Deadly Dreams - By Kylie Brant Page 0,105

droll. “Do with me what you will.”

Paulie and the blond stranger were walking their way. During the short exchange with Dev, the woman—Jaid Marlowe—had vanished. When the pair reached them, Risa revised her original estimation. The stranger was older than she’d first thought, mid-forties maybe. Old enough, perhaps, for him to have been a colleague of Adam’s in the bureau.

“Special Agent Tom Shepherd.” Paulie made the introduction in an uncharacteristically brusque manner. “DC sent him out to figure how the field agents screwed up so badly.”

“I wanted to come.” The man gave them a sober look. “Raiker . . . he’s still a legend at the bureau. He dropped in to see me just a few months ago. I was still doing penance in Bismark.” Paulie nodded, as if he’d known about the visit. Probably he had. There was little about Raiker that he wasn’t apprised of.

“He hadn’t realized I’d been banished after he came in and solved that first Mulder kidnapping I worked a few years back. But six weeks after he stopped by, I received word that I was being transferred back to DC.” His eyes strayed to the CCU room across the hall. “He’d never admit it, but I know he put in a word. The man’s still got pull in the agency, even being gone as long as he has.”

He excused himself then and moved toward the agent stationed outside Adam’s door. Since it was the same one Risa had had a go-round with earlier, she was half hoping to listen in on the conversation. But when Paulie caught her eye and gave a slight jerk of his head, she gave an inner sigh and followed him back into the waiting room, with Ramsey and Dev trailing her.

It didn’t escape her that with Adam out of commission Paulie had lost a great deal of his normal effusiveness and taken over some of their boss’s no-nonsense mannerisms. It wasn’t the same. Wouldn’t be until Adam was better and snapping orders at them all again.

Jett Brandau stuck his head in the door. “You got time?”

Nate looked up from the questions he was jotting down. He hoped to have Javon Emmons and Walter Eggers back in for interviews before the day’s end. With outside investigations embroiling both men, he had to be careful in the information he elicited and the manner in which he did it.

But Jett might have details on Risa’s house fire. “Sure.” He put his pen down and nodded to a chair.

The man looked drawn as he slouched in a seat. “Been a helluva day already.”

“Tell me about it,” Nate responded feelingly.

“Thought you’d like to know . . . I’ve been in contact with the battalion chief from the fire station that responded to the call at Risa’s house. Lloyd Bennett. Good guy.”

“And?”

Jett lifted a shoulder. “And . . . not much. Yet. Place is still smoldering. They had to do a surround and drown—hose down the houses on either side of it to keep the fire from spreading. It was burning pretty hot. He’ll keep me posted when they have more details.”

“Would they be able to determine by now whether there was a forced entry?”

Brows shooting upward, Jett said, “You mean there’s a question of arson? Really? Because if there is, they need to request a fire inspector to look at it.”

“Morales asked because of the investigation,” Nate affirmed. “It should be checked out. I think it’s a stretch to believe the offender targeted Risa, but we need to take every precaution.”

“I hope to God he doesn’t have her in his sights.” Jett tapped his fingers nervously on the arm of the chair.

“You and me both. Like I say, it’s a stretch.” But he damn sure didn’t want to take any chances with Risa’s safety.

“I’ll bug Bennett throughout the day and report back. He owes me a favor.”

Jett seemed to think the city was abounding with people who “owed him.” Nate hoped that for once the man was right.

The conversation lagged. When Brandau didn’t rise, Nate knew the man had something else on his mind. And he was pretty certain what it was.

“You heard about Cass.”

The familiar weight settled in his gut. He nodded, said nothing.

“She knows she screwed up, Nate.” A smile flickered. Disappeared. “Guess she doesn’t need anyone telling her that.”

“It’s too late to tell her anything.” Not that he hadn’t tried, unsuccessfully, time and again. Too often it seemed like he was a helpless bystander watching people he cared about make one

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