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Who shouldn’t be in the house.
“Zebco.” She gentled her strangled voice. His tail wagged in a wild circle, and he gazed at her adoringly, pink tongue lolling. “What are you doing here?”
Had he forgotten about his dog?
She laid the clothes on the bed next to her waiting shoes and clicked her fingers. “Come along.”
Zeb followed her, head close to her leg, bumping against her, and she didn’t even cringe from the short hairs left behind on her slacks. She opened the garage door and found the light already on. The chemical smell that had clung to him earlier filled the air, the familiar scent registering now — the cleaning solvent he used on his handgun. The cleaning kit sat on the workbench, packed up, but not put away.
He’d cleaned his service weapon? Hadn’t he done that right before leaving for his leadership training in Virginia?
Frowning, she checked the feeder and waterer, then made sure the dog door was unlocked so he could move between the garage and backyard as he liked, chase squirrels and snooze in the sun.
“Have a good day, Zebco.” She gave him one of the peanut butter treats Tick kept in a jar on the workbench. Closing the jar, she studied his cleaning kit, out of place when he always returned it to the shelf.
He’d forgotten to kiss her.
He’d forgotten his dog.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she tugged it free to find his name on the screen. “Hello?”
“I forgot to take care of Zeb—”
“He’s fine. We’re in the garage, and he just had a treat.”
His shaky exhale rushed over her ear. “Thank you.”
“Of course, tesoro.” She pressed her free hand over her heart and the slight ache there.
“I’ll see you, Falconetti,” he rasped before the call dropped. She held that I’ll see you — as good as an I love you — close, then slipped her phone into her back pocket.
She gazed down into Zeb’s soulful eyes.
“I know,” she murmured, fondling a silky ear. She could always wash her hands . . . and lintroll her slacks. “He is not okay.”
Her morning settled, both quiet and productive.
She met with the US Attorney’s office about an upcoming trial requiring her testimony, then debriefed with a pair of detectives from Houston PD on a missing person's case. Her phone lay quiet on her desk, no texts from Tick, but that was their norm and something she’d expected. Their professional lives had individual rhythms, and his had shifted. He needed time to acclimate.
They worked in the same building, and she did not need twenty texts to know her place in his life.
When a text lit up the screen while she typed up a report, the missive came from Merchant. Need to organize my notes on the Bay City case before I hand it off. Can you meet at lunch to discuss?
12:15. She tapped a finger against the side of her phone, glad Merchant had been assigned to his team. The overall makeup of his first group was good, mostly strong, solid agents who would form an invisible safety net while he learned. He was a natural leader, but assigned leadership required a different skill set than organic.
He hadn’t wanted to talk the night before, had fallen into bed and been asleep within minutes, but soon.
His side of the bed empty so early in the morning pricked at her. Five days after Louise’s death was too early for a true pattern, but she didn’t like what she saw unfolding.
Her report finished and submitted, she met Merchant on the way into the cafeteria on the ground floor. After grabbing prepackaged salads, they snagged a table by the window, sitting side-by-side with Merchant’s printed notes between them.
“Who’s picking this up?” Caitlin popped the lid free on her spinach-and-chickpea salad. She’d seen these notes before, but Merchant had added information since then.
“Beatty.” Merchant tapped the top paragraph, a summary of her thinking, with her pen. “Think that’s clear enough?”
“He gets bogged down in details if you just give him a report.” She’d worked closely with him since her first year with the Bureau. The man could build a gorgeous case for a prosecutor. Her mouth twisted. “Have you considered simply handing over your files and letting him do an equivocal analysis?”
Merchant nodded. “And you could tag in on that—”
