The Undercover Mess

Mia's POV

"For how long would I be stuck in the position of a special agent?"

I unconsciously grumbled as I walked past those glass doors into the bullpen; the stares from a few colleagues followed-some curious, some judgmental, most indifferent. Not because I wasn't good at my job. No, my record was spotless. It was the same damn record that got buried every time a high-profile case came up.

I dropped my file onto my desk harder than necessary, the thud loud enough to earn a glance from Agent Porter over the next row. He raised an eyebrow like he wanted to say something slick. I didn't give him pleasure with the frustration that was written all over my face, but he went on regardless.

"I fully understand your complaints that, in your 6 years of service, you are meant to have been promoted to senior special agent, as your mates were all promoted in the last three months..."

"Like... You get it?

That's the point. I mean, for how long would I be seen as less because I am a female?"

Just then, I grabbed a folder on my desk and marched toward the glass office at the far end. I'd had enough. Either they respected me as an agent, or they could shove their desk work.

I knocked once, then slightly pushed the door open, mindful of my composure.

If I don't, this might cost me my job as a 'special agent in charge'-Mr. Thompson has the right to write a petition against me.

"Agent Mia," he said without looking up from his papers.

"Sir, please, we need to talk."

He looked up slowly, and I saw that familiar flicker-like I was some ticking bomb he didn't have the patience to disarm.

"What's on your mind that you want to talk about?"

"I've been here 6 years," I said, standing tall. "15 arrests under my lead, 6 undercover jobs-one of them nearly got me killed, and you know the story. Yet every major op seems to skip over my desk like I don't exist." I was so conscious of the tone of my voice.

He leaned back, folding his arms. "You think I'm playing favorites?"

"With due respect, I think I'm being sidelined," I said coolly. "And I also think if I were a male, this wouldn't be a conversation."

That got his attention.

"Be careful with your words, Mia," he said, with his voice moderately low. "You want an assignment? Fine. I have one. High risk. No backup. You go in alone."

He slid a new file toward me. Thick. Sealed. Stamped CLASSIFIED.

"If you could meet up with this task within the space of 6 months, then consider yourself a Special Senior Agent, and soon enough, you will be among the top leadership because, as far as I am concerned, you have a clean record, but you know this isn't just in my power."

"The Astor family?" I asked, flipping it open.

"The son. Kraven Astor. We need someone on the inside. They run guns and drugs and launder half the East Coast's cash-and they've never let an outsider in."

"And you think I'll be their welcome mat?"

"I think you're persuasive. And angry. Use it. But then, if I must suggest for you, I would say that you pose as a nightclub singer-apparently, the Astors owned a spot downtown called Lustro. Classy enough for suits, dark enough to hide secrets. I think you should go in as a new hire, gain Kraven's attention, work your way in, and feed intel back to the bureau.

That must have sounded so easy for him to say it, like it was some sort of going to the supermarket to pick something up or, let's say, going to receive a parcel from a delivery man.

"I will give it my best, but what if I end up not being able to figure it out? Does that mean I will forever be stuck as a special agent here without promotion?"

"You and I know that you have never backed off any assignments, although this one seems to be one of a kind, but then it's the only remedy out.

Even the FBI director will be highly impressed if you get this done, and this might likely be a breakthrough in the way they see females in security services."

He took a cool breath gently. "One more thing," he added. "Today is Friday, and visiting the club today will be a great start. You might be lucky, but do your investigation. You can take the day off to have some time for that."

Just when he said the last word, I took the file and walked out before I said something I couldn't take back.

---

I got to my place almost immediately after I signed off.

My apartment was quiet. Too quiet.

The file sat open on the kitchen table while I spooned the lukewarm 'baked salmon' into my mouth and tried to process what I was reading and the pictures I had. Kraven Astor was the kind of man you didn't forget after seeing his photo once-with those unique tattoos of his, especially of the hand of hamza he had at the back of his palm. Although I am not that into men, when I see a cute one, I know. He had that smirk that made you want to punch him and kiss him at the same time-dark eyes, razor-sharp jawline, and a scar on his left brow like someone tried to end him once and failed.