Smokies Special Agent. Lena Diaz

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      “You’re FBI?” He couldn’t quite wrap his head around that.

      She stood and held out her left hand, since her right one was in the sling. “Special Agent Remi Jordan.”

      He eyed her hand like he would a poisonous snake.

      She took the hint and sat back down.

      Johnson laboriously rose to his feet and tugged his suit jacket into place. “Special Agent Jordan has waived her right to an attorney and has declined my offer to stay here with her. She has assured me that she’s prepared to fully cooperate with your investigation. Isn’t that right?”

      She gave him a curt nod, but didn’t meet his gaze.

      “I’ve already taken her badge,” Johnson said. “And your crime scene unit logged her gun as evidence. She’s now on administrative leave, pending the results of your investigation. If either of you gentlemen need anything further from my office, let me know.” He tapped a white business card sitting on the desk. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to Knoxville.” He grabbed his coat from a peg behind Lee’s desk and then shrugged into it as he headed toward the door.

      Duncan watched the man leave, distaste burning like acid in his throat. For the first time since the shooting earlier today, he felt a tug of sympathy for the woman sitting on the other side of the desk. No matter what she’d told Johnson, the man was her boss. It was his duty to look out for her. He should have insisted that she get a lawyer, or brought one with him. Lee sure would have. He’d fight like a rabid bobcat to defend every member of his team. Justice would be served, of course. But he’d do everything he could to ensure that his officers’ rights were protected.

      Lee pushed back his chair and stood. “Special Agent Jordan, with you getting that shoulder patched up and your boss asking us to wait until he got here to talk, we haven’t had much of a chance to discuss the details of the shooting. Special Agent McKenzie will take your statement. In the meantime, my stomach is eating a hole through my spine. I’ll head down the mountain and get us all some lunch. Any dietary restrictions or preferences I should know about?”

      Her expression turned wary as she obviously debated whether or not to trust him. From the way her own boss had just acted, Duncan couldn’t blame her.

      “That’s very nice of you,” she told Lee. “Thank you. And no, no restrictions. Whatever you get is fine and much appreciated.”

      “All right. I’ll be back in an hour, give or take.” He grabbed his gloves and heavy jacket hanging on the wall behind his chair and motioned toward Pup and Pops. “Grady, you’re my pack mule this trip,” he called out. “You can chauffer me into town while I check my email on my phone.”

      From the grin on the kid’s eager face, he must have thought he’d won the lottery. He jumped up so fast that he almost overturned his chair.

      Pops shook his head, but a smile played around his lips as he turned to his computer monitor. Grady started peppering Lee with questions about procedures and reports before Lee could even close the door behind them. The pained expression on his face when he glanced back had Duncan wondering if his boss already regretted his decision to take his newest employee with him into town.

      Duncan motioned toward the back wall. His anger had given way to grudging curiosity now that he knew his suspect was in law enforcement. With a federal agent involved, he could understand why Lee had chosen not to turn her over to the local police. Instead, the NPS would handle it as an interagency courtesy—at least for now. It was up to Duncan to get the answers to the questions that had been rolling around in his head from the moment he’d taken a hiker’s call early this morning.

      “Special Agent Jordan, if you’ll take a seat in the other room, I need to grab my laptop to take notes.”

      She stood and waved toward the reinforced-glass and steel door on the far right. “In there?”

      He followed her gesture. “Ah, no. That’s the holding cell. In spite of what I may have said earlier about locking you up, in the eight years that I’ve worked here, we’ve never once used that room for its intended purpose. It’s stuffed with boxes of office supplies and old case files.” He motioned toward the door on the far left. “I meant the conference room. I’m sure you were shown where the restroom was earlier.” He motioned toward the middle door. “If you need—”

      “No, thank you.” She moved stiffly past him and marched into the conference room like a prisoner heading to death row.

       Chapter Four

      When Special Agent Remi Jordan passed Duncan, he was struck by how petite she was. The top of her head barely reached his chin. In blue jeans and a simple blue blouse, without a jacket to provide bulk, she probably didn’t tip a hundred pounds on a scale. Her right arm being trussed up in a sling only emphasized her vulnerability. Seeing her this way, with this morning’s drama stripped away, and no gun, Duncan realized she appeared utterly defenseless. And he had the inexplicable urge to offer his protection, to reassure her that everything was going to be all right.

      That would be foolish and wrong on so many levels, especially because it would probably be a lie.

      As a trained officer, she should have used deadly force as a last resort. Instead, she’d used it as her first response. She’d shot an unarmed man while off duty, on vacation, according to her boss, with no provocation that Duncan had seen. She could be looking at charges of attempted murder, attempted manslaughter or, the very least, assault. If by some miracle she avoided charges and didn’t go to prison, she’d likely still lose her job with the FBI. And she’d almost certainly face financial ruin in the civil courts. With another law-enforcement officer as a witness, Vale could ride that gravy train all the way to the bank.

      Duncan stood in the doorway, watching her consider the four padded wooden chairs, the square vinyl-topped table that was more appropriate for playing cards than for a conference or an interview. But like everything else in this trailer, the table and chairs met the main requirement—they were small enough to fit the tiny space.

      She apparently decided not to bother with a chair. Instead, she moved to the lone window at the other end of the room. Facing away from him, she stared through the glass at the snow, which was falling again.

      “Special Agent Jordan?”

      She glanced over her shoulder. “Remi, please. Calling me Special Agent every time you ask me a question is going to get really old, really fast, for both of us.”

      “Remi. Unusual name. Is that short for something?”

      “Remilyn, after my grandmother. But my mom’s the only person who ever called me that.”

      “Called? Then she’s—”

      “She passed away when I was seventeen. Breast cancer.”

      The slight wobble in her voice told him that she’d loved her mother, and that her death—he was guessing eight or nine years ago—still hurt.

      He counted his blessings that both his parents were still alive and doing well. He couldn’t imagine not being able to drop by their СКАЧАТЬ