The San Diego Chronicles: The Lonsdale Files, #2

By Will Mullin

BOOK 2 OF THE LONSDALE FILES

 

Aidan Lonsdale has achieved the impossible—an internship as an investigator for the FBI. He begins his first day on the job expecting to work cases that involve murders and conspiracies. Instead, he's stuck looking into white-collar crimes.

Then the body of a rising star in the California justice system is found on Ocean Beach. Now Aidan has the case he was dreaming about. But, as he digs deeper, he finds himself ensnared in a larger mystery. One darker and more dangerous than anything he could have imagined.

A mystery that will push both him and his skills to their absolute limits.


Perfect for fans of the Dalton Savage mystery series by L.T. Ryan.

NOTE: Contains strong language, alcohol use, some violence, and a scene of torture.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Will Mullin
• Release date: Sep 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223014409

Will Mullin

Everything you need to know about Will can be summed up in the Four B's: Bond, beaches, buds and brews. (Interchangeable order.) He also loves his family and traveling, even though those don't start with B.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Oh, no...

What's going on here?!

L-listen! This isn't what it looks like.

"You think I'm an idiot? This is exactly what it looks like!"

Okay, just calm down and let me explain...

Save your breath. I can tell what's going on, and I'm going to put a stop to it right now.

A suppressed pistol was drawn.

First there was a gasp.

And then there was a muted gunshot.

CHAPTER 1

"Delighted! Absolutely de-lighted! It is a pleasure to meet you all!"

If the anxiety of his first morning at a new internship didn't keep Aidan alert enough, that boisterous introduction certainly woke him up.   

My name is Garrett Martinsen. I am the Special Agent in Charge here in San Diego. And, on behalf of all the tremendous men and women who work with me, welcome to the Federal Bureau of Investigation!

Those last seven words made the situation sink in for Aidan. He was in San Diego, about to begin an internship with the country's top domestic law enforcement agency. It just didn’t seem real.

On both sides of Aidan, there were almost two dozen other young men and women. They stood almost like they were at attention as Martinsen greeted them in the lobby of the FBI's San Diego office.

I know this is an exciting day for you all, continued the SAC. And, believe it or not, this is an exciting day for us, too. For all I know, I could be talking to a future Director of this great agency. But regardless of whether you will be with us for four months or four decades, I know you will do both me and our country proud.

Aidan was already tensing up. Between the first day nerves, being all by himself thousands of miles from home, the fact he was about to start an internship with the freaking FBI, and the SAC's sky-high expectations, Aidan started wondering if this whole endeavor had been a huge mistake.

No, he assured himself. You’ll be fine. Everyone else is just as nervous as you are.

SAC Martinsen approached the intern furthest on his left: a young woman who, like Aidan, was in her early 20s. She had dark skin and shoulder-length black hair. Your name, Miss?

Natasha Bradley, sir, she said, effortlessly coming off as polite and friendly.

Ms. Bradley! Damascus, Arkansas, yes?

Yes, sir.

You're here to work in our forensics department?

Yes, sir.

Tremendous! Martinsen gave her a vigorous handshake before moving on to the next intern: a tall, tan-skinned man with very short dark hair. He may have been the oldest of the new interns. Your name, sir?   

McDonald, sir.

Brandon McDonald? From Brownings, Indiana? Served four years in the National Guard out of high school?

Yes, sir.

Delighted, and thank you for your service! I have no doubt you will flourish in security.

Had Martinsen memorized the names and bios of all the new interns? Didn't the top dog of the FBI's San Diego office have more important things to fret over?

Martinsen went down the line, acquainting himself one-by-one with the young men and women who’d be lending their talents in security, investigations, languages, forensics, intelligence, and computers for the next four months. Then he reached Aidan. Your name, sir?

Just talk normal. Aidan Lonsdale, sir.

The young man from St. Ciaran's?

Yes, sir. Did that mean Martinsen already knew what Aidan had done to earn this internship?

Maybe he did, because there was a twinkle of pride in Martinsen's bespectacled eyes. Delighted to meet you, Mr. Lonsdale. Another firm handshake followed. Then Martinsen continued down the line, and Aidan could breathe again.

Now that Aidan's nerves had calmed a little, he could actually focus on the Special Agent in Charge. Martinsen looked like a hybrid of a literature professor and a bouncer. The man wore glasses and had short brown hair styled into a somewhat sloppy comb-over. He was no doubt overweight, but probably not in any way that was seriously unhealthy. Aidan would bet there was a lot of muscle hiding under the buildup of middle-aged fat.

When the SAC completed the last of the introductions with his new interns, he stood in front of a wall of wooden panels where the builders had affixed a massive version of the agency's seal. Now, since you're all standing here, that means you have a good head on your shoulders. Nevertheless, it is my obligation to remind you to be extremely judicious with whom you associate. We deal with unspeakable volumes of sensitive, highly-classified material. Leaking any of it, regardless of the circumstances, is an exceptionally serious crime and will be treated as such. No exceptions. Do I make myself clear?

Everyone, including Aidan, said, Yes, sir, with varying degrees of force.

If you use your position in any way to curry favor, to intimidate, or to otherwise gain advantages in any matter, you will disgrace yourself and this agency and I will personally ensure you are prosecuted to the fullest extent the law will allow. Do I make myself clear?

Yes, sir, everyone repeated. Aidan wondered if it would be best to lock himself in his cell of an apartment and not talk to anyone outside of work until his internship was over.

I know I won't have problems with any of you, Martinsen said, softening his tone a very little. Have you all received your assignments?

"Yes, sir."

You know where to go and to whom you're reporting?   

"Yes, sir."

Then why are you all standing here, looking at me? Start serving your country!

The interns disbursed, filling the lobby with the clacking of expensive shoes hurrying over the large floor tiles.

Aidan quadruple-checked the pertinent information on his phone. He was to report to Special Agent Sara Medina, third floor, investigations.

He had a lot of anxious energy to burn off, so he took the stairs instead of the elevator. Every time he passed the window to a conference room or office, he stared into it. He wasn't being nosy; he was studying his reflection. This was his last chance to make himself look presentable to his new supervisor.

