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Archie said steadily, “To find out what they know, what they’ve done, or what they’re going to do. So you can stop them. Bring them to justice.”

“That’s the job,” Beau agreed. “It has to be done. I don’t think it was easy for you.”

With bleak humor, Archie said, “Oh, I’m much more charming than when you knew me.”

Beau curled his lip. “I’ll take your word for it. That’s not what I meant, though.”

“I can’t go into detail. It’s still an active investigation. I hope. But there was a kid—”

“A kid?”

Archie corrected hastily, “Not a kid. A kid to me. Kyle was twenty-one. An adult. He was…the classic case. Smart, but not broadly educated, not intellectually sophisticated. You know the profile as well as I do: feelings of isolation, marginalization, grievance…”

“An emotionally vulnerable misfit,” Beau concluded. Which was harsh, but true.

“He was emotionally vulnerable, yes. His parents were gone. He didn’t have anybody, really. No job. No prospects. And twenty-one is…young.” Archie did not look at Beau. He said colorlessly, “I know I made mistakes at twenty-one. Things I would have undone. If I’d known how.”

A silence followed before Beau said neutrally, “Yeah. Twenty-one is young.”

Archie let out a long breath. “And with Kyle…he was looking for adventure. For a-a sense of mission, for belonging, brotherhood.”

The same things Archie had been looking for at that age. The difference being that Archie had sought them in the FBI and Kyle had searched for them in online fringe social media networks.

He glanced up and caught a weird expression on Beau’s face. “You got involved with this guy?”

Archie was startled out of his thoughts. “In— You mean involved? Romantically? Hell, no. He was a subject in my investigation. And eight years younger than me. And not my type. No. But underneath all the bullshit bravado and desperation to fit in, he was just…a nice kid. Funny. Smart. Polite. Hard working. He latched onto me and eventually I started thinking I could help him get out of the mess he’d gotten himself into.”

Beau said grimly, quietly, “Sixteen months is too long.”

Which was true. Despite Archie’s best efforts, he had formed an emotional attachment.

He insisted, “He had been indoctrinated, but he wasn’t hardcore, and I thought I was—I know I was starting to get through to him.”

When he didn’t continue, Beau said, “But you ran out of time.”

Archie nodded, scrubbed his face with his hands. “Yes. They moved up the attack on the base by a week. I didn’t have any warning. By then Breland—the de facto leader—was starting to get suspicious of me. There was no way of getting word to my team. I had to stop them—try—as best I could.”

“Which you did.”

“Yes.”

Archie closed his eyes for a moment.

Beau asked, “What happened to Kyle?”

Archie opened his eyes, but he wasn’t seeing Beau or the comfortable, gracious room. Instead, he saw again that knock-down drag-out bloody brawl beside the campfire. Saw Johnson and Flowers coming for him with murder in their eyes. Saw Kyle diving for his weapon. Saw Breland and Ronson running for their trucks. Breland and Ronson who had to be stopped at any cost.

Funny thing. He’d always thought a serious head injury resulted in memory loss of the entire event, but he remembered every terrifying, horrifying minute right up the moment he’d actually lost consciousness.

It would have been a blessing to be able to forget.

He said calmly, “Everything went to hell. Kyle and I wrestled, he yanked the chain off my neck and I punched him. He went down. I thought that would take care of it. I thought he was out. He wasn’t. He went for his weapon, managed to get off three rounds. I…fired back.”

He felt Beau start to speak and then stop himself.

Archie offered a twitchy smile. “We’re not…trained to wound.”

“No,” agreed Beau. “With good reason.”