Far Gone by Laura Griffin

of coke.
    During the mayhem that ensued, the coke’s owner had fled through a back window. Jon and Torres had taken off after him. The foot pursuit ended on the outskirts of town when the man tripped face-first into a prickly-pear cactus the size of a grizzly bear. He’d gone ballistic, howling and kicking and throwing wild punches as Jon wrestled on the cuffs.
    Jon drove along the gravel road to his house now, more than ready to call it a day—except for the yawning hole in the pit of his stomach. That would have to be dealt with even before he got a shower. And then there was the other hunger that had been gnawing at him for days. He thought of Andrea’s lithe body and her sensual mouth and the way she’d tasted when he’d finally gotten her to stop arguing with him. Unfortunately, the chances of doing anything about that craving tonight were slim to none.
    Jon passed through a trailer park, where clotheslines and electrical wires stretched between homes. He entered an area of modest houses on lots surrounded by chain-link fences. The low adobe homes were lit up like jack-o’-lanterns. His didn’t match, dark except for a bare bulb dangling above the door. He pulled into the carport and ignored the Rottweiler barking and hurling himself against the fence as he trudged to his back door. The dog’s name was Loco. He and Jon had yet to become friends.
    He unzipped his ICE jacket as he flipped on the lights inside. Half of them were out, a fact he only remembered at this time of day. He stripped down to his Kevlar vest and pulled open the fridge.
    Reality kicked in. He stared at the shelves, then filled a cup with tap water and gulped it down.
    A car roared up the street, and Loco erupted as brakes screeched in front of the house. Jon tossed his cup into the sink as three raps sounded at the door— Pop! Pop! Pop! —like gunfire.
    He glanced out the window at the SUV parked diagonally across the patch of dirt that made up his front yard.
    Pop! Pop! Pop!
    He pulled open the door.
    “You son of a bitch!”
    “Nice parking.”
    Andrea stalked past him. “How dumb do you think I am, North?”
    “Would you like to come in?”
    “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” Her blue eyes flashed up at him, and she looked ready to spit nails.
    He closed the door and sighed. “Find out what?”
    Her eyes widened. Her fists clenched. She glanced at his groin, and he took an instinctive step back. “You lied to me! About your case and my brother and everything!”
    Her whole body was vibrating. She wasn’t wearing a jacket, but he could tell it was from anger, not cold.
    He felt the first stirrings of alarm. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d made a woman so furious. Probably never.
    “Andrea, calm down.”
    “Calm down? You lied about some cold case to get me to open up to you!”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “What do you think ? Julia Kirby! Senator Kirby! The real reason you want to use my brother!”
    He didn’t say anything. Heat flared in her eyes.
    “I knew it!”
    Shit. He tipped his head back. “Andrea—”
    “No! You’re done! I get to ask the questions now.”
    He looked down at her and felt an odd mixture of dread and anticipation. She was irate, and with good reason.
    He’d underestimated her.
    Torres had warned him. He’d wanted to be straight up with her, see if she’d agree to help them. Jon had wanted to do things his way, and as the senior agent on the case, he’d won. Didn’t feel like a win right now.
    “First question.” She turned away, as if just looking at him was unbearable. “True or false, and don’t you dare lie to me.” She turned around. She took a deep breath. “Do you believe Shay Hardin had something to do with that bombing in Philadelphia?”
    He watched her. He didn’t say anything. As the seconds ticked by, all the color drained from her face.
    “Oh, my God.” Her shoulders slumped. She sank onto the arm of his sofa and buried her head in her