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It was not much of a morning’s work, but his headache had started up again and he was very tired. He walked back to Fraser House.

The dark-haired girl was still at the front desk. She watched in silence as he crossed the lobby.

Something was definitely up. She couldn’t be more than twenty-five, so too young to have been at school with him.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

She looked...well, it was hard to say. She looked slightly affronted. As if one of the garden statues had poked its head in to say hi.

She said huffily, “It’s okay with me.”

Her expression, her tone, struck him as funny. He said gravely, “Then it’s okay with me.”

Which seemed to further fluster her.

He continued up to his room, dropped his parcels on a chair by the window, then sat down to make some phone calls, starting with an overdue touching base with the MFO in Portland. Special Agent in Charge Calvin Cobb conveyed his condolences, reaffirmed that the Eugene satellite office would be ready and willing to offer Twinkleton PD any assistance required, and told Archie that he had done great work in Wyoming.

Not that Wyoming was a secret, not within the Bureau, but it was a jolt to hear it casually referred to so far from the epicenter.

Archie thanked SAC Cobb and then phoned his boss at the Operational Support Branch of the Counter Terrorism Division in D.C. Deputy Assistant Director Veronica Wagner expressed her condolences, promised he would have whatever support he needed, and informed him, kindly but firmly, there was no chance in hell he was going to be cleared for active duty until he was actually fit for duty.

“Take care of yourself and keep me posted—oh, and Archie?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink.”

“I’m sorry?”

“As you noted, we have no jurisdiction. We can offer assistance, but if Twinkleton PD doesn’t want our help, that’s it. End of story.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to get an irate phone call from Andy Taylor complaining about Uncle Sam throwing his weight around.”

Archie made a sound of exasperation.

“I know this is personal, but you’re supposed to be convalescing. That’s your mission.”

“Understood.”

Wagner sighed. “You did good work in Wyoming, Archie. I know what it cost you. You earned a rest. You need a rest.”

“Yes.”

“Stay in touch.” Wagner hung up.

Archie’s phone rang again. He said wearily, “Crane.”

He didn’t recognize the number, but he’d have had to be dead not to recognize the voice.

“I understand you came by the station today.” Beau was crisp and to the point.

Archie’s weariness vanished in a blaze of adrenaline.

“Yes. Thanks for—”

“What did you need?”