his solemnity had lifted at least a little. Good. It was strange seeing him so solemn. Once, she’d taken it for granted that he was just a naturally somber kind of guy. It was only after knowing him for years that she had been able to see that he hadn’t really been grave, he’s just still been grieving. The loss of his wife had hit him hard. Only time—and meeting his mate, the effervescent Tiffani—had helped heal him.
He smiled a lot more now, and Gretchen had gotten used to it. And she liked that she’d gotten used to it. She wanted to do whatever she could to make sure he stayed happy.
So whatever the special assignment was, in her mind, she had already agreed.
Besides, she was curious.
“You did look all doom and gloom,” Gretchen said. “Whatever I can do to keep that look off your face, I’m for it. Just tell me.”
Martin sighed. “Two days ago, someone tried to kill Cooper Dawes.”
It took a second before the name rang a bell. Then a whole host of memories came flooding in.
Gretchen had never met Cooper Dawes. But he had been a US Marshal, just like them, and his deliberate, malicious betrayal of all the principles they were supposed to stand for had hurt. It was a black eye on every Marshal everywhere. And it had led to a sharp drop in the number of witnesses willing to testify and trust the Marshals for their protection—and Gretchen couldn’t blame them for it at all. Why would anyone want to put their lives in the hands of someone who might sell them out to the highest bidder?
Organized crime had a long reach and even longer memory; Dawes had taken advantage of the fact that it had deep pockets, too. They still hadn’t traced all the money he had raked in, but it was most likely in the millions.
Two witnesses had died because of it, and after the second, people had started getting suspicious. There had been questions. At least some of them had been asked by Phil Locke, Dawes’s partner—and then Locke had turned up dead. The bullet in him had been a perfect match for a gun found in Dawes’s house, and all the leaked information had been traced to computers Dawes had access to.
The trial had been a cakewalk for the prosecution. They had an easy story to tell.
Cooper Dawes, on the other hand, had nothing.
I don’t know anything about that. I would never do that. Phil was my partner, and this job is everything to me. I believe in the work we’re doing.
Gretchen had watched parts of the trial live, and that last sentence of his had struck a strange chord in her, mostly because of the way Dawes had straightened up when he’d said it. He’d had trouble not slumping when he was on the stand, and it had made everything he was saying come off as somehow half-hearted. But there was nothing half-hearted about him right then. He had looked straight at the prosecutor, his green eyes burning almost feverishly bright.
I believe in the work we’re doing.
And for a second, she had believed in him.
Which was ridiculous.
But even now, remembering Dawes’s intensity in that moment got to her. It was strange to think that someone had come close to wiping that intensity out completely.
“I have as much against the guy as anyone else,” Gretchen said, “but if we put people away, they’re supposed to stay there, not wind up in a graveyard.”
“I know he’s everyone’s public enemy number one right now,” Martin said quietly, “but since he managed to get shish-kabobbed half-a-dozen ways while in protective custody, it’s safe to say the penitentiary at Stridmont’s not a good fit for him. He’s being moved all the way to Bergen, and as soon as possible.”
That was halfway across the country. “Just him, or do they have any other prisoners making the trip?”
“Just him.”
That made sense. Gretchen could just barely understand the rationale behind moving this particular prisoner over that kind of distance—the powers that be wanted to move Dawes as far away from trouble as possible. But it would be an insane drive to make for any other reason. And now she knew why Martin had pulled her out of the party, even if she still didn’t understand exactly what the big deal was.
“You want me to drive him,” she said easily. “Sure. I don’t mind long trips. I’m halfway through an audiobook of Moby Dick.”
She’d been halfway through