Despite the faint amounts of sweat that had seeped through his forehead, his dark, short, stylistically messy hair hadn't grown limp. Nor did it come off as sloppy bedhead. His black suit and tie fit him well, but did nothing to hide his skinny frame. Putting on a suit hadn't boosted his confidence. If anything, it only made him feel like a little kid playing grown-up. Had he been wearing more casual clothes, everyone in the building would have probably thought he was a high schooler who’d slipped through security.

When Aidan reached floor three, he followed the signs until he came to the investigations suite. He entered and saw an organized maze of desks, all of which featured computers and monitors well out of his personal price range.

Aidan scanned the cubicles, trying to discern who looked the least busy. He settled on a tall woman with dark hair and a slightly wrinkled face. She was in the middle of writing a text.

Excuse me? After catching her attention, he asked, Do you know where I'd find Special Agent Medina?

She pointed to a corner office. In there.

Aidan thanked her and headed for the office. Despite the nerves, there was an unmissable spring in his step...until he saw the name plate on the door.

SARA MEDINA

SPECIAL AGENT FALSIFICATION OF FINANCIAL INFORMATION

Financial information? There must have been some mistake...

Sitting at the office’s desk, poring over dozens of pages, was a woman of Hispanic heritage with long dark hair beginning to turn gray. She was lost in her work, licking her fingers and turning pages with an almost aggressive flair.

Aidan knocked on the open door.   

The woman glanced upwards, blatantly asking herself, 'Who is this kid and what is he doing in my office?’

Special Agent Medina? Aidan presumed.

Yes?

I'm Aidan Lonsdale? Your new intern?

You're Aidan?

Yeah. I mean, yes, ma'am.

She waved that off. Oh, you can call me Sara. Grab a seat.

Aidan planted himself in the office chair across from her desk. As he sat down, he reminded himself to undo the one button he'd fastened on his new black suit. Any mistakes on his first day—even a minor fashion flub—would tarnish him for the whole internship.

So. Agent Medina folded her hands on the desk. You're here to be an investigator?

Y-yeah.

Something wrong?

No, no. I just kind of wasn't expecting to be stuck with financial crimes. He regretted that word choice immediately.

Agent Medina smiled, to Aidan's relief. What, did you think we'd send a 21 year-old out to infiltrate the mob on his first day?

Aidan smirked bashfully. "Maybe not anything that crazy..."

Don't worry. Chasing down white-collar criminals can get pretty intense. Do you know who Manuel Torres is?

I don't think so.

He's the congressional representative of California's 51st district. We're looking into possible finance violations his campaign may have committed during the last election.

Well, doesn't that sound fucking thrilling.

Are you familiar with campaign finance laws? she asked.

Not really.

Well, there's your first assignment. Here. Agent Medina reached under her desk and grabbed a laptop that had probably been manufactured before Aidan could legally drive. Someone had taped a strip of paper to the back of the monitor, where they'd typed the login name and password for guest users. Start with the rules for donating to campaigns.

Sure thing, Agent Medi—I mean, Sara. One last question: where do I sit?

Oh. She pointed into the common area outside of her office. In the next room, you'll see an empty desk in the back corner.

Got it. He slightly raised the hand with his 'new' laptop. I'll start studying those laws.

As Aidan was about to leave the office, another man appeared in the doorway and nearly collided with him.

Whoa! the man exclaimed in a heavy smoker's voice.

Sorry, Aidan said out of habit. He noticed the overbearing smell of cigarettes before he got a good look at the guy.

The man was very overweight and just cleared the six-foot mark. Judging by the deep wrinkles, thick bags under his eyes, and graying hair, it was hard to believe he hadn't passed the mandatory retirement age of 57. He pointed at Aidan with his thumb and asked Sara, Who's the kid?

He's my new intern, she answered.

The man grinned at Aidan. They've got you working campaign finance cases, huh?

Sounds like it, Aidan said, trying to hide his disappointment.

Well, in that case, let me give you some insight into the world you're about to enter. You know how people in Congress decide which laws to pass?

Aidan didn't see how that could be relevant. But, for the sake of a good first impression, he would let the man pontificate. How's that?

When somebody wants a bill passed, they hire a lobbyist. The lobbyist goes to a lawmaker and tells them the bill they want the lawmaker to vote yes on. Then he says to the lawmaker, 'Oh, by the way, I happen to have money in one hand and some really good booze in the other. Which do you like more?' And since this is California, do you know what the lawmaker says?

What?

The lawmaker says, 'Both.' The man paused, expecting Aidan to laugh. "The goods switch hands and the lobbyist asks if the lawmaker will vote for the bill; the lawmaker says, 'I'll think about it. Come back to me in twelve months.' Twelve months pass, the lobbyist comes back with more money, more booze. Again, the lawmaker takes both. The lobbyist asks, 'Will you vote for the bill now?' The lawmaker says, 'I'm leaning towards yes. Come back to me in twelve months.'"   

That...kind of sounds like bribery.

It's not bribery, the man assured him. It's the job description for them and job security for us.

Was this guy trying to dispirit Aidan before his internship even started?

The man peered over at Agent Medina. And how did Sam do this weekend?

She gave him an exasperated look that may or may not have also been amused. Get a load of this. We were already running late, and just as we're about to leave Sam tells me, 'Mom! I can't find my stick.'

He lost his stick? said the man.

Right?! I told him, 'You'd better find it. I'm not letting you tell Coach you lost it.' You know where it was?

Where?

It was already in the car.

You're kidding.

"We turned the whole freaking house upside down looking for it, until he finally remembered he'd packed it the night before."

Sounds like he's gotten into one too many fights on the ice.

Oh, I told him he's never throwing a punch. He's bigger than most of the other kids. If he breaks someone's nose, their parents are going to sue us for all we're worth. Agent Medina must have then remembered her new intern was still standing there like a dope. Aidan, have you met Mark?

I have now, said Aidan.    

