9:27 p.m.
The server, an early thirty-something woman with red hair piled on top of her head, stopped at the table. “Are we still doing okay here?” Her words were flat. The restaurant was nearly empty, and she was bored. Her only two customers received her undivided attention.
Marshal Thorn smiled.
Michael Crane, the Deputy Director for the U.S. Marshals Service, stopped dragging the butter knife across a cinnamon roll. Cocking his head to gape at the woman, he shot daggers at her dark, sunken eyes haloed in black eye liner. She looks like a damn zombie. “For the tenth time in the last five minutes...yes, we’re still doing okay.”
The server stepped back, fidgeting with her hands. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to interrupt. I’ll be back to,” she stopped short, “let me know if you need anything.”
Thorn watched the woman hurry away before gawking at her table partner. You always were a mean S.O.B.
“So how confident are you that,” Crane slathered more butter on the roll, “you’ll get a meeting with the grand jury by tomorrow morning?”
Thorn bobbed her head. “Almost ninety percent. When I said Patton’s life could be in danger, they were more willing to speed things up.” She flipped a wrist to see her watch.
“And this Patton hasn’t,” Crane bit into the roll, tearing the baked good nearly in half, “told you who the mole is?”
She scooted to the end of the bench seat. “He doesn’t know. He says he has information that will lead investigators to the source of the breach.” The marshal stood.
“And he’s with Deputy Marshal Devlin...at a safe house?”
Thorn nodded. “After the attempts on his life, he only trusts her.”
“I can understand that.” Crane lifted the knife toward her. “What’s the rush?”
“I forgot. My security detail is waiting for me outside.”
He arched eyebrows. “Since when do you need a security detail?”
She shook her head. “It’s more of a transport, really. Devlin borrowed my car...until this is over.” She slung her purse. “I’ll keep you posted on any new developments.”
Crane swallowed, forcing the ball of dough down his gullet. “Please do.”
*******
Outside the restaurant, Thorn got into the back of an SUV, slammed the door, and retrieved a cell phone. She hailed the driver. “Take me home, Roger.”
“Yes ma’am.” The deputy marshal merged the Chevrolet into traffic.
She touched the mobile to her cheek. “I just left. I’m heading home.”
In Thorn’s ear, Devlin: “How’d it go?”
“I let plenty of minute details slip during the conversation,” she paused, “including the fact that you’re driving my car. If he’s any kind of detective at all, he’ll be able to track the vehicle to the safe house.” She adjusted her position in the seat, straightening her skirt. “Now, all that’s left to do is wait...to see if he makes a move.”
“We’re ready.”
“I’m not comfortable with this, Jessica.” Thorn spied the city lights passing by her window. “If Crane is the mastermind, he’ll be coming for you with everything he has.”
“I know.”
Silence consumed the communication line for several moments.
“When I was watching the lead S.O.G. agent’s body camera—during the raid on that shack—I don’t mind telling you that my heart was in my throat...as he rolled the body of that dead woman. From behind, she looked just like you.”
More stillness hung on the airwaves.
“I’ve—we’ve—already lost a good agent.” Seeing Blake Hawkins in her mind, Thorn swallowed hard. “I don’t want to lose another one, so you look after yourself.”
*******
Inside the restaurant, Crane finished off a glass of red wine and dug out a phone from his jacket pocket. Seconds later, he cleared his throat. “How soon can you get a couple of teams ready for a strike?”
A male voice from the phone: “Midnight...at the earliest.”
“Good. I’ll have a location for you within the hour.”
“How many targets?”
“Two...one is Deputy Marshal Devlin. Do you think you can handle taking this broad out? I realize,” sarcasm poured out from Crane’s mouth, “it’ll be more difficult than apprehending her six-year-old girl. But, then again, we both know how that turned out, don’t we?”
“The man was more formidable than I had anticipated. I won’t make the same—”
“Spare me your excuses and see to it that you don’t botch this assignment too.”
“Yes sir.”
“One more thing...I need you to—” Crane motioned toward the server standing on the other side of the restaurant.
The skittish woman fumbled inside the apron around her waist before producing a slip of paper and hurrying toward her patron.
