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ChapterEighteen
Reese
Then
“Ican get you on his schedule if you want,” Matt says. “Five minutes at the end of the day today? Or ten right before lunch tomorrow. He likes to hold a few minutes open here and there to decompress, but I know he’d rather see you.”
“Matt—”
“Agent Theriot.”
“I don’t know what you believe—”
“I know Brennan Walker. I like to think I’m getting to know you.”
There’s nothing I can say that won’t get me fired or get Matt embroiled in my shit decision-making, and possibly hauled before a congressional committee, so I say nothing at all.
“That’s a no to five minutes?”
“You’re a wonderful friend to him. I see why he cherishes you.”
“Think about it?” Matt asks, his voice low. There are other people passing nearby. “He’s happier when you’re around. He’s never said anything, but… I can read him pretty well.”
That makes me smile, but it’s a panicked, I’m-so-fucked smile.If Matt has figured us out—
The scandal unfolds across newspaper headlines in my mind. Impropriety and Brennan’s fall from grace, proof positive that he’s not the good man he always claimed to be.
I shouldn’t have come up here, but the impulsive side of me hoped for exactly what just happened. I’ve been out of my mind, needing to see Brennan again.
Dangerous.
I retreat to the command center and collapse at my desk, sagging in my chair until I’m looking up at the ceiling. Water-stained acoustic paneling stares down at me. Radio chatter and static hum. Keyboards clatter. I breathe in and out. C’est le bordel.
“Hey, boss.” Henry appears over my head, upside down from my vantage point. “Problem?”
“Only of my own making.”
He nods like he knows what I’m talking about. “I’m taking Sheridan to the range. Come with us? Slinging lead and punching holes in paper is the best stress reliever.”
“Hell yes.”
“Grab your gear and meet us in the basement.”
I change into my tactical gear, grab my gun bag, and jog downstairs. Henry and Sheridan are already in the front seat of one of our SUVs, jabbering away, when I climb into the back.
“Sir!” Sheridan tries to climb out. “Take the right seat. You’re the senior agent.”
I wave him off. “Today, I’ll be the principal. You take the lead detail slot—”
“Pretend to take the lead,” Henry cuts in.
“Now—” I sprawl in the back seat and kick my feet up onto the center console between their shoulders. “Where’s my champagne?”
Henry squirts his water bottle over the driver’s seat at me.
Brennan haunts me all the way to Rowley. Memories snap in and out of focus: moments in time, seconds of our conversations, snippets of his laughter.
Five hundred rounds later, I’ve got aching forearms and thirty targets with their center bull’s-eyes obliterated, but I’m no closer to putting Brennan out of my mind than I was before.
