Durance by Lyn Gala Page 0,58

good living,” Darren said.

“And you chose law enforcement?” Kavon asked. The disbelief finally crowded out a little of the anger. “And here I thought you were smart.”

“Hey, in school, my grades were all over the place. If a class was interesting and challenging, I got an A. If I was bored, I struggled to get above a C. The same in college. When a recruiter talked about the FBI program, I thought it would challenge me enough that I might avoid getting fired for being a bored, shitty employee.”

“You’re a great agent,” Kavon said. “And I know you feel the same need to protect people.”

“That came later. I never was focused—not like you.”

“Your view of me is skewed,” Kavon said. “I never wanted to be the center of a fight for Talent rights, in or out of the FBI. I wanted a quiet life where I could make a small difference in the world. I wanted to be a teacher.”

Darren spread his hands as if outlining an invisible banner. “Kavon Boucher’s School of Magic. I can see that.”

“I wanted to be a history teacher,” Kavon said. “I wanted to show kids that shamans were normal people.” Grief seeped through the bond as if he was mourning the loss of that dream. Darren waited, and they passed intersection after intersection on their way north to some destination Kavon had chosen. “I loved reading to my little brothers and sisters.” He chuckled “My mother took a spoon to my butt because she caught me telling them historically accurate but age-inappropriate stories about lynchings and witch burnings and plague victims.”

“Seriously?” Darren couldn’t imagine that life for Kavon.

“I’m was the shy kid Dave talked into applying for the FBI.” Kavon’s words had a bitter and raw quality.

“Dave talked you into it?” Darren was starting to get an uneasy feeling about this conversation.

“Yeah.” Kavon ran his tongue along the inside of his lower lip. “He talked me into staying when I hated my probationary years. My training agent talked about the good old days of spying on Americans and inflitrating anti-war groups and anti-Talent groups and pro-Talent groups and manipulating the kids. They thought their shit didn’t stink.”

Darren grimaced. When he’d been stuck with a training agent who had been nonchalant about the law, he had called Assistant Director White, who had sent Kavon charging to Darren’s rescue. But apparently no one had rescued Kavon. “Another agent would have quit. You had a lot of strength of character.”

“I was too stubborn to give up when Dave told me it was important for me to make a difference for the shamanic community.” Kavon shook his head. “What shit. He wanted to turn me into a better soldier for the war—someone with connections he could manipulate.”

“Given that he’s dead, I don’t think he can manipulate you now,” Darren said.

“Don’t bet on it.”

Darren slowly blew out a breath. Maybe Kavon didn’t care what people thought of him now, but apparently he had cared a lot in the not-so-distant past. “Where are we going?” he asked when the silence had dragged on too long.

“Angel Zamora,” Kavon said. The bond felt staticky for a second, and Darren got a shiver like when someone ran fingernails down a chalkboard. Maybe Kavon’s dislike ran deeper than Darren thought.

Chapter Twenty

Vin opened the door when Darren rang. He smiled widely when he saw them. “Agent Darren. Agent Boucher.” Even though he was in his late forties or early fifties, he still had the affect of a child. “Hi. Are you here to see Matt and Angel? Only Matt is at school. He’s always at school these days. He says it’s because he’s graduating soon.” Vin left the door hanging open when he turned his back and headed into the upper-class house. “I can fix you a grilled cheese if you want,” he shouted over his shoulder.

Darren and Kavon traded looks. “I think we’re invited in,” Darren said.

“I’m not sure he’s competent to answer the door,” Kavon muttered, but he followed Vin into the house, closing the door behind. The outside was classy and formal, but inside the place resembled a frat house, albeit a clean one. Lacrosse sticks and a paddle were propped up against the wall near the ornate stair rail and a huge television in the formal sitting room had several gaming systems under it.

“Play nice,” Darren said, and he immediately regretted his words when Kavon’s aggravation shot up. One of these days, Darren was going to drag the man to therapy.