Exposed Read Free Page B

years their senior. So it wasn’t calories that affected his choice.
    Maggie glanced down at herself. In many ways she had modeled her appearance after her boss. Creased trousers, a copper-colored suit that complemented her auburn hair and brown eyes but didn’t distract or draw attention, a lock-n-load stance that conveyed confidence.
    Sometimes she knew she overcompensated a bit. Old habits were hard to break. Ten years ago when Maggie made the transformation from forensic fellow to special agent her survival depended on her ability to blend in as much as possible with her male counterparts. No-nonsense hairstyle, very little makeup, tailored suits, but nothing formfitting. Of course, the FBI wasn’t an agency that punished attractive women, but Maggie knew it certainly wasn’t one that rewarded them, either.
    Lately, however, she had noticed her suits were hanging a bit loosely on her. Not necessarily a result of that overcompensation, but perhaps from simple stress. Since July she had pushed her workout routine, going from a two-mile run to a three-mile then four, now five. Sometimes her legs cramped up, but she continued to push it. A few sore muscles were worth a clear head. That’s what she told herself.
    It wasn’t all about stress, but rather an accumulation of things that had fogged up her mind the last several months. She had a logjam of files on her desk and one file in particular, a case from July, kept creeping back to the top of her stack: an unsolved murder in a restroom at Chicago’s O’Hare International Airport. A priest stabbed through the heart. A priest named Father Michael Keller who had taken up plenty of space in Maggie’s head for too many years.
    Keller had been one of six priests who had been suspected of molesting young boys. Within four months all six priests had been murdered, all with the same MO. In July, Keller’s murder was the last. Maggie knew for a fact that the killer had stopped killing, had promised to stop for good. Maggie told herself that if you make deals with killers you can’t expect to keep a clear head.
    That was the dark side of the fog. On the bright, or at least the flip side of the fog, there was something—or rather someone else who preoccupied too much of her mind. Someone named Nick Morrelli.
    She snatched a chocolate-frosted doughnut out from under Cunningham and took a bite.
    “Tully usually beats me to the chocolate ones,” she said when Cunningham raised an eyebrow at her. But then he nodded as if that was explanation enough.
    “By the way, where is he?” she asked. “He has court in an hour.”
    Normally she didn’t keep tabs on her partner but if Tully wasn’t there to testify then she would get stuck doing it, and for once she was taking off early. She actually had weekend plans. She and Detective Julia Racine had scheduled another road trip to Connecticut. Julia to see her father and Maggie to see a certain forensic anthropologist named Adam Bonzado, who showed some hope of taking Maggie’s mind off the e-mails, the voice messages, the flowers and cards that a very persistent Nick Morrelli had been showering her with for the last five weeks.
    “Court date’s been changed,” Cunningham said and Maggie had almost forgotten what they were talking about. It must have registered on her face, because Cunningham continued, “Tully had a family situation he needed to take care of.”
    Cunningham finally decided on a glazed cruller. Still examining the box’s contents, he added, “You know how it is when kids get to be teenagers.”
    Maggie nodded, but actually she didn’t know. Her family obligations extended as far as a white Labrador retriever named Harvey who was quite happy with two daily feedings, plenty of ear rubs and a place at the foot of her queen-size bed. Later this afternoon he’d be sprawled out and drooling on the leather backseat of Julia Racine’s Saab, happy to be included.
    She found herself wondering what Cunningham knew.