The man extended his large, firm hand. Special Agent Mark Morgan, he said with an air of self-importance. "Hey, word of warning about Sara: she's very good at telling people when they've screwed up."

My husband's given me lots of practice, she said.

Aidan hated it when people higher on the food chain made jokes at each other's expense. He never knew how to react.

I think Aidan's after your job, Agent Medina said to Morgan. The first thing he asked was if he could work any big homicide cases.

Aidan had to interject. "That is not the first thing I sa... He did a double take at Special Agent Morgan. Wait, you work homicides?"

Yup, said Morgan.

It stunned Aidan how much superiority the guy packed into that one tiny word. Still, talking with a homicide detective in the FBI was too good of an opportunity to pass up. Are you working any cases now?

"Always got a homicide to look into. Right now I'm working the Prosecutor Edwards case."

I'm actually from the other side of the country, Aidan said. So I don't know about a lot of the cold cases from around here.

It's not a cold case. He was only killed last night. Speaking of which, I should get back to my desk. I've got a conference call with the Prosecutor’s Office and Chief Garcia.

Okay, Mr. Big Shot.

Catch you later, Sara. Special Agent Morgan sauntered out of her office, whistling as he returned to his own workstation.

Aidan looked back at Agent Medina just in time to see her rolling her eyes.

You understand your assignment? she asked, as if Aidan hadn’t caught her showing that passive-aggression.

Yes, ma'am—I mean, Sara.

Great. Start reading up on those rules, Aidan! And if you have any questions, feel free to come see me.

Will do. The moment Aidan's back was to her, he could let his guard fall. He made the same face he did whenever he got assigned a new lousy book in English class.

Why did Agent Medina laugh him off for saying he wanted to work on crimes with higher stakes? Hadn't he kind of earned that? Didn't she know he was the guy who'd unmasked a major drug dealer and a bomber at his ex-alma mater? Going from solving crimes like that, to looking into the maybe illegitimate campaign donations for an obscure congressman, was one fuck of a downgrade.

His frustration amplified when he sat down at the small corner desk Agent Medina had assigned to him. Unlike the actual employees, who sat at sleek, L-shaped desks with dividers and drawers, his was an ugly pile of wood that looked stolen from a dorm room. There he was, out in the open for everyone to look at: the little intern, sitting all by himself at his crappy desk with an old-as-dirt laptop. God help anyone who had the balls to ask him to make coffee or copies.

After planting himself in that small, well-worn office chair, Aidan stared out the nearest window. Due to how the building's exterior looked like a neat pile of shiny blue glass rectangles stacked on top of each other, he had plenty of vantage points.

As far as he could tell, there wasn't a cloud in the sky. In fact, ever since he’d arrived in San Diego a week and a half ago, only one day hadn't been sunny. All the palm trees were perfectly still. A short way’s north of the office was Solana Beach. If his best friend had gotten this internship instead, the guy would probably quit on day one to spend the whole semester at Solana working on his tan and meeting girls.

Facing west, Aidan saw glimpses of the uneven, vegetated terrain of the Torrey Pines State Natural Reserve. That was just the sort of place where his girlfriend would love to decompress after a long day. He always thought those long, scenic walks were boring. But, for maybe the first time ever, he really wanted to go on one with her right now.

Sighing, he opened the laptop and pressed the power button.

As the machine came to life, a sternly-worded message popped up that warned him not to use the laptop for anything other than official business. For extra intimidation, the message included the exact law statutes he would have been violating if he goofed off on the computer.

Aidan typed in the credentials taped to the back of the laptop. He hit Enter and waited while the little ring of circles spun around in the center of the screen.

It was official. His semester at the FBI had begun.

*              *              *  

Aidan stepped out of the building and exhaled in relief.

He'd done it. He’d survived his first shift at the FBI. Granted, it had comprised of almost nothing but reading PDFs about campaign finance laws. Things could only get harder from here. Still, it was over.

One day down, a hundred thirty-two to go.    

Aidan began the journey to his bus stop, unable to believe he was still in the same country as the one where he'd grown up. Nor could he believe he was walking around after dusk in January without a coat. The low 50s were the perfect temperature for him. He found the cool air comfortable and refreshing. The same couldn't be said for the locals, who were largely wearing jackets and stuffing their hands into their pockets. Aidan felt entitled to at least a little smugness over that.

Then again, those same locals—the majority of whom were within fifteen years of his age—went about their business with all the urgency of someone casually checking social media. There were no fast walkers. No one was brusquely passing slower pedestrians or having stressful phone calls. Some escapees from the loony bin were enjoying conversations with strangers. Aidan still couldn't get over how, on his second day in the city, he'd spotted a guy walking in the middle of a side road, completely oblivious to the car he was holding up behind him. When the dumbass pedestrian finally realized he was in someone's way and hopped onto the sidewalk, the driver carried on as if she hadn't been inconvenienced. If Aidan had been in that pedestrian's position back home in New England, the driver probably would've decapitated him in three seconds. 

As he walked, Aidan stared at the orange sky over Vista Sorrento Parkway. After a lifetime of seeing mostly dull gray and brick buildings in cities, he found San Diego's sleek, bright edifices borderline exotic.

Since no one walking behind him would mind if he slowed down, he checked the time on his phone. It was 5:07. There was more than enough time to grab a bus back to his apartment, change, and eat a quick dinner before his three-way call at 7:00. Thinking about that call had helped him push through all the stress, aggravation, confusion, and tedium that came with the first day of his internship.  

Aidan loosened the dark tie around his neck and draped his suit’s jacket over his shoulder. He was already thinking about how great it would feel to throw on some comfortable clothes once he got home.   

Hey, sir?  

And there it was: Aidan's first encounter in the city with a homeless person. Seeing as how the homeless in San Diego were about as common as folks walking around with a surfboard, it was only a matter of time before one of them petitioned Aidan for charity.

Judging by his somewhat wrinkled face and graying scruff, the homeless man was probably in his late-thirties to mid-forties. His eyes were defeated and bloodshot. Since he had on a ski hat, Aidan couldn't determine the color or length of the man’s hair. He was wearing a patchy, smelly brown coat.    

