was light brown, slightly longer. She might have been attractive except for a weak chin beneath a small, thin mouth that seemed permanently pursed in disapproval. She was also conservatively dressed, if less expensively, in a pantsuit of the same shade of dark blue.
The man took off his shades. He tucked them in an inside jacket pocket. His hand came out of the pocket with a slim brown wallet. “Ms. Hager?” he said. Without waiting for an answer, he flipped the wallet open, showing a flash of gold badge that swiftly disappeared as he tucked the wallet back in his pocket. “I’m Agent Gerritsen. Federal Bureau of Investigation. This is my partner, Agent Rankin.” Rankin performed the same conjuror’s trick, the badge flashing like summer lightning, then disappearing into a coat pocket.
“I’m Angela Hager,” she said, standing up. “What can I do for you?”
“We’re attempting to locate a Jackson Keller,” Gerritsen said. “I understand that he’s employed here.”
“Mr. Keller is an employee of mine,” Angela said guardedly. “May I ask what you want to see Mr. Keller for?” she asked.
“First off,” Gerritsen said, “do you know where he is?”
“It’s his day off,” Angela said.
“That wasn’t what we asked,” Rankin said.
“No,” Angela said. “I don’t know where he is. As I said, it’s his day off.”
“He’s not at his house,” Gerritsen said. “We also had people check Miss Jones’s office and her home in Fayetteville. He’s not there, either.”
“You seem to know an awful lot about him already,” she said.
They ignored the observation. “Does he have a cell-phone number?” Rankin said.
“First, I think you need to tell me what this is about,” Angela said.
The two FBI agents looked at each other. Finally, Rankin nodded. Gerritsen turned back to Angela. “Do you know why Mr. Keller is looking for a Sergeant David Lundgren?” he said. “Sergeant Lundgren isn’t a client of yours, is he?”
“No,” Angela said. “Mr. Keller is helping out Miss Jones. She’s a friend of his. She’s a private investigator.”
“For the time being,” Rankin said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Angela said.
“Interfering in a federal investigation is a serious matter,” Rankin said. “It could also have repercussions for your license as well.”
“I think you should get out,” Angela said.
Gerritsen took a card out of his coat pocket. “If Mr. Keller gets in touch with you,” he said, “please ask him if he’d call me at this number.” He held out the card.
Angela didn’t take it. Finally, Gerritsen sighed and put the card on the counter. He turned and walked out behind Rankin.
Angela sat down. She was shaking. She pulled the phone over toward her and dialed Keller’s cell phone.
***
As Keller pulled his car onto the concrete-slab driveway of Marie’s house, he noticed a vehicle parked on the road, across the street and one house down. He flicked off his headlights and sat in the car for a moment. As his eyes accustomed themselves to the darkness, he identified the vehicle as a Ford Taurus. He could make out the outline of a pair of shadowy figures in the front seat. He got out of the car, his eyes on the other vehicle. He thought he could see the shadow behind the wheel turn and say something to the person in the passenger seat. He began walking toward the Taurus. The headlights of the vehicle came on and the engine started. Keller broke into a run. The Taurus pulled quickly away from the curb and sped past him.
Keller tried to get a license number, but the bulb on the license plate light was out and he couldn’t make out the number in the darkness. He thought he could see the bright yellow decal of a local rental company on the rear bumper. The Taurus reached the stop sign at the corner, failed to slow down, turned, and was gone. Keller stood in the middle of the road, watching. In a few moments, he saw headlights approaching. Marie drove up in her gray Honda. Keller stepped out of her way and over to the curb as she pulled partway into the driveway.
“Hey,” she called over to him as she rolled down the passenger-side window. “What were you doing standing in the middle of the street?”
“I’ll tell you inside,” he said. Marie shrugged, rolled up the window, and pulled the rest of the way into the drive.
Keller opened the passenger side and reached into the rear seat, where Marie’s son lolled in the car seat, fast asleep. Ben was big for his five years, with a shock of tousled curly brown hair. Keller undid the straps holding Ben in the car seat and lifted him out. The boy murmured grumpily and squirmed a bit, but settled down as his head came to rest on Keller’s shoulder.
“Thanks,” said Marie, hauling a small bright green backpack out of the backseat. She fumbled briefly for her keys, then let them into the house. The front room was dark except for the steady red blink of the light on Marie’s answering machine on the table by the door.
“Don’t turn on the light,” Keller whispered. “You’ll wake him up.”
“I still need to get him into his pajamas,” Marie said. “But go ahead and put him in his bed. I’ll be in as soon as I check messages.”
Keller navigated by memory through the darkened living room, down the hallway, into Ben’s room. He laid the boy down on the bed and pulled a blanket over him. Ben yawned, then rolled over on his side and curled up. Keller stood looking down at him for a moment. He reached out as if to stroke the boy’s hair, then pulled his hand back. He turned and walked out of the room.
When Keller reentered the living room, Marie was standing by the answering machine. She still had the backpack slung on her shoulder. She had turned the light back on, and Keller could see an angry frown on her face.
“Trouble?” he said.
“Message from my ex,” she replied. “Guess the FBI’s gotten to him about me. He’s not exactly happy.” She pushed the button. The voice that came out was pure country, thickened with anger. “God damn it, Marie,” the voice said. “I don’t know what the hell you got into this time, a coupla FBI agents just left here askin’ about you and that damn boyfriend of yours. I’m talkin’ to my lawyer in the mornin’. I need to get my son outta that house.” There was a click. A mechanical voice announced “Sunday. Twelve. A.M.”
“I see you still haven’t learned to set the clock on that thing,” Keller said.
“Don’t make jokes, Keller,” she said wearily. He held out his arms and she came into them, letting Ben’s backpack slide to the floor. Keller held her tight. Finally, he said, “It’ll blow over. You said he gets like this every now and then.”
He felt Marie nod against his chest. “Every chance he gets these days. ‘I’m gonna get my lawyer and take my son back,’ ” she said, her voice a practiced imitation of the one on the machine. “He goes in, the lawyer tells him it’s going to cost some money he doesn’t want to spend, so he satisfies himself by talking ugly to
