ONE
TINY LITTLE EMBERS
Nash
The federal agents in my office were lucky for two reasons.
First, my left hook wasn’t what it had been before getting shot.
And second, I hadn’t been able to work my way up into feeling anything, let alone mad enough to make me consider doing something stupid.
“The Bureau understands you have a personal interest in finding Duncan Hugo,” Special Agent Sonal Idler said from across my desk where she sat with a ramrod-straight spine. She flicked her gaze to the coffee stain on my shirt.
She was a steely woman in a pantsuit who looked as though she ate procedures for breakfast. The man next to her, Deputy U.S. Marshal Nolan Graham, had a mustache and the look of a man forced into something he really didn’t want to do. He also looked like he blamed me for it.
I wanted to work my way up to pissed off. Wanted to feel something other than the great, sucking void that rolled over me, inevitable as the tide. But there was nothing. Just me and the void.
“But we can’t have you and your boys and girls running around mucking up my investigation,” Idler continued.
On the other side of the glass, Sergeant Grave Hopper was dumping a pint of sugar into his coffee and glaring daggers at the two feds. Behind him, the rest of the bullpen buzzed with the usual energy of a small-town police department.
Phones rang. Keyboards clicked. Officers served. And the coffee sucked.
Everyone was alive and breathing. Everyone but me.
I was just pretending.
I crossed my arms and ignored the sharp twinge in my shoulder.
“I appreciate the professional courtesy. But what’s with the special interest? I’m not the only cop to take a bullet in the line of duty.”
“You also weren’t the only name on that list,” Graham said, speaking up for the first time.
My jaw tightened. The list was where this nightmare had begun.
“But you were the first one targeted,” Idler said. “Your name was on that list of LEOs and informants. But this thing is bigger than one shooting. This is the first time we’ve got something that could stick to Anthony Hugo.”
It was the first time I’d heard any kind of emotion in her voice. Special Agent Idler had her own personal agenda, and nailing crime boss Anthony Hugo to the wall was it.
“I need this case to be airtight,” she continued. “Which is why we can’t have any locals trying to take matters into their own hands. Even if they’ve got badges. The greater good always comes with a price tag.”
I rubbed a hand over my jaw and was surprised to find more than a five-o’clock shadow there. Shaving hadn’t exactly been high on my priority list lately.
She assumed I’d been investigating. Reasonable given the circumstances. But she didn’t know my dirty little secret. No one did. I might be healing on the outside. I might put on my uniform and show up at the station every day. But on the inside, there was nothing left. Not even a desire to find the man responsible for this.
“What do you expect my department to do if Duncan Hugo comes back here looking to shoot holes in a few more of its citizens? Look the other way?” I drawled.
The feds shared a look. “I expect you to keep us apprised of any local happenings that might tie in to our case,” Idler said firmly. “We’ve got a few more resources at our disposal than your department. And no personal agendas.”
I felt a flicker of something in the nothingness. Shame.
I should have a personal agenda. Should be out there hunting down the man myself. If not for me, then for Naomi and Waylay. He’d victimized my brother’s fiancée and her niece in another way, by abducting them and terrorizing them over the list that had earned me two bullet holes.
But part of me had died in that ditch that night, and what was left didn’t seem like it was worth fighting for.
“Marshal Graham here will be staying close for a while. Keeping an eye on things,” Idler continued.
Mustache didn’t look any happier about that than I was.
“Any particular kind of things?” I asked.
“All remaining targets on the list are receiving federal protection until we ascertain that the threat is no longer imminent,” Idler explained.
Christ. The whole damn town was going to be in an uproar if they found out federal agents were hanging around waiting for someone to break the law. And I didn’t have the energy for an uproar.
“I don’t need protection,” I said. “If Duncan Hugo had two brain cells to rub together, he wouldn’t be hanging around here. He’s long gone.” At least, that was what I told myself late at night when the sleep wouldn’t come.
“All due respect, Chief, you’re the one who got himself shot. You’re lucky you’re still here,” Graham said with a smug twitch of his mustache.
“What about my brother’s fiancée and niece? Hugo kidnapped them. Are they getting protection?”
“We have no reason to believe that Naomi and Waylay Witt are in any danger at this time,” Idler said.
The twinge in my shoulder graduated to a dull throb to match the one in my head. I was low on sleep and patience, and if I didn’t get these two pains in the ass out of my office, I wasn’t confident I could keep things civil.
Mustering as much southern charm as I could, I rose from behind my desk. “Understood. Now, if y’all will excuse me, I have a town to serve.”
The agents got to their feet and we exchanged perfunctory handshakes.
“I’d appreciate it if you’d keep me in the loop. Seein’ as how I’ve got a ‘personal interest’ and all,” I said as they hit the door.
“We’ll be sure to share what we can,” Idler said. “We’ll also be expecting a call from you as soon as you remember anything from the shooting.”
“Will do,” I said through gritted teeth. Between the trifecta of physical wounds, memory loss, and the empty numbness, I was a shadow of the man I’d been.
“Be seein’ you,” Graham said. It sounded like a threat.