You got any change? asked the man.   

Aidan's instincts told him to keep walking. But then he thought about the best person he'd ever met. What would she tell him to do? 

Forcing some kindness in his voice, Aidan handed the man a dollar from his wallet. Here you go.    

The man took the money with no excitement. You got any more? I can't buy much with just a dollar.    

Hey! Instead of bitching how a dollar won't get you far, why don't you say 'thank you'? I need the rest for the bus.    

Don't you have any money on your PRONTO card?  

Aidan ignored him and kept heading towards the station.  

A few minutes later, the red and white Metropolitan Transit System bus arrived. His mom had let him borrow her car for the cross-country trip, but Aidan still wanted to take the bus until he got familiar with the city. He boarded along with six other people and chose a seat near the back. When the loud bus began crawling into motion, Aidan yawned and rested his head against the window.

No matter how many times he'd assured himself his first day at the internship would turn out alright, he'd still been fretting over it. What if he humiliated himself? What if he didn't like his colleagues? What if they didn't like him? What if the work was more miserable and draining than he'd expected?    

But none of that happened. He reported to where he was supposed to go and apparently said all the right things to all the right people.

Still, this was the furthest he'd ever been from home. His closest friends were in different time zones, and his parents' house was no longer a manageable drive away.  

For the first time in his life, Aidan was truly on his own.  

CHAPTER 2

The video call began and Aidan let out a joyous, "Hey!"

Feed from two other computers split his laptop's screen in half. One of the webcams gave Aidan an occasionally glitchy but crystal-clear image of his girlfriend, Ashley Meier. The other half of the screen was taken up by his best friend of thirteen years, Rob Dunne.

"My man!" said Rob.

You liking Spain so far? asked Aidan.

"Dude. It is amazing here. Even though Rob was in a dark room, Aidan could tell from the glow of his friend's laptop that Rob was lying in bed. Judging by how Rob was pressed against some pillows and appeared to be naked from the waist-up, he must have already turned in for the night and was only staying awake for this call. The streets are clean, the food's awesome, the people are wicked nice, the weather's always warm..."

"You sure we're not keeping you up too late? Ashley interrupted. The white cinder blocks behind her made it look like she was inside a prison cell rather than a college dormitory. Isn't it 3:00 in the morning for you?"

"It's actually 4:00," Rob said.

"You sure that's not too late?" Ashley asked.

"Positive. People over here are out until, like, six."

Six...at night? asked Aidan.

"Nope. Had they not been surrogate brothers for almost a decade and a half, the 'look how awesome my life is' smile on Rob's chiseled face would've made Aidan want to slug him. I’ve already been out until 6:30 in the morning, like, twice this week."

Ashley shook her head. "Ever wish you were a history major, Aidan?"

I know. It must be nice, getting to take an entire semester off.

"Hey, man, I still have plenty to keep me busy." Rob's tone carried a hint of genuine indignation.

Really, said Aidan. What's a typical night of homework look like for you?

"A typical night? Well, first, after not going to class, I look at the readings online. Then I get through two paragraphs, say 'Screw this,' and find something fun to do instead."

Ashley was still shaking her head.

Well, sorry you're not liking Spain, Aidan said.

"Yeah, I totally hate it, Rob played along. And what about you, Mr. FBI? How was the first day of your internship?"

It was good, Aidan said.

The glow went out of Rob's and Ashley's expressions. Aidan had never been the best liar.

"You sure, man?" asked Rob.    

"Y-yeah. Like, don't get me wrong, it wasn't amazing. They're not sending me out to hostage negotiations or—"

Aidan jumped when a door in his apartment’s hallway slammed open. A moment later, that obnoxious group of neighbors stepped into the hall while half-drunkenly roaring. Thanks to the paper-thin walls, he could hear what they were saying almost as clearly as if he were part of the group. Those animals sounded quieter as they got closer to the building’s exit, before they stepped outside and the shouting mercifully died out altogether.

At least Aidan would now get a few hours of peace.

"What the hell was that?" asked Rob.

Aidan groaned. It's the frigging sailors.

"Sailors?" asked Ashley.

Yeah. San Diego’s a huge Navy city. And since this apartment is dirt cheap, a bunch of sailors live here.

"Sounds like a fun place," Rob said.  

Not when they come barging into the building drunk off their asses at three in the morning, it isn’t.

"Do they wake you up?" asked Ashley.

Every goddamn night. I can literally feel the vibrations from their footsteps when I'm in bed.

"Speaking of your bed...! There was desperation in Ashley's voice. Can we see the rest of your apartment?"

Bless her. She was trying to find something else to talk about before Aidan gave himself an aneurysm. "Honestly, there’s not a whole lot to see. He scooted his desk chair away from the webcam, allowing them a view of the full-sized bed behind him. There's where I sleep. He tilted his laptop to the left. My kitchenette's over there. Then he pointed in the general direction of the door. And my bathroom's over there."

"Looks cozy, said Ashley. That was certainly one way of putting it. And how are the people at your internship?"   

Haven't really gotten to know them yet. The guy in charge is kind of a nut, though.

"You mean, your boss?" asked Ashley.

No, she's fine. I'm talking about the Special Agent in Charge.

"Nice to know the Feds have people like that in leadership," said Rob.

"How’s he a nut?" asked Ashley.

"He's just got a lot of energy. Like, you know the Tasmanian Devil from Looney Tunes?"

Rob lightly smiled. "Yeah."

Think that, except it's a middle-aged dude with a mustache. I guess he does a lot of crazy races—

"You mean, marathons?" Rob interrupted.

Yeah, I think he does at least one of those every year. He's also completed a Spartan Trifecta. I'm pretty sure he's done an Iron Man Triathlon in seven states.

