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“No,” he called through the door. “All good. Just don’t forget to eat.” She kept a jar of peanut butter and a stack of celery sticks in a glass with water in her room. She was thinner than a rake and seemed to prefer it that way. She’d told Devine she hadn’t been on a single date in over a year, not even digitally.
“Do as I say, not as I don’t do,” Tapshaw had quipped.
Restless and edgy and not wanting to sleep despite being tired, Devine went to his room, changed into athletic shorts and a T-shirt and Saucony running shoes.
He left the house and had just started his run when a black sedan pulled up beside him.
There were two men inside. Serious-looking men. Suits and shades, even in the gathering darkness.
“Mr. Devine? Travis Devine?” a strange man said for the second time tonight.
He stopped running and said, “Yeah?”
The man flashed a badge, a federal one with an agency Devine instantly recognized. “Your presence is requested, please get in.”
“Requested by who?”
The man moved just enough so Devine could see the pistol in the shoulder holster.
“Get in.”
Devine looked around, and, like the soldier he had once been, he followed orders and got in.
