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“And then?”
“I’m going to find out who killed Tommy and why. It’s connected to my son, therefore it’s connected to me.” She might end up butting heads with the FBI, but she would deal with that when and if it happened. “In the meantime, we need to find out what the FBI knows, what they’re doing, and whether they’ll take my theory seriously.”
“So we’re going on recon?”
She shrugged. “Pretty much.”
“I’ll call over there,” Charlie said.
“Let’s surprise her at the office. Bet you twenty bucks she’s not in the field.”
“No way I’m taking that bet,” Charlie said.
Five
Regan asked Charlie to stop for coffee at a cool little indie coffee shop that she frequented back in the days she worked out of the Alexandria courthouse. It was the lunch rush, so the two of them waited in line. Charlie convinced her to get a sandwich, though she said she wasn’t hungry.
“Then for the drive back,” he said.
It was also the end-of-lunch rush over the Potomac. Charlie ate his sandwich as they drove, and it looked good, so Regan ate half of hers. They drove to the Washington, DC, field office, which handled all the FBI’s cases in Northern Virginia.
It was just after one o’clock when Charlie presented his credentials to the guard at the FBI parking garage.
“I definitely don’t miss this traffic,” Regan commented.
“Leave your gun in my glove box,” Charlie told her when he pulled into a visitor parking slot.
“Shit,” she mumbled as she unclipped her gun from her holster and slid it inside. “Sometimes I miss being a marshal.”
“I’d take you back in a heartbeat.”
Tommy had been trying to get her back since the day she resigned, but when Regan left last year, she’d left for good. She didn’t know if she’d lost her edge, maybe, maybe not, but mostly she no longer had the heart for the job. And Virginia itself held too much pain. Every landmark, every park, every road reminded Regan of Chase.
At the main entrance, Charlie showed his badge and ID; Regan had to show her driver’s license. Then they waited. And waited.
“What’s friggin’ taking her so long?” Regan muttered.
“Maybe I should have taken the bet,” Charlie said.
“It would have been an easy twenty bucks because I thought for sure she’d be happily riding the desk.”
The door opened and Lillian O’Dare emerged. Regan thought there was a fifty-fifty chance she’d heard her comment, but she just smiled and said, “Agent O’Dare.”
“Marshal,” O’Dare said with a nod to Charlie. “Regan. I don’t have any news. I was surprised to hear you had come into the city.”
“Do you have a few minutes?” Charlie asked politely. “It’s important.”
O’Dare made a point to look at her watch, which irritated Regan. She tempered her frustration.
“Just a few,” she said. She led them down a long hall and into a small conference room, motioned for them to sit, then offered coffee or water.
“We’re good,” Regan said, not giving Charlie the opportunity to ask for something. He’d do it, not because he was thirsty, but because Charlie could sense that Regan was already on edge and the delay might calm her.
She was calm—well, calmish. O’Dare had the information she needed and she wasn’t in the mood to play games. Regan always preferred people when they were straightforward and to the point. She was about to lay it out for O’Dare when Charlie said, “We were hoping to get an update from you on the progress of your investigation into Tommy’s shooting.”
“You could have called and saved yourself the drive.” It was the tone that grated on Regan—arrogant, dismissive.
“Tommy was my boss and friend,” Charlie said.