“I need you to,” Crane turned back to his meal, “get every scrap of Intel you can on Devlin.” “Dig into her past...relatives, friends, coworkers, anyone she may have crossed paths with in the last few years.”
“What am I looking for?”
“Leverage...in case this Simon Patton proves as hard to kill here, as he did in Mexico.”
*******
After Thorn had clicked off, Devlin did the same and placed the cell phone from Steele on a table.
“So?” Randall thumbed the last cartridge into a magazine before smacking the plastic holder on his palm and laying it next to three of its brethren.
Seated across the table from him, she sat back and folded her arms. “Thorn baited the hook. Now we wait.” She rubbed her eyes. “It shouldn’t take long for them to pinpoint our location.”
He stood, circled behind his chair, leaned on the back, and studied the floor. “They could have a team prepped and ready in,” he tipped his head to one side and then the other, “no less than two hours...maybe three.”
Spying her watch—9:39—Devlin rose from the chair. “I don’t think they’ll make a move before midnight.” She eyed him. “Let’s get some rest...an hour each. I’ll...”
He stood upright. “I call...”
“...take the first watch.”
“...first shift.” Randall plucked a quarter from his pocket. “I’ll flip you for it.”
She waved him off, “You win,” and ambled toward the back of the brick, ranch-style home, located in the countryside. Making it halfway down a hallway, Devlin spun on her heels and doubled back a few paces. “Hey.”
Holding an afghan, he fell onto a couch and propped his feet on a cushion. “What’s up?”
She crossed arms and ankles and put a shoulder to the wall. “I just...uh...wanted you to know,” she glanced down, her eyes darting left and right, “well...I’m sorry for the way I’ve treated you throughout all this.”
He smiled at her while spreading the covering over his legs and feet. “You didn’t know anything about me. For all you knew, I could have actually been a wanted man, a criminal.”
Still looking downward, she nodded at a large knot in the pine flooring.
For the next twenty seconds, Randall watched her, waited for her.
She lifted her head. “Two years ago, I lost my husband.”
He pressed his lips together. “I’m sorry.”
“He was a police officer...killed in the line of duty. My world shattered. But, with a four-year-old counting on me, I had to pick up the pieces as fast as I could. For me...that meant relying on myself. Jonathon was gone. And I had everything to do. So,” Devlin pushed away from the wall and stepped closer to Randall, “that’s what I did...everything...all by myself. I counted on no one, and I believed in no one, but me.”
Lowering his gaze, the prone man crossed his arms over his chest and ran a thumb over the point of his chin. “Must’ve been a tough load to carry.”
Her shoulders hunching a bit, Devlin remembered the barrenness that had taken residence in her soul, the long nights spent crying into Jonathon’s pillow. It was. “I managed. I got by.” She stood erect. “Anyway, I’m now married to a great man, whom I trust not only with my life, but with my daughter’s as well.”
Randall smiled. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“However...I know there’s a big part of me—the old me, the distrusting me—still hanging around inside.” Devlin blinked a few times, took a deep breath, and ran fingers through her hair before holding her locks behind her head. “Look at me, blabbering on. You’re probably over there thinking I’m some weak, feeble-minded woman.”
“Are you kidding me? That,” he rubbed his jaw while half smiling, “right cross was anything, but weak.”
Ogling him, she snickered privately until a twinge of guilt for punching him overshadowed the humor.
“Anyway, the way you’ve been able to focus on the mission while separated from your family,” he squinted at her, “it takes a strong-minded person to push aside their feelings and do what needs to be done.” He pointed at her, “You’re strong, Devlin,” before tapping his temple and his chest, “right where you need to be.”
She regarded him. You’re strong...right where you need to be. Lips pressed together, she gave him a single down and up with her chin. “Thank you for that.”
“My pleasure.”
A few moments passed.
“Well,” she recalled her speech from a minute ago, “I guess what I wanted you to know from all that was,” she faltered, “just like Jonathon and Curt, I think you’re a good man too. One that I,” she locked eyes with him, “one that I’ve come to believe I can put my trust in.”
He lifted one corner of his mouth a fraction of an inch. “Thank you, Devlin.”
Half turning around, she stopped, poked a finger at him, and added her own faint grin, “Jessica,” before walking down the hall.
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
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