Flash Point by Colby Marshall Page B

object of his desire and wants it compared to the writing on some postcards the guessed-Snoopy wrote his sister. Said the guy at the college thought I could help determine if the stalker letter and the guessed-Snoopy’s postcards were written by the same hand,’ Grey said. Then she shook her head, laughed. ‘Man, if
my
sister handed across some postcards to someone trying to prove me a Snoopy, I’d be pissed.’ She paused, cocked her head. ‘But then again, I guess if my brother was a Snoopy, I’d want him locked away for it, too. Huh.’
    Jenna’s face seared as she saw the disapproving, uncertain looks being exchanged in the room around her. It wasn’t that Grey’s peculiar speech patterns and way of structuring her sentences embarrassed her. Her fellow teammates were smart enough to discern that the weird little idiosyncrasies peppering her words and even the bizarre getup Gray wore had to be manifestations of a personality disorder.
    The rusty, brown-tinged color of primer red flashed in. She’d associated it with embarrassment at least since high school, a connection that might or might not have something to do with how mortified she’d been when her Dad had dropped her off at the school dance and all the kids who’d seen her exit the ’55 Chevy had told her she must be confused, that the farm equipment had to be parked out past the softball field.
    Nope, she felt like a fool because of what the team had to think of
her
for seeking out the woman in the room with them. For claiming that the awkward, rambling person using a shiny black coffee mug on their conference table to check that none of her breakfast was stuck in her teeth was the most qualified expert on the planet to assist them as they worked to crack the worst case of domestic terrorism since 9/11.
    Finally, Porter broke the hush in the otherwise silent room. ‘So, a private investigator called you for a linguistics consult. What does that have to do with us?’
    Seeming like she hadn’t even heard the question, Grey continued her own train of thought right where she’d left off. ‘Only, my brother wasn’t. A Snoopy. Wasn’t a PI, either. Neither was this guy on my squawk box,’ she said, looking down at where she was moving two coffee cups around the table like they were racecars.
    â€˜How do you know that, Grey?’ Jenna pressed.
    Go on, Grey, give them a little taste of why they shouldn’t write you off just yet.
    Grey looked up at Jenna, her face flat. ‘Because in the message he left on my squawk box, he asked if I would compare the writing on the postcards to the letters from the UNSUB,’ she said evenly. She looked down, resumed urging her cup-cars forward on the table as though racing them. ‘PIs don’t say UNSUB.’
    Jenna caught the impressed glance Saleda shot her way, but Grey kept talking.
    â€˜No clue what an UNSUB is, honestly. Google told me that. Term federal agents use to refer to an Unidentified Subject, it said. Didn’t worry about it much, though. Maybe the PI guy retired from the FBI so he could PI. I decided I’d reply to him on the squawk box in a few days.’
    â€˜What changed the plan?’ Dodd asked.
    â€˜The fact that my old roommate Keely called me to tell me someone had talked on
her
squawk box about needing to find me to return some book he borrowed. She played me the message on her squawk box, and it sure sounded like Mr PI Guy.’
    Saleda glared at Irv. ‘Why would you not use the same story with the roommate?’
    Irv’s eyes got wider. ‘I don’t know. I guess in the time I spend doing my job cross-referencing and data hacking for you guys that it’s been years since I was a member of the A-Team?’
    Grey paid them no attention. ‘Well, I didn’t have to be the brightest light in the candelabra to calculate that a federal agent was looking for me. I could