Owen was gone.
Daniel forced himself to focus on the deputy and not on whatever may or may not be happening at Owen’s bedside. In the SUV, Emma had tensed, but the defense mechanism didn’t look strong. It made her look brittle and easy to fracture.
“Okay, boss?” Deputy Chip Jones asked as they waited outside Owen’s room.
“Sorry?” Daniel asked, schooling his features into an expression of chagrin and not annoyance. Resting mad face was both a gift and curse in his career.
“Frank is coming to take the next watch. He’ll wait for you to return to the camp,” Chip repeated.
“Very good.” Daniel needed help watching Emma, the Thomases, and Owen. He traced the edge of a tile under his boot, physically expressing the gnaw of futility that clawed into his chest. He hated how easy it was to spread his team too thin.
Shaunitoc wasn’t a hotbed of illicit activity. He wasn’t worried about drug cartels operating in broad daylight with law enforcement occupied elsewhere. But summer was a busy time. Youthful antics turned into crime quickly. Vandalism calls popped up. Daniel liked to have a steady presence in town to discourage stupid behavior.
But the accident and threat against Margaux added up to the most serious case he’d ever handled. Any screw-up would make their department look weak, potentially on a national stage.
“Deputy,” Daniel began, “does your cousin’s husband still work at the FBI?”
“Sure does. At the field office in Chicago. Why? What’s up?” Chip asked.
A nurse wheeled a patient down the hall.
Daniel gritted his molars, unsure how to answer. A senatorial campaign for Margaux’s husband potentially hung in the balance. For all Daniel knew, the campaign had their own security and protocol. Margaux could have already shared her concerns with her husband and his team. Daniel’s concerns might be overblown. But he would feel better if he took some action on his end, too.
“Not at liberty to divulge?”
“Something like that,” Daniel muttered. “Could you send me his contact info? I’d like an opinion on something.”
The deputy nodded, producing a cell phone and tapping at the screen. “You’ve got it, boss. Keep me in the loop if you need me.”
A ding from the cell phone in Daniel’s pocket echoed down the corridor. “Thanks.”
The door to the room opened, and a harried looking Mr. and Mrs. T stumbled out.
“Oh, sorry,” Mrs. T apologized into Chip’s back.
“I’ll get the car,” Mr. T grumbled, hurrying past.
Mr. T’s gruff tone wasn’t unusual. He wasn’t an effusive man who cared much for social niceties. But leaving a hospital room with such an expression hinted at trouble.
Chip straightened Mrs. T on her feet. “Is everything alright?”
“Issues with the generator at the camp,” Mrs. T replied, her voice thick and scratchy.
“Can the deputy take a look at it for you? Frank likes to tinker,” Daniel said.
“The whole thing is held together with electrical tape and constant prayers,” Mrs. T offered, chuckling under her breath. “Only my husband is qualified to deal with his handiwork.”
Daniel frowned, not liking the implication of poor oversight on electrical systems at the camp. He ought to double check that the buildings weren’t at risk of a spontaneous explosion.
“We’ll be back,” Mrs. T said, wobbling.
Daniel shot the deputy a look.
Chip offered Mrs. T his arm.
She blushed and accepted it. “Thank you.”
Daniel was glad Emma had a chance to speak with Owen alone. Now that she understood the situation better—the complex dynamics of what action he could and couldn’t take given his job—he prayed she’d get some answers. Daniel remained anxious to interview Owen, but this meeting was vital, too. Patience must win.
