Page 8 of Girl, Fractured

The wording put the ball in Luca’s court, whether Marshall meant it that way or not.Luca stared out across the property that had shaped him.Thirty acres of stubborn New England terrain that had broken his father and forged his mother into someone unbreakable.

‘Alright.I’ll be back… soon.’

‘When might that be?’

‘You said as soon as possible.’

‘Can you get here today?’Marshall asked.

Luca snorted.‘No.I’m about 500 miles away.’

‘You have a car, don’t you?’

Luca thought about the situation with Ella.Edis apparently had cops keeping an eye on all of Ella’s contacts.If Luca went back to D.C., he’d just be another name on the protection list.Did they really need another one right now?

‘Yeah.Let me think about it.’

‘Think about it?It doesn’t work like that-’

‘If Edis has a problem, tell him to call me.’

There was a pause on the line, the kind that stretched longer than cellular dead zones could explain.Luca guessed that Marshall was cycling through responses and discarding them just as quickly.

Finally: ‘Agent Hawkins, your reinstatement is conditional on-’

‘On what?My immediate return?Luca watched a hawk circle lazily over the back field.‘You put me on leave without breaking a sweat.Now you want me to drop everything and come running back?’

Another pause.Longer this time.When Marshall spoke again, the authority had leaked from his voice like air from a punctured tire.‘Fine.I’ll give you until tomorrow.How does that sound?’

‘Friday sounds better.’

‘Don’t push this, Hawkins.’

‘I’ll start making plans.Not sure what day I’ll arrive, though.Until then I can just work from home.’

The connection might have been fuzzy, but Luca heard Marshall’s sigh as clear as day.‘Very well.Keep me in the loop.’

On the ground below, Luca’s mom appeared in her purple robe.She began waving a giant wooden spoon.Either she was warning him to get down or telling him she’d made breakfast.

‘Gotta go, sir.I’ll report to you when I get back.’

‘Be sure that-’

Luca hung up before Marshall could resurrect his spine.The old fool was on countdown to unemployment, because all of the top dogs at the Bureau were about to be replaced by the end of January.New government meant new faces, so Luca figured Marshall was throwing his weight around while he still could.

‘Chops.’Luca’s mom glanced up and shielded her eyes against the morning sun.‘How many times have I told you?Get down.It’s a death trap up there.’

‘Or maybe you ought to repair these roofs once in a while, ma.’

‘No roofers around here anymore.And I’m not made of money.’

‘I’ll lend it to you.Why have you got a spoon?’

‘Get down and I’ll tell you.’

Luca climbed down from the roof and hit wet grass with a squelch.Massachusetts winters had two settings: freeze your nuts off or make everything damp enough to grow mold.Today was firmly in mold territory.

He followed his mother into a kitchen that looked like a bomb had gone off in a flour factory.Every surface hosted some stage of culinary chaos.Three different cakes cooled on racks.Something that smelled suspiciously like his grandmother’s secret-recipe bread pudding bubbled in the oven.A mountain of cookie dough waited its turn.