Aidan learned those details about Martinsen from his new colleagues. One of the first things most of them asked was if he'd met the SAC yet. When he said he had, they used that as an excuse to tell Aidan some of the more fascinating things they'd heard about Martinsen. If the workplace stories were to be trusted, Martinsen had boxed in college and knocked out five opponents during his career. He'd gotten lost on an African safari and found his way back by following the stars. And when an unlucky burglar chose Martinsen's house to raid, the SAC disarmed the thief with his bare hands and then forced him to walk six miles in the dead of night all the way to the police station. It was kind of impressive how so many people found the boss to be such an irresistible topic of conversation.

"You should take lessons from him, Aid, Rob said, his tone straddling the line between supportive and needling. Maybe he can finally help you to grow some muscle."

Ha, ha. Aidan hated it when people drew attention to how skinny he was, and Rob knew that.

"You actually should! Ashley said. If you do end up with a career in the FBI, you're probably going to get into a few scary situations. It would help if you knew how to defend yourself."

If I'm working for the FBI, Ash, I'm sure I'll receive plenty of training. So don't worry.

"Aidan, you're my boyfriend. I can't help—"

Roberto?

All three of them fell silent. Who said that?

Rob squeezed his eyes shut. He looked both proud and sheepish at the same time.

A young woman intruded into their video call by lying down in the bed next to him.

Aidan's jaw dropped. Whoever that woman was, she was stunning. Bronze skin, shiny black hair, minimal body fat, white teeth, and dark brown eyes. Due to the fact she was wearing only black lingerie, Aidan immediately noticed how well endowed she was. She wouldn't have looked out of place in the videos Aidan watched on nights when he was bored or lonely.

"Roberto, said the woman, con quién estás hablando?"

Algunos amigos de los Estados Unidos, Clelia, Rob replied.    

Aidan and Ashley looked at each other's video feed. Neither of them seemed to know whether they should have been amused or confounded.

The woman, whose name was evidently Clelia, suspiciously pointed to one part of Rob's screen. Quien es esa chica?

Es Ashley.

Ella no es tu novia, verdad?

No, no! He pointed to the side of the screen that Clelia wasn't staring at. Ella es la novia de Aidan.

Quien es Aidan?

Mi mejor amigo.

Oh, Clelia said. Then, relieved, she began sensually rubbing Rob's chest. Cuanto tiempo mas vas a hablar con ellos?

Unos minutos.

Clelia started speaking Spanish at a rate that made it impossible for Aidan's untrained ear to discern when one word ended and the next began. But whatever she was saying, it sounded impatient and a little whiny. As their conversation in Spanish continued, Clelia gently brushed her hand through Rob's thick blond hair.

With an unapologetic smirk, Rob looked back into his webcam. "Sorry, guys. I've got to cut this a little short."

We could've picked a different night when you weren't so 'busy,' Aidan grumbled. Finding a time when all three of them could talk had been an ordeal. He'd have been lying if he said he wasn't a little irked Rob couldn't forgo the women for just these forty-five minutes.

"Vamos a hablar—I mean, we'll talk some other time, Aid. Promise."

Totally not the point.

Rob gave them a two-finger salute. Buenas noches! Then his video cut out.

For a few seconds, Aidan didn't know what to say. Judging by her lack of a response, neither did Ashley. They stared at each other, and slowly they both let out some awkward chortles.

"Guess he's been practicing his Spanish," Ashley said.

I wish he was here. Lots of Spanish speakers in San Diego.

"I’ll bet. It's just north of the border, right?"

Yeah, it is. Nice geography skills you got there, Ash.

She pretended to laugh. "So, how's the weather over there?"

It's awesome. Every day has been in the 60s.

"I'm so jealous. I think we had a high of, like, 25 today."

That sucks.

"Yeah. Plus, I had to spend a lot of it in the laboratory, and you know how low we have to keep the temperature there."

I certainly do. You can't escape the cold!

Ashley let out another fake laugh. That led to a quick, somewhat awkward lull in the conversation.

But Aidan didn't mind. It gave him a chance to really look at his girlfriend. Being away from her almost made him forget how beautiful she was: shining, long blond hair, an infectious smile, and soft green eyes that were sweet, cute, and compassionate. Sure, she may have carried just a tad too much weight to be an underwear model, but she looked better like that, anyway. Seeing bones under skin was not attractive.

They'd been dating for two years, and Aidan still couldn't believe how lucky he’d gotten. He could admit he'd punched above his weight with Ashley both physically and personality-wise. Speaking of the lab: you doing any cool experiments?

"Not unless you're a fan of cellular phosphorylation or gluconeogenesis."

Alright, you can stop trying to impress me with all your fancy science-y words.

There were some more polite giggles from Ashley. But it didn't take long for her to get serious again. "You are liking San Diego. Right?"

You think I'm not?

"I don't know. There's just something in your voice that—"

It's great here. I mean, yeah, I miss you and everyone else back home, but I'll be back before you know it.

"I know you will."

How's Alice doing?

"She's good, said Ashley. Her tone screamed 'I know you don't actually care how my roommate is.' We don't really see each other a lot."

No?

"My classes and lab work go well into the night, and she likes to be done by 2:30."

Aidan couldn't blame her. He would've liked to call it a day that early, as well. He doubted his internship would allow it even once.

"Something pretty funny actually happened last weekend," Ashley said.

What's that?

"So, one of the people in my building was throwing an 80s-themed party. 'Total Eclipse of the Heart' came on..." Mentioning that song doomed Aidan to hear it in his head for the rest of the night. "...and this one guy jumped on the coffee table while screaming along to it. Then the table broke from under him."

What an idiot.

"The room's owner was not a happy camper."

I’ll bet.

That little story paved the way for Aidan to have the conversation with Ashley that he actually wanted. No more of the obligatory 'it's freezing back home!' and 'everything's great in San Diego!' BS they'd been forcing. Ashley could now complain about some of her own neighbors, like the ones who—probably while drunk— blocked an elevator with common area furniture and subsequently got everyone in the building fined because of it. Then Aidan could talk about how much he was experimenting with beers that were unavailable in the northeast. The IPAs out in San Diego didn't hold a candle to the ones from back home, but the region did boast some astonishingly good fruity brews.

