Playing with Fire by Tamara Morgan Page A

spine.

Chapter Ten
    Ian sat across the desk from Agent Harding, doing his best to keep talking, keep explaining, keep the momentum.
    Paulina Harding was the agent the Converted Office sent out every time they wanted to remind him of his place in the hierarchy of People Who Matter. She was crafted like a wax sculpture, perfectly bland and smooth on the exterior, completely devoid of humanity on the interior. Ian was pretty sure her job description was to listen, nod, take notes, and make all the right soothing sounds.
    And then completely dismiss everything the second he left.
    She shuffled a stack of papers against her desk and shot him that bland smile. “We’ll look into it, Mr. Jones. We can’t thank you enough for the tip.”
    There was an invisible barrier of professionalism and authority around her, but he didn’t care. He reached across the table and grabbed her wrist.
    “Would you slow down and listen to me for once? You and I both know you wouldn’t be positioned in this middle-of-nowhere town unless you were keeping an eye on something. I’m telling you—that something? It’s General Eagle.”
    She looked down at her wrist and back up again, her meaning clear. Ian squeezed harder.
    “You were the one who alerted us to the Fireball’s activities in the first place, Mr. Jones,” she said coolly, using both hands to disentangle herself. “How many of your crackpot theories do you expect us to throw our resources at?”
    Her reproach stung all the more for being true. All his assertions that the Fireball was one person had been too preemptive, too unsubstantiated. As a scientist, he should have known better.
    “But I can prove all this. I’m telling you—we’ve finally found a way to track the residue.”
    That got her attention. She sat up, her cheeks less angular, her eyes less icy. “Perhaps you should have started the conversation with that.”
    Ian leaned forward, fireworks going off in his stomach, excitement and relief combining as one. “You mean you believe me?”
    She actually smiled—something that reached her eyes and softened her whole bearing. “I mean, Mr. Jones, that we’re willing to take a look. We’ll send a team to your lab, and you can show us firsthand what it is you think you know.”
    Ian’s mind whirled. He needed to notify Neil, who would never forgive him if he missed this. He needed to get Fiona out of the house before— oh, shit .
    He needed to get Fiona out of the house.
    “I’m going to need a little time to prepare the lab.” He didn’t care how stupid it made him sound. Fiona’s safety and anonymity came first. “Can you guys swing by in a few hours?”
    Her eyebrow shot up. “We’re not expecting a keg and live music, Mr. Jones. I’m having a team sent over.”
    Ian’s phone rang and he yanked it out of his pocket. Maybe it was Fiona, and he could give her some kind of covert message to hide until they sorted everything with the CO agents. The last thing they needed was for her to be taken into custody—poked and prodded and tested until she was just another rat in a cage. He couldn’t let anything else bad happen to her.
    The number that flashed across his phone was Neil’s. Turning away a little so Agent Harding couldn’t eavesdrop, Ian said, “Good news, Neil. We’ve finally got the Converted Office on our side. They’re headed to the lab right now, can you make sure everything is in its appropriate place ? We don’t want anyone staying there to get in the way. Do you catch me?”
    “No shit, Sherlock,” Neil responded. His voice sounded tinny, strained. “You want me to stuff the fire-breathing bitch in hiding. But it’s too late—she’s gone Fireball crazy. Where the fuck are you? It’s all going down.”
    “What did you say?” The reception in the concrete CO station wasn’t great, but the urgency in Neil’s voice was hard to miss. “What’s going down?”
    “The lab , dipshit. The lab is going down.”
    Ian almost dropped