her softly. Going gentle wasn't his strength. He, as well as the majority of agents under his thumb, much preferred action over words. He reached out and opened the door for her, showing her that he was willingly letting her go and that she had nothing to fear from him.
"I don't know what to think or even how to react. This is insane. I can't help but feel like it's being forced on me," Trixie admitted in a quiet voice.
A quick chuckle rolled up and out of him. It softened his face, made him appear to be not quite as authoritative and commanding as before. "No, it's not. I can assure you of that. You have free choice here, Trixie. No pressure…well, maybe a little," he admitted with another chortle. "But we won't force you into anything you do not want to do. If you decide not to join us, we will not pursue you. I promise you that. The decision is, ultimately, yours."
Her mouth opened and closed but not a sound squeaked out. She wasn't certain what she was going to say. She knew without a doubt that she wasn't about to agree to his proposition and, yet, the no didn't tumble off of her lips like she thought it should have. More than perplexed, she had been hit with too much information all at once and couldn't complete a rational thought, let alone offer a satisfactory answer.
He read her face without any difficulty. Pure and vivid confusion. Offering her time to think about her decision wasn't his first choice; he wanted an answer then and there. It wasn't to be, not yet, and he had to go with the hand he had been dealt. "Take your time. Think about it. Really think about it," he stressed again and grabbed a pen and a post-it note from his desk. After hastily scribbling down a phone number, he offered her the note and pressed it into her hand when she stared at it blankly and didn't reach for it right away. "You can get in touch with me through this phone number. It's private. You can let me know your decision after the holiday."
The number written on the fluorescent green piece of paper stared back at her. Trixie unconsciously folded it into fours and slipped it into the front pocket of her jeans, her fingers brushing over her thumb drive. She couldn't help but wish that she hadn't left her thumb drive at the agency. As far as she was concerned, it would have been better for her to remain ignorant. "Thanks, Chief Ogilvie. I guess," she mumbled as an after-thought and took a large step through the door.
"One more thing." He waited until she turned back to him, one foot in the office and the other in the hallway. She wanted to bolt. His lips curved up at the ends in resignation. "I want to stress to you again that the CDA is secret. You can't talk of it to anyone, Trixie. Not your friends or your family. This has to be between you and the agency and it has to remain between you and the agency. There is no other option. It's for everyone's safety; you, your friends, your family, and for the agents here." He stared her down, hoping that he had impressed upon here the importance of keeping the secret to herself, and to not share it with her close friends and family.
Looking dazed, she mustered up enough energy for a curt nod of acknowledgement and slipped the entire way through the door, almost expecting him to haul her back in for more of the crazy conversation. He didn't. He let her go. She glanced back over her shoulder when the door closed, blocking him from her view. Her eyes swung around to encompass the entire small outer-office. Having suspected that any number of the members of the quartet from before would be awaiting her outside the office, she was shocked to find it empty. There wasn't anyone waiting to accost her, to keep her in the agency, or to try and talk more with her. Her confidence grew as she walked down the hall and then practically flew down the stairs, towards the front door. Again, no one stepped out to talk to her. She didn't look back but rushed for the front door and the safety of the air outside, completely missing the two sets of concerned eyes watching her flight from Linda's deserted desk.
A flick of the wrist, a push of the front door, and she was out. Taking one large relieved breath of fresh air, she hurried away, letting the door close behind her. Her feet ate up the sidewalk, without even a backward glance at the small building, into the approaching evening. Going to her apartment wasn't an option. She knew that Jocelyn would find her there. Instead, she veered off the street and rushed towards the place where she could hopefully be alone: the beach. When she reached it, Trixie slowly sank down onto the sand. Dropping her flushed face in her hands, Trixie didn't know what to think or do. Her thoughts were too varied and jumbled. She couldn't grasp the fact that she had been recruited to join an agency she had never even known existed. It went beyond her comprehension. She imagined if she closed her eyes tight enough, she would be able to block it all out. It didn't work. When her cell phone let out a merry chirp, her head snapped back. Trembling fingers pulled it out of her pocket. Taking the time to actually look at the caller id, she exhaled a breath she hadn't even known she was holding and answered the phone, hoping she sounded normal and not like a deranged lunatic.