Eventually Ashley let out a telling yawn.

Aidan looked at the clock on his computer and realized it was almost 8:30. That had been, by far, the fastest hour and a half since he’d arrived in San Diego. Getting tired, Ash?

"A little."     

Go to bed.

"Don't you tell me what to do!"

Alright, he conceded. Let's schedule another one of these calls soon. Maybe we can convince Romeo over in Barcelona to spend more than ten minutes talking to us.

"We can hope."

Love you, Ash.  

"I love you, too, Aidan."     

Goodnight.

"Goodnight."

Since Ashley was never comfortable ending a conversation, Aidan had to be the one to hit the hang-up button.

For the ninety minutes he'd been talking with Ashley, Aidan was the happiest he’d been since he began that epic cross-country drive three weeks ago. Now, with the call over, those feelings of joy had dissipated.  The quiet that now hung over his apartment was suffocating. He almost felt like the silence was going out of its way to remind him how lonely his apartment was. It was his own little prison, and everybody who mattered to him was much too far away to spring him.

His desktop’s wallpaper made Aidan's heart ache even more. It was a photo of him and Ashley from last summer. The two of them were giving their cheeriest smiles to the camera while putting their arms around each other. They had been hiking the Lonesome Lake Trail in New Hampshire when they stopped for the photo. The one who snapped the moment was Rob.

Aidan closed his laptop.

Now what was there to do? It would be a long time before his body even entertained the idea of sleep. Then, once he did turn in, he could look forward to crashing on an old, well-used mattress that probably wasn't comfortable even when it came off the assembly line. The sailors would wake him up when they came storming back into the complex at two or three in the morning. If he somehow got back to sleep after that, he’d have to get up at 6:00 to battle the San Diego traffic, just to spend eight hours studying boring campaign finance laws at an internship he wasn't sure he liked. At all.

That was his future for the next four months.    

What he wouldn't have given to go back to that summer afternoon in New Hampshire. 

CHAPTER 3

Aidan had been laying on his side for almost three minutes when he realized he wasn’t getting comfortable. He rolled over to his other side, but that made no difference.  

He checked his phone. It was 11:36pm, and he was as awake now as he'd been when reporting to his first shift at the FBI's office almost sixteen hours earlier.

Aidan lay on his back for a little while, and then looked at his phone again. 11:38. Two minutes closer to the end of his internship.   

Now that his phone was out, Aidan figured he might as well use it. That would be counterproductive for trying to get shut-eye, but he wasn’t going to fall asleep soon, anyway.   

Despite his better judgment, Aidan opened the photos app.    

One picture depicted him and Rob building a snowman back home around New Years'. They may have been juniors in college, but in that photo they both had the boyish joy of elementary schoolers. Another photo depicted the same snowman, but with the carrot-nose moved to a more 'anatomically correct' position while Rob pointed dramatically at it. They both looked so happy, as if those fun and carefree times would last forever. In ten days, the two longtime best friends would be six thousand miles apart.

Aidan then scrolled through a crap ton of selfies featuring him and Ashley. Some were silly, and others were disarmingly sweet. The occasional photo even showed them kissing. The pictures had been taken in various locations: at each other's schools and houses, on a beach, in the woods, at an amusement park, in a car, or in the middle of a walk.    

His heart grew heavier with each swipe. Looking at those photos to numb his longing for Ashley was akin to quenching his thirst by drinking ocean water.

Aidan eventually set his phone down and stared up at the ceiling. His eyes began readjusting to the darkness. Soon, he could faintly make out the interior of the glorified box that was his new living space. He’d hated this apartment from the moment he stepped inside of it, and those feelings had only grown with each solitary, sleepless night. He wished he could just skip the next sixteen weeks and be back in his own bed, within driving distance of those who mattered most to him.

If that was asking too much, he would’ve been cool with skipping the next eight hours instead. Even though he didn't love his internship, doing something productive sounded way better than tossing and turning all evening.

Aidan peered towards his closet. The sliding door was open. He could make out his black suit resting on one of the few coat hangers.   

Screw it, he decided. I'm not going to sleep, anyway.

*              *              *  

"Ah! Another victim of midnight ambition!"    

Aidan jumped and turned his head.    

Special Agent in Charge Garrett Martinsen was standing on the other side of the investigations office suite. The SAC’s toothless smile was ambiguous. He could've been proud to see Aidan working at 1:30 in the morning, or he could have been anticipating the trouble Aidan was about to be in for showing up unannounced in the dead of night.    

S-should I not be here right now, sir? Sitting all alone in a strange new building made Aidan feel particularly vulnerable.   

That depends entirely on what you’re doing. Please step away from your laptop without touching anything.    

Aidan rose from the chair and stepped backwards several paces. He even raised his hands halfway to shoulder-level. 

Martinsen strolled over to the small desk. When he was close enough, the SAC peered at the laptop's screen for maybe a full second. Ah. You were working.

Is that okay?

"Of course it's okay! You'll never hear me criticize someone for coming in after hours."

Speaking of after hours, what was Martinsen doing in the office? He had on a wedding ring, so he must have had a family. Why wasn't he home with them?

"Now, if you were playing computer games or watching videos, then we'd have a problem, Martinsen continued. But doing work? By all means, keep at it!"

So I'm not in trouble?

Certainly not. In fact, I think coming here right now is the best decision you could've made.

Why? So I could get a jump on my stuff for tomorrow?    

No. So you can take your mind off whatever it is that's causing you mental anguish.

How did you...?

Surely you didn't think I made Special Agent in Charge because of my charming personality, did you? Martinsen let out a loud, boastful laugh that rang throughout the otherwise abandoned office. Come now, Lonsdale! You're a young man in a new city with endless opportunities for nightlife ventures. And, instead of exploring and meeting people, you're coming in to work mere hours after the conclusion of what I'm sure was already a very tiring and confusing first day. I can only fathom you're here because you find the idea of more work to be preferable to whatever was transpiring in your personal life.

