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Oh, yes, I remember. Every time I look at her fresh, young face, I remember. She looks in her element here, these throngs milling about much more her people than an almost-thirty, life-on-the-dark-side government agent.
We sit on the bench as if we’re strangers, strangers who weren’t mugging down on the tailgate of my truck only last night. That’s irrelevant, of course, given our situation and my much-in-doubt future—so why am I trying to put my finger on where our relationship stands. I mean, we’re not an item or anything like that, but last night I felt a closeness. Today, while we’re getting along fine, I sense distance. Has she finally wised up, or is my deteriorating humor coloring my perspective? Either is plausible.
I pull out my phone and mindlessly tap and swipe around. I haven’t done this in days because I haven’t wanted to see my face or somebody else’s version of my story pop up.
Beside me, Annalise is on high alert, sweeping and scanning. No doubt I should be doing likewise, but for now it’s all I can do to keep my eyelids open, and by my calculations, things won’t begin to pick up around here for at least another fifteen minutes. If I can close my eyes for just a second…
“There he is! Marco, I see him! That’s Chase!”
I blink awake to tugging on my sleeve, hazy cobwebs dimming my brain.
Not to be denied, she’s grabbing my hand and tugging me to my feet, pointing less than discreetly to an uncommonly tall student with a black backpack hung on his shoulder.
I circle her wrist with my fingers and pull her to a stop. “Wait here and let me talk to him.”
“Marco!”
“Just wait, please.” I don’t know why I make a point of this, but hey, I’m the professional here.
I know she’s ticked as I stride away, toward my single, dangling hope of breaking my case wide open.
I come alongside the kid. “Chase Winburn?”
His pace slows. “Who are you?”
“We need to talk, if you have a moment?”Even if you don’t.
“I don’t know…” His eyes fall to my arms, and he starts walking a little faster. “I gotta go.”
I keep step. “Look, Winburn—”
“Please, Chase. Can you spare a minute?” A smooth and very feminine Texas drawl pleads my case, and that wonderfully soft hand is on my arm again. I whip around, because here is Annalise, right where she isn’t supposed to be. Naturally.
The kid doesn’t merely slow down. He comes to a full stop, eyes for no one but her. Spare me.
She smiles brightly. “Hi. I’m Annalise and this is my friend, Agent Marco Gonzalez, DEA.”
I cringe. I’m not official now, not in any shape, form, or fashion.
The kid finally spares me a glance. “You’re that guy who killed Ethan, aren’t you?”
No beating around the bush. I’m cool with that. “Yes, I am, but it wasn’t exactly like the news stories say.” I hate defending my actions to some know-nothing college snowflake.
“I’m not surprised.”
“Excuse me?”
He shrugs. “I figured there had to be more to the story, and Ethan stopped surprising me a long time ago.”
My heart rate ticks up a notch. We move off the sidewalk, into a grassy area away from the flow of traffic. “What can you tell me about Anderson?”
Winburn keeps looking at Annalise. See, this is why she should have stayed back…only, if she had, the kid would have kept right on walking, because Annalise is correct: I don’t blend.
“I can tell you he wasn’t this super, all-American kid, that’s for sure.”
Winburn—Chase—looks sad for a moment, and for a moment, I fear he’s going to clam up. Annalise must have intercepted the same vibe, because she lays that magical hand of hers on his arm, “Please, Chase. It’s so important. Someone else’s life is on the line here.”
Finally, he jams his hands in the pockets of his shorts. “Ethan and I were buddies in middle school. He was smart and a lot of fun, but kind of a troublemaker, too. Always managed to fly under the radar though. My family moved out of the area during high school, but we sorta kept in touch, with social media, you know? But then, senior year, when he saw I was coming to Tech, he messaged and said he was too, suggested we room together. I made the mistake of assuming he’d grown up since junior high.” Shaking his curly head, Winburn glances beyond my shoulder.
