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“No. I’ll clear it with him,” Ramsey said.
“You won’t be disappointed,” she said.
He raised an index finger. “I’m not looking for a cowgirl who’s going to ride into town, shoot it up, or get herself killed. I want you to dig up solid intel, and then you’ll debrief the team at Quantico next Monday. I still don’t know if you’ll make the cut,” Ramsey warned.
She hadn’t scored, but she had the ball. Time to take her best shot. “Like I said, you won’t be disappointed.”
“I saw just the slightest limp as you crossed the parking lot. You do a hell of a job hiding it.”
She glanced out his window, which overlooked the lot. “I qualified for the mile run time and retained my expert status at the shooting range.”
“Both scores have dropped since the attack.”
“I can hold my own.” She would not apologize or make excuses. She was done talking.
He studied her. “Hell, I can’t think of many people who would come back after what happened to you.”
“That’s ancient history. All that matters now is this case and me proving I belong on your team.”
“Glad you feel that way, because I can’t cut you any slack. Five days, Special Agent Crow. We’ll both know if you make the grade.”
She resisted the urge to uncross her legs and relieve the pressure on her nerves. Instead, she grinned. “I’m up to the challenge.”
“You’ll be working with Sheriff Mike Nevada.”
“I assumed as much.”
“Didn’t you work with Nevada when he was with the bureau?”
“Our paths crossed in Kansas City. He was searching for a serial killer who preyed on prostitutes trafficked along I-35. I was trying to catch the man pimping the girls. Turned out we were hunting the same guy.”
Crossing paths with Nevada. It was a nice euphuism for sex between two commitment-phobic agents. They had ended whatever it was they’d had on good terms, but walking away from him had been the only time she’d resented the job. “Nevada was a first-rate FBI agent, and I imagine he’s just as good a sheriff.”
“I’ll let him know you’re on your way. Stay in contact,” Ramsey said.
She rubbed her hand over her right thigh. “When do I leave?”
“Today. Pack your bag and hit the road.”
She checked her watch. “Will do.”
Ramsey’s smile was polite, but he clearly had his doubts.
Nevada stood in the sheriff’s office staring at the bare walls marked by the outlines of dozens of pictures that had belonged to the former sheriff. Outside his office, a painter opened a fresh drop cloth, and soon all traces of the last sheriff would be gone. It was now his turn to leave his mark on the community. Moving down to the conference room, he reached for the conference-room phone and dialed Jerrod Ramsey’s number.
Ramsey picked up on the first ring. “Agent Crow just left my office.”
“Is she coming to Deep Run?”
“She’s on her way. Should be there by one.”
“And she knows she’s working with me?” He never made small talk.
Jerrod paused a moment. “Why wouldn’t she want to work with you?”
He selected his words carefully. “We disagreed on investigative methods in Kansas City.” They’d also slept together.
“Can you work with her?”
“Yes.”
A beat of silence pulsed through the phone.
“That’s all that matters,” Ramsey said.
“How is she since the accident?” Nevada asked.
“I’m not going to lie, the accident changed her. She’s lost weight, and there’s a limp.”
Heaviness coiled around him. “She’s meeting me at the barn where the body was found, correct?”
“Yes,” Ramsey said. “I need a team player, Nevada. You know better than anyone that the members of my team are called upon to work as a unit. They need to know each has the other’s back.”
“Crow’s independent as hell.”
“So I’ve gathered. We’ll talk next week, and you can tell me if I should hire her or not.”
Nevada watched as the paint crew moved into his office. A good word from him would land Macy a spot on Ramsey’s team. But he knew better than anyone that the job would take a piece of her soul. “Will do.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Monday, November 18, 8:20 a.m.
Macy concentrated on her gait. One step. Two step. Ramsey was watching and no doubt second-guessing his decision to give her a try.
When she pushed through the doors of her building, her shoulders relaxed, and she took a deep breath. She passed through security and walked to her office in the basement.
She hated the windowless space. It was a reminder of her Texas screwup and a glimpse into her future if she didn’t crack the case in Deep Run. The possibility of doing real work was exhilarating, and she was anxious to grab what she needed and get the hell out into the field.
“Macy, have a look at this.”
Macy turned to the young woman sitting in front of a computer screen. Andrea Jamison, or Andy to the basement dwellers, was a pleasant young woman who never minded hours in front of a computer screen double-checking or inputting data. Slightly round with brown hair and thick-framed glasses, Andy had a wicked sense of humor and, in a showdown of bar shots last weekend, had handily beaten Macy.
“What do you have?” Macy’s tone was unusually abrupt.
“Don’t we sound testy,” Andy said. “Did the boss man on the mountain reject your request to work with his team?”
Andy’s cubical was filled with pictures of her mom and dad and three older sisters who were all tall, slim, and married. There was also a collection of Star Trek figurines, which Andy had divided into the Originals, the Next Generation, and whatever nonsense incarnations had followed. Macy ignored Andy’s odd obsession with science fiction because she’d turned out to be pretty cool and dedicated to a job she did very well.
“He’s sending me to a small town called Deep Run,” Macy deadpanned.
Andy’s charm bracelet rattled as she swiveled around in her chair and folded her hands primly on her desk. “Do tell.”
Macy recapped the case details. “Now all I have to do is crack the case.”
“Just in time for the holidays?”
Macy glanced toward a paper turkey someone had pinned on a central bulletin board. “We agreed not to discuss the holidays.”
“Turkey time means family, which equals drama.” Andy turned toward her screen and typed in “Deep Run.” “I don’t have anything in my system from their sheriff’s department.”
“Not surprising, given the DNA wasn’t tested until a few weeks ago.”
“When you get down there and you’ve gone through the case files, fill out a ViCAP form and send it to me. I’ll have a look around. Serial offenders rarely stop unless they’re dead, injured, or imprisoned. And we know your guy isn’t in prison.”
A year ago, if someone had said she’d be filling out forms to catch bad guys, she’d have laughed. She still had her doubts, but she wouldn’t turn her nose up at more help. “Will do.”
“I’m serious, Macy. Get me the info. Police work isn’t all Serpico shit and dark alleys.”
“Serpico? Have you been streaming old movies again?”
Andy shrugged. “I’ve got a thing for the seventies right now. But I’m serious, Macy. Send me the stats.”
“I really will.” Macy turned to her desk and grabbed extra yellow legal pads, pens, and the picture she’d taken with her sisters before she’d left Texas. She hefted the backpack onto her shoulder. “I’ll see you next week.”
“No cowboy shit. Don’t forget your leg stretches. Be safe.”
“Roger, Mom.”
Nevada stood in front of the county board of supervisors panel in his uniform. His starched collar rubbed his skin and fueled his impatience as he stood beside six eager, fresh-faced kids from Valley High School’s National Honor Society. As a photographer snapped pictures, he forced a smile and held up the school’s newly awarded antilitter certificate.
As the kids smiled, Nevada’s thoughts drifted back to his visit to the Turner home yesterday. The purpose of the visit had been to notify Jeb Turner that the medical examiner had identified his daughter’s remains.