Aidan was barely able to follow what the SAC said, which only made it awkward as Martinsen stared at him. It looked like the SAC was wondering, ‘So? Was I right?’   

When Aidan still didn't say anything, Martinsen kept talking. Of course, what you do in your off-time is none of my business, so long as it doesn't interfere with your job. But if you would like to discuss what's on your mind, I would gladly lend an ear.    

Aidan got excited, but only for a moment. Nothing's wrong.    

"I'd rather you stay tight-lipped because you don't want to talk about it—not because you do want to talk, but are afraid that doing so will reflect poorly on your masculinity."    

Is this guy really that perceptive? Or am I just that much of an open book? 

Are you sure you don't want to tell me what's going on, Mr. Lonsdale?

One minute ago, the thought of confiding to the top federal law enforcement official in San Diego would have been unthinkable. And yet, with a few words, Martinsen had summed up Aidan's mindset, identified why Aidan was unwilling to talk, and picked apart that rationale before Aidan even realized Martinsen was doing it. How many times had the SAC done something similar with an uncooperative witness or suspect?    

Aidan crossed his arms and faced the nearest wall. It's just been a long couple of days.

You miss your family and friends back home?

...Yeah.

I could tell.

Aidan's head sank.

There's no shame in being homesick, Mr. Lonsdale. Martinsen's tone had, at some point, transitioned from boisterous to compassionate. "Our men and women in uniform are the bravest, strongest people you will ever meet, and I can't tell you how many times I've seen them get misty-eyed as they're about to deploy. Don't worry. Everyone overcomes that sadness. Some people may overcome it more quickly than others, but everyone overcomes it. It's in our nature as mammals to adapt, challenging as it might be."

Does this guy like the sound of his own voice, or what? I know I'll get over it, sir. But right now it's pretty tough.

I understand. Not that I need to tell you this, but, when you get home, Ashley will be waiting for you with open arms.

That caught Aidan’s attention. How do you know about my girlfriend?

Ah! I used a game-changing resource that allows us to monitor the lives and activities of hundreds of millions: social media.

Aidan rolled his eyes. Should've guessed.    

Don't take it personally. We check the accounts of all our applicants. That way we won't hire, say, a man foolish enough to post pictures of himself doing body shots off a young lady who's made some questionable life choices herself.

Did an applicant really post a photo like that?

Oh, yes. I told the mail carrier that if the applicant had my rejection letter within the hour, I would call the postmaster general and recommend a pay raise.

Had Martinsen been serious when he made that deal with the mail carrier? Aidan honestly couldn't tell.

Regardless, I understand how trying it is to be separated from the one you love. There was the slightest glimmer of melancholy in Martinsen's voice. But remember, Lonsdale: The black dog always barks loudest at the idle.

Say what?

Focus on your work, and it will be summer again before you realize it. You and Ashley will have all the time in the world to hike the mountains of New Hampshire.

How do you know about our hikes?

I told you: social media.

But...

Personally, I have a great fondness for Livermore Falls. The cliff-jumping there is superb.

I thought I set my profiles to private!

You did. But your special lady didn't.    

Aidan's face reddened. Please tell me he didn't see the photos of us dressed as Thing One and Thing Two at Halloween last year.

I'm glad I was born when I was, Martinsen boasted. I could be a little hellion at your age without someone documenting it for the world to see.

The SAC as a kid. If he had this level of energy in his 40s at 1:30 in the morning after a sixteen-hour workday, Aidan could only imagine the guy in his youth.

Now, enough chit chat, Martinsen said. What were you looking at before I interrupted you?

Oh. I was just brushing up on some campaign finance laws. I looked a little stupid earlier when Agent Medina asked if I knew anything about them.

You're a smart young man to avoid her bad side. I have nothing but the utmost respect for her, but, my goodness, can she be loud.

You're one to talk.

But I doubt she'll give you any trouble. And if she does, you know where to find me. Have you met any of your other colleagues?

Well, I met Mark.

Mark...?

Morgan.

Ah. What did you think of him?

What was Aidan supposed to say? That the guy had an ego the size of a presidential candidate’s? He seemed cool.

Martinsen dipped his head while smirking at Aidan.

I-I haven’t really gotten to know him, Aidan continued, now flustered. So, I'm not sure how I feel about him one way or the other.  

You do know that lying to the FBI is a crime, Mr. Lonsdale?  

Was this a test? Did Martinsen want to assess how gossipy Aidan was? How much Aidan trusted his gut? How easily he caved to pressure?

I, myself, find him something of an acquired taste, said Martinsen. Was the SAC being honest? Or was that another attempt at getting Aidan to spill his guts, for some reason?

Thinking of a great compromise, Aidan said, The only problem I really had with the guy was his breath.

You must have encountered him right after he had one of his quote-unquote ‘health shakes.’ I don’t understand how anyone in their right mind can believe broccoli and spinach belong in a smoothie.

Unless he stuck a carton’s worth of cigarettes in the blender, I don’t think it was the smoothie that made his breath stink.

Martinsen slowly raised his head. Behind those glasses, his eyes became so focused that it looked like he was reading something on the undersides of the lenses.

Sir? asked Aidan.

Forgive me, Lonsdale. I needed a moment to understand what you were saying. I thought you were actually suggesting he sprinkled tobacco into that concoction. I suppose that’s a sign I’ve exhausted my mental faculties enough for one day.

O-oh. After a long pause, Aidan said, Would you like me to go home, too?

If that is what you wish. Martinsen gave him two pats on the shoulder. Keep up the good work, Lonsdale. Then he power-walked out of the room.

With Martinsen suddenly gone, Aidan felt like he’d been at a rave when the music cut out and the lights came back on. The boundless life and energy in the room had just vanished.

He reverted his attention to the laptop. The long, dry list of campaign contribution laws was still filling up the screen, and the side bar made it clear he hadn't even come close to scrolling through the whole document.

This night was going to suck.

