into a receptionist's desk. An elderly man wearing a volunteer badge looked up from his Sudoku to greet her with enthusiasm as if she was the most excitement this place had seen in a decade.
Well, not a decade. More like four years.
She flipped open her jacket, a Black Halo leather car coat she'd bought in Century City. The clerk who assured her it would be warm enough for the Pennsylvania winters had been sorely mistaken. Resting a hand on her gun, she said, "Inspector Galloway to see Deputy Bob. He's expecting me."
The volunteer jumped up to personally escort her through the security door to the rear work area.
It also was empty except for one tall man bent over a coffeemaker at the far counter. They'd removed the appliances but left the stainless steel counters along both walls. In the cramped space in the center they'd shoved three desks together, one barren of everything except a phone, the other with a keyboard and old monitor that looked as if it weighed fifty pounds. The third desk held a matching ancient computer, fax machine, and all-in-one printer/scanner.
Jenna decided to let the locals know she was here on serious Postal Service business and sat at the desk Deputy Bob was obviously using.
"Good morning," he said, still bent over the coffee maker. Not very good situational awareness, she thought. Until she realized he could see everything behind him reflected in the polished steel backsplash. Just as she could see his amused smile.
"Morning," she replied in a neutral tone. His face in the mirrored surface was kinda cute. Boyish yet rugged with an interesting cleft in his chin and crinkles at the corners of his eyes as if he spent a lot of time staring into the sun.
Hollywood would eat him up. He turned, holding two mugs of coffee in his hands and the view got even better. Six foot, trim, real muscles, not gym-rat ones, warm brown eyes and medium brown hair that she bet got light in the summer.
What was even better was he seemed oblivious to his looks. Now that never would happen back in L.A.
"Am I in your seat?" she asked innocently.
"No problem." He gave her a mug. "Black okay? If not, we've got milk but no sugar."
"Black's fine, thanks." She noticed he gave her the mug with the sheriff's department logo on it, probably his own, while he kept the plain brown one that looked left over from the days this place was a Dairy Treat. Gotta love small town hospitality.
He leaned against the counter on her side of the small space and sipped his coffee. "How can I help you, Agent Galloway?"
"Actually, it's Inspector Galloway. I'm with the United States Postal Service."
"Postal Service? I thought you were interested in Adam Caine?" he paused, covering his scrutiny with another sip of coffee. "Didn't you say you were coming here with Lucy Guardino?"
"Special Agent Guardino dropped me off." He looked down at the tan linoleum, shifted his weight. Disappointed with a lowly postal inspector instead of a big time, world famous FBI agent, no doubt. "But this is my case. We suspect Adam Caine of violating US Code, Title 18, Section 876."
"And what's that when it's at home?"
"Using the US mail to send threatening communications."
He frowned. "And the penalty?"
"Ten years."
"But he's just a kid. Fifteen—"
"Fourteen years old." She shrugged. "All the more reason to find him, isn't it?"
"You drove all the way from Pittsburgh to see if Adam was mailing letters from here? Hate to disappoint, Inspector Galloway, but we don't even have a post office. Alexandria is the nearest."
"I know that. The letter in question was postmarked Cleveland—the last place Caine was seen."
"So you and Lucy came here—"
"The letter mentioned New Hope. We thought he might return home."
"He's alone? Where's Clint?"
"Apparently Adam ran away from his father ten months ago. Was picked up for petty theft, and when they couldn't locate the dad, they put him in the foster care system. Eight months ago he assaulted a group home
Well, not a decade. More like four years.
She flipped open her jacket, a Black Halo leather car coat she'd bought in Century City. The clerk who assured her it would be warm enough for the Pennsylvania winters had been sorely mistaken. Resting a hand on her gun, she said, "Inspector Galloway to see Deputy Bob. He's expecting me."
The volunteer jumped up to personally escort her through the security door to the rear work area.
It also was empty except for one tall man bent over a coffeemaker at the far counter. They'd removed the appliances but left the stainless steel counters along both walls. In the cramped space in the center they'd shoved three desks together, one barren of everything except a phone, the other with a keyboard and old monitor that looked as if it weighed fifty pounds. The third desk held a matching ancient computer, fax machine, and all-in-one printer/scanner.
Jenna decided to let the locals know she was here on serious Postal Service business and sat at the desk Deputy Bob was obviously using.
"Good morning," he said, still bent over the coffee maker. Not very good situational awareness, she thought. Until she realized he could see everything behind him reflected in the polished steel backsplash. Just as she could see his amused smile.
"Morning," she replied in a neutral tone. His face in the mirrored surface was kinda cute. Boyish yet rugged with an interesting cleft in his chin and crinkles at the corners of his eyes as if he spent a lot of time staring into the sun.
Hollywood would eat him up. He turned, holding two mugs of coffee in his hands and the view got even better. Six foot, trim, real muscles, not gym-rat ones, warm brown eyes and medium brown hair that she bet got light in the summer.
What was even better was he seemed oblivious to his looks. Now that never would happen back in L.A.
"Am I in your seat?" she asked innocently.
"No problem." He gave her a mug. "Black okay? If not, we've got milk but no sugar."
"Black's fine, thanks." She noticed he gave her the mug with the sheriff's department logo on it, probably his own, while he kept the plain brown one that looked left over from the days this place was a Dairy Treat. Gotta love small town hospitality.
He leaned against the counter on her side of the small space and sipped his coffee. "How can I help you, Agent Galloway?"
"Actually, it's Inspector Galloway. I'm with the United States Postal Service."
"Postal Service? I thought you were interested in Adam Caine?" he paused, covering his scrutiny with another sip of coffee. "Didn't you say you were coming here with Lucy Guardino?"
"Special Agent Guardino dropped me off." He looked down at the tan linoleum, shifted his weight. Disappointed with a lowly postal inspector instead of a big time, world famous FBI agent, no doubt. "But this is my case. We suspect Adam Caine of violating US Code, Title 18, Section 876."
"And what's that when it's at home?"
"Using the US mail to send threatening communications."
He frowned. "And the penalty?"
"Ten years."
"But he's just a kid. Fifteen—"
"Fourteen years old." She shrugged. "All the more reason to find him, isn't it?"
"You drove all the way from Pittsburgh to see if Adam was mailing letters from here? Hate to disappoint, Inspector Galloway, but we don't even have a post office. Alexandria is the nearest."
"I know that. The letter in question was postmarked Cleveland—the last place Caine was seen."
"So you and Lucy came here—"
"The letter mentioned New Hope. We thought he might return home."
"He's alone? Where's Clint?"
"Apparently Adam ran away from his father ten months ago. Was picked up for petty theft, and when they couldn't locate the dad, they put him in the foster care system. Eight months ago he assaulted a group home
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