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“Lots of explosives experts around the world,” the detective muttered. “Not everyone that wants to kill comes from Somerset. ”
The detective, Joey Runyon, was a Somerset native. At five-ten and forty-seven years old, he was a veteran on the force. His shoddy work wasn’t an example of his past record.
“Detective, do you have a problem with this job?” Alex leaned against the doorframe and watched him with cool curiosity. “Because I can make damned certain you’re reassigned. ”
Detective Runyon rose to his full height, not that it did him any good. Five-ten wasn’t six-plus feet no matter how much a man threw his shoulders back and lifted his chin.
Mark came to his feet, laying the piece of the timer in the shallow plastic container used to collect the shrapnel and debris from the bomb.
“You’re not police chief yet,” Runyon sneered. “And after this, it’s doubtful you will be. Everyone knows
Jane Mackay is nothing like her brother. She was her daddy’s little pet whenever she was around.
Sleeping with her isn’t going to gain you points—”
Alex didn’t have to jump for the man. He took one long step, his arm snapping out, his fingers latching around the other man’s neck as he slammed him into the wall.
The detective’s eyes bulged, and his face paled as he struggled against Alex.
“I really want to kill you,” Alex said softly. “If we were anywhere else, I’d cut you in tiny pieces, Runyon, and feed you to the local wildlife. Is that what you want?”
“Major Jansen, what have I told you about harassing local detectives? Son, it’s bad for the Department of Homeland Security’s image. You know that. Let the little fart go so I can have his ass fried with his superiors. That’s always so much more fun. ”
Alex’s teeth clenched at the sound of the familiar voice. He should have expected it. Why hadn’t he expected it? Timothy Cranston, special agent in charge of the investigation that had been responsible for cracking the theft and potential sale of weapons in the Somerset area two years before.
“Come on, Alex, let go of the little fucker’s neck. You know how much I enjoy breaking careers. ”
Timothy patted his shoulder as he stepped farther into the room.
“Man, you are so fucked-up. ” Alex sighed as he stared back at the detective. “I would have just killed you. The Rabid Leprechaun over there will make you wish you were dead. Over and over and over again. ”
He released the detective.
“Detective Runyon,” Cranston drawled. “You were in the military, weren’t you?” Cranston flipped open the little notebook he never left home without.
Runyon rubbed his skinny little neck and glared back at Cranston. “Yeah. I was. ”
“Runyon worked with explosives, Major Jansen,” Cranston drawled, his brown eyes flicking to the detective with malevolent humor. His chubby face was wreathed in a devil’s smile, his hair almost standing up in spikes.
“Then he should have known any six-year-old couldn’t have built this explosive,” Mark commented.
Cranston turned to Mark with a frown. “You’re not supposed to be here. ”
Mark grinned. “I’m the ghost of explosives past, just lending a little wisdom here and there. ” He arched his blond brows expressively.
Cranston sighed and turned back to Alex. “Is this the best you could do on short notice for a team? Son, call me next time; I’ll send you a team. ”
“Special Agent Cranston. ” The detective spoke up then; evidently he knew Cranston. It seemed sometimes that everyone did.
“Don’t talk to me, asshole. You don’t exist. ” Cranston frowned back at him heavily, his shaggy brows arching like little demi-horns as he turned back to Alex. “How did you get stuck with that prick?”
“Cranston, you don’t have jurisdiction in this case. ” Runyon stepped forward aggressively.
Alex stepped back cautiously. Because Timothy smiled. A real-life honest-to-God filled-with-amusement smile as he rubbed his hands together in glee.
“So report me,” Timothy drawled, his brown eyes sparkling in childlike pleasure. “I dare you. ”
Runyon finally had the good sense to swallow nervously.
