Special Agent-in-Charge Windy Fielder turned sharply to the right and gave Agent Wainwright a momentary glare before relaxing her face. She tried to remember to be calm with the rookies. "S.A.C. Fielder," she reminded him. If he wanted to, he could look up her first name. Windy had a philosophy of not mixing the personal and the professional; and the two of them would be partners.
With her back perfectly arched, and the index finger on her left hand tapping on her arm rest, she did everything in her power to keep her anger in check. She ran her fingers through her short, black hair and sighed.
"How long have you been in the Bureau again, Agent Wainwright?" Windy knew the answer, but she wanted to hear it spoken aloud. As if, somehow, hearing it straight from the horse's mouth would dull her pain. Windy had been drafted into the Academy at Quantico after getting her PhD in Psychology from Columbia. She had dutifully served for over ten years, and, in that time, helped bring two serial killers to justice, and developed the profile that determined the identity of a child kidnapper in Missouri. She had received annual raises and the respect of many of her colleagues.
Last month Windy's mentor, Deputy Assistant Director Bill Chalmers, retired. She knew the structure: Section Chief Frank Stewart would be promoted to replace D.A.D. Chalmers, and she would be promoted to replace Section Chief Stewart. D.A.D. Chalmers had even recommended her for the position. Then, the unthinkable happened: an Assistant Special Agent in Charge, Geoffrey Michaels, was promoted from beneath her to Section Chief.
Now, her new boss had placed her on an assignment that could be completed by ordinary Field Agents – if not Police Detectives. She was partnered with a rookie straight out of the Academy who couldn't remember her name. And the organization that she had dedicated her life to for a decade had pushed her aside.
She still kept in touch with Bill Chalmers. He was the only member of the Bureau who ever called her by her first name. He kept on reminding her that her talents would not be wasted, and that, one day, the chance for promotion would come again. She wasn't sure if she believed him anymore.
She looked out the window and stared at the house. It was green with mismatched shutters. She was looking for something – anything – out of the ordinary. And nothing stood out.