[Merry Gentry 04] - A Stroke of Midnight by Laurell K. Hamilton

lot. The press conference is over, so why are that many national and international media types hanging around in the middle of a cornfield in Illinois?”
    I told him the broad outline of the problem.
    â€œI can be there with a team in less than . . .”
    â€œNo, no team. I’ve already got a few police coming with a forensic unit. You can come, but you can’t bring dozens of agents with you. This happened inside the sithen, not on federal land this time.”
    â€œWe could help you.”
    â€œMaybe, or maybe there would just be more humans to get injured. We’ve got a dead reporter, that’s bad enough. We can’t afford to have an FBI agent get killed by one of us.”
    â€œWe’ve talked about this for years, Merry. Don’t cut me out now.”
    â€œMy father’s murder is sixteen years old; it is secondary here, Raymond. The priority is the new deaths. Hearing your voice now, I’m not sure that would be the case for you.”
    â€œYou don’t trust me.” He sounded hurt.
    â€œI’m in line to the throne now, Raymond. The good of the court outweighs personal vengeance.”
    â€œAnd what would your father say to hear that from you, his daughter?”
    â€œHe’d say that I had grown wise. He’d agree with me.” I was wishing I hadn’t called him. I realized that Special Agent Raymond Gillett was part of a child’s wish. I couldn’t afford that kind of wishing, not anymore.
    I was suddenly tired, and my arm ached from shoulder to wrist. I turned and leaned against the desk, half sitting on it. It forced Galen farther away from me, and that was fine. He kept his hand playing lightly on the edge of my thigh, moving the skirt back and forth as he petted me. It was comforting, and I needed the comfort.
    Doyle was looking at me, and something in his eyes softened his face. I had to look away from the kindness I saw there. I wasn’t sure why such a look from him made my throat grow tight.
    â€œDon’t come, Gillett. I’m sorry I called.”
    â€œMerry, don’t do this, not after almost twenty years.”
    â€œWhen we’ve solved this one, if I’m still alive and still have the carte blanche in this area, I’ll call you, and we can talk about you coming down. But only if it’s about my father’s death.”
    â€œYou don’t think the FBI might be helpful on a double homicide?”
    â€œI don’t know what we’ve got here, Gillett. If we need something fancier than the local lab can handle, I’ll let you know.”
    â€œAnd maybe I’ll answer the phone, and maybe I won’t.”
    â€œAs you like,” I said, and I struggled not to let my voice show how tight my throat felt, how hot my eyes were. “But think on this, Gillett. Did you start all this with a seventeen-year-old child because you felt sorry for me, or because you were angry that the queen cut you out of the investigation? Was it pity that moved you, a desire for justice, or simply anger? You’d show her. You’d solve the case without the queen’s help. You’d use Essus’s daughter to help you.”
    â€œIt wasn’t like that.”
    â€œThen why are you angry with me now? I shouldn’t have called you, but I gave you a promise. A child’s promise to call you if ever a similar murder happened. It isn’t similar in detail, but whoever did it has similar magic at their call. If we solve this, it may get us closer to finding my father’s murderer. I thought you’d like to know.”
    â€œMerry, I’m sorry, it’s . . .”
    â€œThat the murder has been eating at you all these years?” I said.
    â€œYes,” he said.
    â€œI’ll call you if anything pertinent comes up.”
    â€œCall me if you need better forensics than the locals can give you. I can get you DNA results that they can only dream of.”
    I had to smile.