you talk to Rodriguez, pull that stick out of your ass. It’s really not helping.”
Rainie returned to her desk and sat down. A moment later she had the satisfaction of hearing Sanders storm away. It didn’t improve her mood, however. She was already growing weary of their battles.
And disheartened. Sanders was right: she had fucked up yesterday. She’d done her job earnestly, and that meant nothing in the criminal justice system. She had captured a suspect but destroyed the evidence. Soon she’d only be fit for a job with the LAPD.
And her credibility would come into question. People still whispered. Of course, it was a small town. If people didn’t whisper through the long, rainy winters, everyone would lose their minds.
Rainie Conner’s tough. Gotta watch out for her. Killed her own mother.
Rainie sighed, then became aware that the man in the navy blue suit was still standing there, watching.
“Can I help you?” she asked sharply.
“Officer Lorraine Conner?”
“I don’t know. Who’s asking?”
The man smiled, a wry tilt of one corner of his mouth. The gesture crinkled the corners of his eyes and momentarily startled Rainie. Lean hunter’s face. Penetrating blue eyes. She did a quick double take before she caught herself. Then she was embarrassed. Whoever the man was, she already wished he’d turn and walk away.
He said, “I’m Supervisory Special Agent Pierce Quincy of the FBI.”
“Ah shit.”
He smiled dryly again. And it got to her again, even now, when she definitely knew better. She wished for a bottle of beer.
The agent moved into the room and, without waiting for an invitation, took a seat. “I take it that gentleman is with the state?”
“Mr. Perfect is a state homicide detective. God help us all.”
“A ninety percent conviction rate is impressive.”
“So is his spelling ability. You still want to deck him after a five-minute chat.”
“Problems with the case?”
“I screwed it up royally,” she assured him.
“And now you’re resting on your laurels?”
“Hardly. I’m planning my next line of attack.”
The corner of the man’s lip twitched. Rainie was happy to see that she had amused him, but she still wasn’t in the mood for a chat. She sat forward and cut to the chase. “What do you want, G-man? I’m tired, I have a triple homicide to investigate, and I’m not giving up jurisdiction of my case. Just so you know.”
“I’m here to help—”
“Bullshit.”
“Okay, I’m one more bureaucrat placed on this earth to mess with your mind and question your abilities.”
“Finally, some honesty in law enforcement.”
“I also want to talk to Daniel O’Grady.”
Rainie leaned back. That answer she believed. She just wasn’t sure what it meant.
She tilted her chair onto its back legs, absently placing one foot on top of her desk, then crossing her other foot over it. Her legs still ached from running this morning. She stretched out her calves while she gave Supervisory Special Agent Pierce Quincy another appraising stare.
Experienced, she thought, well established in his career. Probably in his forties, graying slightly at the temples. Worked well with his short-cropped hair and distinguished suit. Added to his power. She was willing to bet money Supervisory Special Agent Pierce Quincy consciously did a lot of things to add to his image of power. He didn’t need much help, though. It was all in his eyes—that piercing, steady stare. This man had seen some things on the job. He’d taken on a few things more. Nothing overwhelmed him anymore, and for a moment Rainie was envious.
“You a profiler?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.
“I do some profiling. I also teach classes and re-search various subjects for the Behavioral Science Unit.”
“You study serial killers.”
“Serial killers, rapists, and child molesters,” he said with a straight face, then added, “It makes for very pleasant dreams.”
“What do you want with
Rainie returned to her desk and sat down. A moment later she had the satisfaction of hearing Sanders storm away. It didn’t improve her mood, however. She was already growing weary of their battles.
And disheartened. Sanders was right: she had fucked up yesterday. She’d done her job earnestly, and that meant nothing in the criminal justice system. She had captured a suspect but destroyed the evidence. Soon she’d only be fit for a job with the LAPD.
And her credibility would come into question. People still whispered. Of course, it was a small town. If people didn’t whisper through the long, rainy winters, everyone would lose their minds.
Rainie Conner’s tough. Gotta watch out for her. Killed her own mother.
Rainie sighed, then became aware that the man in the navy blue suit was still standing there, watching.
“Can I help you?” she asked sharply.
“Officer Lorraine Conner?”
“I don’t know. Who’s asking?”
The man smiled, a wry tilt of one corner of his mouth. The gesture crinkled the corners of his eyes and momentarily startled Rainie. Lean hunter’s face. Penetrating blue eyes. She did a quick double take before she caught herself. Then she was embarrassed. Whoever the man was, she already wished he’d turn and walk away.
He said, “I’m Supervisory Special Agent Pierce Quincy of the FBI.”
“Ah shit.”
He smiled dryly again. And it got to her again, even now, when she definitely knew better. She wished for a bottle of beer.
The agent moved into the room and, without waiting for an invitation, took a seat. “I take it that gentleman is with the state?”
“Mr. Perfect is a state homicide detective. God help us all.”
“A ninety percent conviction rate is impressive.”
“So is his spelling ability. You still want to deck him after a five-minute chat.”
“Problems with the case?”
“I screwed it up royally,” she assured him.
“And now you’re resting on your laurels?”
“Hardly. I’m planning my next line of attack.”
The corner of the man’s lip twitched. Rainie was happy to see that she had amused him, but she still wasn’t in the mood for a chat. She sat forward and cut to the chase. “What do you want, G-man? I’m tired, I have a triple homicide to investigate, and I’m not giving up jurisdiction of my case. Just so you know.”
“I’m here to help—”
“Bullshit.”
“Okay, I’m one more bureaucrat placed on this earth to mess with your mind and question your abilities.”
“Finally, some honesty in law enforcement.”
“I also want to talk to Daniel O’Grady.”
Rainie leaned back. That answer she believed. She just wasn’t sure what it meant.
She tilted her chair onto its back legs, absently placing one foot on top of her desk, then crossing her other foot over it. Her legs still ached from running this morning. She stretched out her calves while she gave Supervisory Special Agent Pierce Quincy another appraising stare.
Experienced, she thought, well established in his career. Probably in his forties, graying slightly at the temples. Worked well with his short-cropped hair and distinguished suit. Added to his power. She was willing to bet money Supervisory Special Agent Pierce Quincy consciously did a lot of things to add to his image of power. He didn’t need much help, though. It was all in his eyes—that piercing, steady stare. This man had seen some things on the job. He’d taken on a few things more. Nothing overwhelmed him anymore, and for a moment Rainie was envious.
“You a profiler?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.
“I do some profiling. I also teach classes and re-search various subjects for the Behavioral Science Unit.”
“You study serial killers.”
“Serial killers, rapists, and child molesters,” he said with a straight face, then added, “It makes for very pleasant dreams.”
“What do you want with
Similar Books
