of anything. And that was the point.
Right. Left. Uppercut. Jab. Right. Left. Uppercut. Jab.
Jenna.
The next punch went wild and his fist skimmed off the bag, tipping him off balance, and he crashed to the floor. His right hip and elbow hit the bare wooden boards with a loud smack.
“Jesus,” he breathed, unsure whether it was a curse or a prayer. He rolled over onto his back, his arms flung out from his sides as he caught his breath.
“Nope, just me,” a voice said above him. “Not that I haven’t been confused with the divine before.”
Billy swiped the back of his hand across his eyes and pushed himself up into a sitting position. “Agent Parker,” he said calmly, as if his boss wandered into his house uninvited every day.
“Special Agent Corrigan.” Somewhere in that ageless territory between fifty and infinity, Fay Parker, Special Agent in Charge of the San Francisco field office, strode into the room and sat down on the edge of his recliner. She smoothed the skirt of her black power suit before crossing her ankles and fixing him with the stare that had earned her the nickname “the Basilisk.” One slight move of her head, and her gold wire glasses slipped far enough down her nose so she could eye him over the rims. “You’re a goddamn mess, Agent Corrigan,” she said finally, her deep, raspy voice the hallmark of too many cigarettes.
Billy leaned back against the wall and drew his knees up so he could rest his elbows on them, only slightly breathless from the two hours he’d spent at the bag. “I am.” He paused. “Ma’am.”
She raised an eyebrow at the hint of challenge in his tone, but chose to ignore it. “Well, now that everyone’s in agreement.” Her voice was soft, but cold. “Judge Randall told me she hasn’t seen hide nor hair of you or the affadavit for the DigiSystems case you told me you were going to submit today. Where is it? And where’s the cell phone you’re supposed to have with you at all times?” She tapped her fingers rapidly on the chair arm, but otherwise gave no outward sign of her agitation. But she was agitated.
“I’m sorry, Agent Parker,” he said, not bothering to point out that he’d never been late with a paperwork at any other time in his career. Except when they’d called him about Jenna. “I thought it could wait until morning.” The T-shirt he’d tossed away earlier lay next to him, and he grabbed it, using it to wipe his face before he put it on. “But my guess is you didn’t come here for that, or to remind me to turn on my cell phone.”
She didn’t even blink. “Okay, Billy, then how about you enlighten me as to why you were sniffing up Maggie Reyes’s skirt this afternoon?”
Nothing the all-seeing Parker said should have surprised him, but he was still taken aback.
“Oh, yes, I know where you were today. I’ve been watching you for a long time.” She took the glasses from her face and leaned forward, the thin line of her mouth softening slightly. “I make it my business to know when one of my agents is about to sabotage the hell out of his career.”
He sat up a little straighter at her remark, feeling suddenly pinned down by her gaze.
“It’s been two years, son. I know you never get over losing a family member, but you’re killing yourself over this.”
He shook his head, but couldn’t bring himself to form the words of denial that automatically rose to his lips.
“You work all the time. You cut off all contact with the people you used to see socially. You rarely talk to anyone outside of the job.” She shrugged, a faint trace of pity in her dark eyes. “Not that that’s abnormal in a unit full of techno-geeks, but it’s never been normal for you. Driving your body and mind to the brink of exhaustion every damn day for nearly two years is eventually going to take its toll.” She folded her glasses into her fist with a small snap. “And I don’t want any of my agents in the field with you when you finally crack, Corrigan. This has to stop.”
He didn’t even bother to ask her what. “He killed my sister. And he’s coming here.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “Says who? Certainly not Violent Crimes.”
“Maggie.”
“Oh, it’s ‘Maggie’ now, is it?” Parker stood, her iron-gray bob swinging along her jawline with her sudden movement. “I don’t care if the entire city of Monterey decides to throw a parade in the Surgeon’s honor. This is not a case for the Computer Crimes Division. And, given your position in the Bureau, this is not a case for you.”
Billy rose off the floor. Parker was only five foot six to his six-three, but she had the presence of an Amazon, and he wasn’t about to let her loom over him. He hated people who loomed.
“I know what you want, Corrigan, and I’m warning you now, I will not have vigilante justice in my department. I’ll say it again.” She punctuated her words by shaking her glasses at him. “This. Is. Not. Your. Case.”
Billy relaxed his stance, as if in preparation for physical combat rather than a battle of wills. “Jenna was everything I had,” he said quietly. “I won’t stop looking for him. You can fire me now, if you have to, but I won’t ever stop.”
She didn’t even blink. “Turn in your badge and your gun.”
Without hesitation, Billy walked to where his jeans lay on the floor and took his badge wallet out of one of the pockets. His gun rested on the fireplace mantle, and he picked that up, too, then handed both items to her.
The room grew quiet for several seconds as they stared at each other. Parker was the first to crack. “Damn you, you stupid, stubborn male.” She sighed and shook her head. “This is an extended leave of absence. When you’re ready to give up any and all delusions that you’re John Wayne, give me a call.”
She placed the items he’d given her onto the recliner she’d just vacated. “Now. Promise me one thing, Corrigan,” she said.
“If I can,” he answered.
“If, through some giant stroke of luck, you run into that son of a bitch before the Violent Crimes Division does, you follow the law to the letter. Because if I hear just a hint of the words excessive force in a sentence with your name in it, I will not lift a finger to save you.”
She spun around and walked to the door, then stopped just before exiting. “Live, Billy,” she said. “Please, just live.”
MAGGIE’S VISION CLOUDED and tunneled until all she could see was the vicious hunting knife, the serrated teeth on its top edge tearing into the wood on her door. She remembered that knife. The Surgeon had worn a mask when he’d taken her, and she’d never seen his face, but she’d remember that knife for the rest of her days. Every time she looked at the scars on her stomach.
“Addy, get a plastic bag from the kitchen, would you?” Her own voice sounded tinny and remote to her ears. She didn’t notice Adriana leave the room, but suddenly, the plastic bag was in her hand. She wrapped it around her fingers and pulled the knife out of her door. A piece of paper fluttered to the floor.
Then her vision cleared, widened, and she could see beyond the door, outside, down her sand-strewn driveway to the copse of trees across the street, so thick she wouldn’t know if someone were standing among them right now, watching.
