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“To who?”
I avert my eyes. “That FBI agent. Corwin. This might be the wildfire he was talking about.”
“Government men,” Abe mutters. “We’ll see what he’s capable of, I guess.”
“I don’t know why you just don’t let me handle this,” Cal mutters. He keeps his hand in mine, tightening his grip. He looks worried and guilty.
“Hey,” I chide softly. “None of that. I know what you’re capable of, but Abe’s right. This might be getting bigger than we are. You’ve still got my back, right?”
He looks at me incredulously. “You’re not leaving my side again.”
I roll my eyes. “You’ve got a job to do, Cal. And so do I. But we’ll figure something out, okay?”
“Government men,” he grumbles. I don’t even think he knows what that means. Abe starts to chuckle and I follow suit. Somehow it’s not as hard to laugh as I thought it would be.
the life and death of joshua corwin
I would learn later that Agent Joshua Corwin was a family man, much to my
surprise. He had a wife and three adorable girls, nine, and thirteen, and fifteen years old. He and his wife Rebecca had been married for twenty years. They’d been high school sweethearts who married upon graduation. They’d gone to college together at the University of Oregon, Rebecca electing to pursue a degree in journalism, Corwin going into criminal justice.
Shortly before graduating college, Corwin was recruited into the FBI. His plan had been to become a police officer for a few years before applying to the academy, but they came knocking years early with an offer he could not turn down. After training at Quantico and passing with flying colors, he was assigned to the field office in El Paso, focusing on narcotics coming across the border from Mexico. Rebecca worked as an on-air reporter for the local ABC affiliate.
He and his wife were twenty-three when their first daughter, Alex, was born. They were twenty-five when their second daughter, Jennifer, was born. They were twenty-seven when the world went insane on September 11. All other
assignments were put on hold as tons of steel fell in a cloud of dust so thick it looked like the deepest fog. By then, Rebecca had worked her way up to a weekend anchor desk with hopes of going to weeknight anchor as soon as that old fossil Bill Macklin decided to retire. But 9/11 gave them different priorities, much like it did the rest of the world. They made the decision that Rebecca would stay home with the girls, while Corwin, like so many others, was reassigned to work on a terrorism task force. It was a completely different animal than he was used to, but like the rest of the country, he felt an absurdly ridiculous charge of patriotism in the years that followed.
Eventually, missing the work he used to do, he put in a request to go back onto a drug task force, and when a spot opened up back in their home state of Oregon, he jumped at the chance and dragged his family back to the Northwest, including their new addition, their youngest daughter Lily.
I would learn later that Corwin was a big softie when it came to his daughters, his little girls. He doted on them, giving them whatever they wanted. They were all daddy’s girls, through and through. He was never harsh, never cross. He could be stern, but only when they were in the wrong. They loved him; they thought him the greatest man who ever lived. And for all they knew, maybe he was.
His marriage was strong and deep. Friends would say they’d never seen a couple so devoted to each other as Joshua and Rebecca. They acted like they were still eighteen, so young, so in love. They were strong together, playing off each other’s strengths until they had created a formidable team. He worshipped the ground his wife walked on.
Life was good for Agent Joshua Corwin and his family. He had a good job. He had a great family. He had the life he’d always wanted to have. It was wonderful. Everything was just wonderful.
He couldn’t possibly ask for anything more.
Those are the things I learned about him after I killed him.
Of course, I knew nothing of Corwin’s life when I first called him, the day
after Traynor visited the store. I was solely focused on not sounding like a complete idiot when I called him, especially when I realized just how thin my story sounded. It didn’t help that Cal paced in front of me, scowling, muttering to himself that he just couldn’t believe I thought he couldn’t protect me. Didn’t I know he was an angel? I reassured him that I knew that and more, pressing a kiss against his lips which he returned with a desperate edge. It bothered him immensely that Traynor had gotten in and out without him knowing. It bothered him that he did not know who Traynor was. It bothered him that he was still cut off from his memories.
But I think what bothered him the most was the fact that he had been surrounded by adoring people while I was getting harassed. I never said anything to him about this,
and while he didn’t articulate it in so many words, I could see any anger he directed at himself. People came into the store the next day to see him again, but he was less forthcoming than he’d been the day before. He flat-out refused to leave with any of them. A thread arose at some point that morning, and I could see the conflicted look in his eyes as he glanced between me and the door. Rosie had walked in at that moment, much to his relief. He must have thought she carried her shotgun everywhere, because he felt at least a slight comfort leaving her there with me, even though she didn’t have it on her. She’d been puzzled, but I just shook my head, telling her Cal was being Cal, and he worried a little too much.
She didn’t leave until he returned.
“Corwin,” a gruff voice says into the phone.
“Agent Corwin?” I ask. “Joshua Corwin?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Benji Green.”
“Yes?”
