Page 9 of The SEAL and the Sheriff

She slid the photograph back across the desk. “I ran you last night.”

“I assumed you would.”

“Your credentials are real.”

He leaned back in his chair.

“You’re an active Deputy United States Marshal.”

Her eyes flicked to his. “Chicago Field Office.” She lifted her coffee. “What I don’t have is any record of coordination with this office. No courtesy notification. Nobody called ahead.”

She sipped her coffee, giving him space.

“My supervisor knows exactly where I am.”

“Then why doesn’t mine?”

“Because the fewer people who know I’m here, the better my chances of finding the man I’m looking for.”

Her jaw did a small thing, but she didn’t push it. “If you find anything, you tell me before you act.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I mean that.”

“I know you do.”

She held his eyes a second longer than needed, then closed the file with a snap. “We’re done for now.”

He was almost at the door when he turned. “Sarah⁠—”

“Deputy Marshal.” The pen on the desk didn’t move this time.

Hudson turned back toward the door. His hand was on the handle when his phone rang. He checked the screen.

Owen Alcott.

He stepped into the hall before answering. “Tell me.”

“You’re welcome,” Owen said. “I’ve been earning my salary on your behalf all morning.”

“Owen.”

“Your guy.” A pause that meant Owen had something real. “I finally got his employment records released. False name. Jake Mercer. Seasonal work this year. May through August.”

Hudson waited.

“Morrow Bay Cannery. Out on Morrow Point. Up the coast from that cozy town you’re hanging out in right now.”

Hudson turned the information over. Loading docks. Ocean access.

“That’s your location,” Owen said. “If he’s moved anything through Aurora Cove, that’s where it went.”

“Got it.”

“Hudson.” Owen’s voice shifted, dropping a register. “My neck is only so long out here. Don’t make me regret it.”

“You won’t.” He hung up and turned.