Giselle, a relatively new agent with ICE's Enforcement and Removal Operations (ERO) division, had only been on the job for six months. Typically, rookies like her wouldn't be assigned solo missions, but today was an exception.
At 6 a.m., she received orders to escort a young Latina girl, no older than ten, to Georgia. The assignment struck her as odd and was clearly a grueling task—driving nearly 20 hours straight.
Her supervisor, however, had a seemingly logical explanation: Giselle's skin tone and ability to speak Spanish would make her a more comforting presence for the child.
Despite the assignment's dubious logic and the unpleasant suspicion that she was being singled out for busywork, Giselle didn't dare question the order. She signed the transfer papers without protest and prepared to hit the road.
"Don't be scared. I don't know why they're sending you to Georgia, but since you're underage, they probably won't deport you," she said in Spanish, trying to reassure the quiet girl in the passenger seat as their ICE-branded SUV merged onto the highway.
The girl had dark hair, brown skin like her own, and large, innocent eyes that made her look like a baby deer. Giselle couldn't help but feel pity for her.
When the girl didn't respond, Giselle offered her a bottle of water. "Are you hungry? Have some water, and we'll stop for food soon."
"I don't understand Spanish. Can we speak English?" the girl replied, her voice carrying a flawless American accent.
"Wait... what?" Giselle was stunned. This was not the scenario she had imagined.
Over the next twenty minutes, the girl introduced herself as Tali and explained her situation. Tali claimed she wasn't an immigrant but a native-born U.S. citizen. She also mentioned that her father worked for the FBI.
Confused and increasingly alarmed, Giselle pulled off the highway and stopped at a roadside diner. She bought Tali some breakfast but sat across from her, clutching her phone in a panic.
The name "Jess LaCroix" was easy enough to look up online. Sure enough, he was listed as an FBI Assistant Special Agent in Charge. In ICE terms, his rank would be equivalent to someone far above her own immediate supervisor.
Giselle couldn't fathom what kind of mess she had been dragged into, but one thing was clear: Tali was innocent in all of this.
After a moment of deliberation, Giselle finally made the call. "Hi, I'm looking for Agent Jess LaCroix."
Dialing the phone number provided by the FBI office, Giselle ruffled Tali's hair gently and gave her a sheepish smile. "You better not be lying to me. Also, you should really memorize at least one family member's phone number."
Tali blushed and lowered her head. It was, after all, a common problem in the modern age—people relying so heavily on their phones that they couldn't recall any numbers by heart.
The phone rang, and a deep, familiar voice answered. "This is LaCroix."
"Uh... hi. I'm Agent Giselle MacPherson from ICE. I think... I think I have your daughter with me?" Giselle winced at how awkward her words sounded.
"My daughter?!" LaCroix's voice sharpened, but he quickly calmed himself. "Where are you right now?"
Giselle glanced at the diner's sign above the counter. "We're on Interstate 95, parked at a diner called Gina's Place."
LaCroix's voice carried both urgency and relief. "Stay where you are. We're right behind you. Can you put my daughter on the phone?"
"Of course," Giselle said, handing the phone to Tali.
"Daddy, where are you?" Tali called out, her loud voice drawing the attention of other diners. Giselle nervously brushed her hair behind her ears, trying not to look like a child abductor.
Within minutes of ending the call, a gray Dodge Hellcat roared into the parking lot at what could only be described as a reckless speed. The muscle car came to a dramatic stop, skidding slightly and raising a cloud of dust.
Before the dust even settled, the passenger door flew open. Tali, who had been anxiously peering out the diner window, bolted out of her seat and ran toward the familiar figure stepping out of the car.
"Tali!"
LaCroix dropped to one knee and enveloped his daughter in a tight hug. "I missed you so much, baby."
"I missed you too, Daddy. I told myself not to be scared, that you'd come for me, but I couldn't help it..." Tali's large eyes brimmed with tears, which spilled over as she sobbed uncontrollably.
"I know, I know. My brave little girl. You're the strongest, just like your mom," LaCroix whispered, his voice filled with emotion as he gently wiped her tears.
Not wanting to interrupt the touching reunion, Giselle awkwardly turned to the other man approaching her—a tall, handsome agent with a disarming smile.
"I, uh... I think I might be in some trouble?" she said hesitantly.
"Not really," Jack replied, shaking her hand warmly. "I'm Jack Tavolar, FBI Special Agent. Thanks for looking out for Tali."
Giselle blinked in surprise. She had assumed Jack was younger than her, possibly a rookie agent. Knowing he outranked her added a layer of complexity to her already tangled emotions.
"We've been following you since you left New York. Don't worry—this won't come back to bite you. We just need you to come back to the office with us for a quick debrief," Jack assured her, his tone soothing.
Back at the FBI office, Assistant Special Agent in Charge Dana Moret personally contacted Homeland Security, ensuring that Giselle's involvement wouldn't lead to any blowback. In fact, even if Giselle hadn't called LaCroix, the FBI had already secured the SUV's location data and planned to intercept her before she reached Georgia.
By the time Jack returned to his apartment after reuniting LaCroix with his daughter, he was completely spent. After 48 straight hours of intense operations, including a raid and hours of driving, even he felt like he was running on fumes.
He took a long shower and crashed into bed, only to wake up hours later to find Hannah curled up beside him, fully dressed and sound asleep. She must have snuck in while he was out cold.
The sight of her tiny frame, her breathing soft and rhythmic, brought a rare smile to his face. Gently, he removed her shoes and jacket, tucked her in properly, and left her a note before heading to the kitchen.
Jack cooked up a batch of shrimp and shepherd's purse wontons, eating half and frying the other half in a skillet for Hannah to enjoy later. Satisfied, he left for the office.
At the operations center, the mood was focused but less frantic than it had been the night before. Many analysts and technicians were still catching up on much-needed rest, leaving a good portion of the desks empty.
Still, progress had been made. Overnight, new intelligence surfaced about Mark Vasko, the Ukrainian arms dealer suspected of working with Emma Kane. Early that morning—while Jack and LaCroix were at the detention center—Vasko had been spotted at a private airstrip in Milford, Connecticut.
This lead was the first concrete step toward tracking Emma Kane's next move.
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