He took back his hand. "Didn't your friend Bradford tell you I'd been reassigned?" He said friend like he meant more, and the rest was bitter. Not obvious bitter, but it had that feel to it. Nothing he said was rude enough to start a fight, but it was close.
Special Agent Bradley Bradford was head of the FBI's Special Research section, which dealt with preternatural serial killers, or crimes involving the preternatural.
There'd been a lot of controversy about splitting those crimes out of the Investigative Support unit, the one that usually handled serial killers. At short acquaintance, Franklin had made his feelings clear on the situation. He'd been against it.
Since Bradford was his boss at the time, that had been a problem. Apparently, Franklin had been reassigned, a nonvoluntary reassignment. Not good for a career in the FBI. I was taking fallout for a political squabble that I'd had nothing to do with. Great, just great.
I started to introduce Micah, but Fox beat me to it. "Callahan, Micah Callahan." Fox was already offering his hand and smiling, way more broadly than he'd smiled for me. How did an FBI agent know Micah? "You look good."
Micah smiled not quite as broadly, like he wasn't as happy to see Agent Fox. What the hell was going on?
"Fox, I..." Micah tried again. "The last time you saw me, I was still in the hospital. I must have looked like shit, so I guess anything's an improvement." I could hear the uncertainty in his voice, though I doubted anyone else could. You had to know him really well to hear that note in his voice.
"Someone who came that close to dying is allowed to look like shit," Fox said.
I knew then that this probably had something to do with the attack that had made Micah a wereleopard. All I knew about it for certain was that it had been violent. Once someone uses the words violent and attack, you don't press for details. I'd figured he'd tell me more when he was ready.
Micah turned to me. His face was having trouble deciding what to do, and I was betting he was glad that the glasses hid his eyes. "Special Agent Fox was one of the agents who questioned me after my attack."
I hadn't known that his mauling had gotten federal attention. I couldn't think why it would have but I couldn't ask that here and now because it would be admitting too much ignorance. Also, I wasn't sure how much Micah wanted to share in the airport with people walking around us.
I covered. I can do blank pleasant cop face with the best of them. I did it now. "What are the odds that he'd be the agent in charge of this case?" I said, smiling, as if I knew exactly what we were talking about. I'd give Micah a chance to explain later, when we didn't have an audience.
"I didn't know that you were an animator," Fox said, still talking to Micah.
"I'm not." And Micah left it at that.
Fox waited for him to add more, but Micah smiled and didn't. Fox would have let it go, but Franklin didn't. Some people just can't leave well enough alone.
"Are you a vampire executioner?" Franklin asked.
Micah shook his head.
"You're not a federal marshal." And Franklin said it like he was positive.
"No, I'm not."
"Let it go, Franklin," Fox said.
"She's brought a civilian along on a federal case."
"We'll talk about this in the car," Fox said, and the look he gave Franklin stopped the taller man in midsentence.
Fox asked me, "Do we need to wait for more bags?"
"No," I said. "We're going back home tomorrow, right?"
"That's the plan," he said, but his face was not happy, as if the whole thing with Franklin was still bothering him.
"Then we're ready to go."
He actually smiled. "A woman who packs light--that's rare."
"Sexist," I said.
He gave me a nod. "Sorry, you're right. I apologize."
I smiled and shook my head. "No sweat."