CHAPTER 4

Hey, I finished looking over those campaign contribution forms. Aidan was holding his desk phone up to his ear in one hand and three sheets of paper in the other. The trio of pages were some of the dozens on his desk containing the names of individuals and organizations that had donated to Congressman Torres's most recent campaign.

"Did you find anything?" asked Agent Medina.     

Maybe. People can only donate $2,700 per candidate, right?     

"That's right."

Yes! He was learning. That must have impressed Agent Medina at least a little. "Well, I'm looking at this one donor who spent fifty-four hundred. And the guy in question is actually Torres's brother-in-law, who works for the Coca-Cola Company."

"...Okay?"

So, I looked over Torres's voting records... He was showing initiative! ...and about six months ago he voted against a bill that would've put a limit on how big the soda cups could be at fast food restaurants.

"What's that got to do with anything?"

W-well, I was thinking. What if the bill was passed and they put a limit on the size of soda cups? Then Torres's brother-in-law might've worried he'd lose money from not being able to sell as much soda to those fast food places as maybe he would've wanted. And to make sure Torres was still in power to vote against the soda limit bill, his brother-in-law could've, uh, you know, paid him more money. For his campaign.

That theory sounded so much better in his head.

After a tense pause, Agent Medina asked, "Didn't Torres have another Democrat running for the same seat during the last election?"

Aidan scoured his brain. Congressman Torres was the focus of his investigation, so Aidan must have checked whether or not the guy had a challenger in the primaries, right? Right? "Uh...I don't think so."

"No, I'm pretty sure he did."

Ah. Well, why would that matter?

"I thought you said you've been reading the campaign finance laws." 

I have!

"Then you should know how someone can donate $2,700 for the primaries, and then another $2,700 for the general election."

Aidan did some quick math. If Torres had to compete in both the primaries and the general election, then it would have been perfectly legal for his brother-in-law to donate $2,700 both times. And 2,700 times two was...5,400. Ah.

"It's okay, Agent Medina said, though her tone was far from reassuring. Just keep digging. You might want to look over those laws again."

I will. Thanks. Aidan slammed the desk phone back on its hook. How’d he make so many mistakes in a thirty-second call?

He could have attributed those blunders to only getting two hours of sleep after knocking out on an office couch at 4:00 in the morning. Or he could've claimed it was impossible to be all there because of his nagging homesickness. And then there was the classic excuse: It's only my first week!

But Aidan knew the real reason he'd made those mistakes. He simply couldn't bring himself to care.     

When he accepted this internship, he imagined himself working the kinds of cases the FBI were always cracking in movies and on TV. Murders. Terror plots. Conspiracies. He didn't think he'd signed up for investigations into campaign finance law violations. God help him, he was actually kind of missing those hellish final weeks during his brief enrollment at St. Ciaran's College. That December may have aged him ten years, but at least he felt alive back then.

Sighing, Aidan started re-reading the thick packet of laws he'd printed off the internet. In the following sixty seconds, he almost nodded off three times. Five more minutes of looking at that dense, dry, never-ending word vomit of legalese, and he'd collapse at his desk.

He groaned when his phone started ringing. What now? His annoyance turned to panic when he saw three ominous letters on the incoming caller display: SAC. Aidan rushed to pick up the phone. Good morning, sir!     

"Come to my office." *Click*

Is there... That was all he had time to say before Martinsen had hung up.

Aidan bolted to the nearest elevator. He pressed his key card to it, and eventually the doors opened. He rode to the top floor and dashed to the executive suite. After navigating the maze of desks, he reached the pair of large wooden doors leading into Martinsen's office. At the desk closest to the doors was Martinsen's executive assistant. She was a short, middle-aged woman with a stern face, short black hair, and a weight that fell somewhere between thin and rail thin. According to the nameplate, her name was Kate Curry.

Can I help you? she asked.     

I was told the Special Agent in Charge wanted to see me?     

Your name?     

Aidan Lonsdale.     

Like a reflex, Kate dialed Martinsen's extension with the speaker phone turned on.

He picked up right away. "Yes?"

Aidan Lonsdale's here to see you.

"Tremendous! Send him in." *Click*

Kate walked around her desk to the large wooden doors. With impossibly swift movements she took out a key, inserted it into the lock, turned it, and pushed the door open.     

Thanks, Aidan said. He walked into the SAC's office, and for several moments he couldn't move.    

The room was so massive he would've needed to take a panorama if he wanted to capture the entire thing in one photo. The light gray carpet was impeccably vacuumed. An elliptical machine in the corner faced a mounted flatscreen. Near the elliptical were some heavy-looking dumbbells. On Martinsen's large L-shaped mahogany desk, there was a control panel with more buttons and functions than Aidan could count. Across the desk, there was a cream-colored sofa with fat, firm cushions. Numerous decorations were on the wall, including several photographs of Martinsen with high-level politicians, law enforcement officials, leaders in the military, and judges. But nothing caught Aidan’s attention more than the two mounted heads on the wall—one of a deer, and another of a moose.

Come on in, Mr. Lonsdale!

Aidan snapped back into reality.

Take a seat next to Agent Morgan.

Somehow, it had escaped Aidan's notice that Mark Morgan had been sitting in the center of the sofa with one leg resting on top of his knee. His arms were spread out as much as possible, and he kept them that way even as Aidan followed the SAC's instructions to sit.

Martinsen walked over to his two subordinates on the couch. The pair of you have met already, if memory serves me right.

It does, said Aidan.

Tremendous! Then perhaps you know Agent Morgan is one of our top homicide investigators?

Morgan nodded with a cocky half-smile.

He told me that, affirmed Aidan.

Did you know I've assigned him to investigate the shooting of a prosecutor named Mitchell Edwards?

He mentioned that case to me, said Aidan. But I don't think I heard it was a shooting.

Well, now you know! And that means you can help Agent Morgan investigate it.

Aidan and Agent Morgan exclaimed "What?" at the same time.

Martinsen grinned at their shock. He must not have told Morgan the purpose of this meeting, either.

Agent Morgan was on his feet in a flash. "Sir, with all due respect, Aidan's just an intern. I think a case like this is a little