Page 6

Ten Days Later

Faith took a deep breath, lowered her head and sprinted up the hill. Turk followed, not sprinting, but loping gently to match Faith’s pace. Faith kept her breathing controlled as she ascended the slope. Her side ached, and her lungs burned, but she kept the pace until she reached the crest of the hill a half mile from the base. The hill sloped downward at a much gentler rate after the crest. She continued at a fast jog—barely a trot for Turk—and reached the house a few minutes later.

She headed upstairs to the shower, Turk at her heels. She glared at the dog, who looked just as energetic as he had at the beginning of the run. “Yeah, yeah. In my defense, I only have two legs.”

Turk cocked his head, confused. Faith chuckled and said, “Go on to the yard, boy. I’ll make dinner when I’m done in the shower.”

Turk shot off like a bolt of lightning. Well, he loves it here , Faith thought.

Retired First Sergeant Jacob Delroy lived in a spacious house in Carmel, Indiana, a suburb a few miles north of Indianapolis. Jacob’s particular neighborhood was just far enough from the city to be quiet while remaining close enough to be convenient.

And he had a big backyard, which made him instantly a great friend to Turk, who now spent almost all of his waking moments running around, splashing in the pool and chasing squirrels. Faith loved watching him play. He’d spent his entire adult life as a K9, first for the Marine Corps, and then the FBI. This was probably the first time he’d had a chance to act like a puppy since he was a puppy.

As for Faith…

Well, she appreciated the quiet. She no longer lived near downtown Philly, and the place she rented with David was a lot quieter than her old apartment, but it was far and away louder than this neighborhood was. She liked that the neighbors kept to themselves but were polite to each other when they did interact. She liked Jacob’s cooking, which was every bit as amazing as she remembered it in the Corps, except he had much better ingredients to work with. She liked talking to Jacob too. It was nice to reminisce about the Corps with someone who really understood what fighting in a war was like.

But she was going stir crazy. Her daily runs weren’t enough to shake the restlessness and overwhelming boredom that she felt. A few short months ago, she had seriously considered retiring and moving somewhere just like this. She was very glad that she had elected to stay with the FBI instead. She was definitely not ready to stop.

Yet here she was, stopped. Doing nothing. Waiting for news from back home to let her know if she could expect to return anytime soon or if she was going to be forcibly retired.

She hated that.

“Should’ve just ignored everyone and stayed in town,” she muttered. “Disguised myself and looked for the Messenger.”

That was a bad idea for many reasons, but anything would be better than just… existing.

She finished showering and dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt, then headed downstairs. Jacob was grilling steaks. He looked up at Faith and smiled. “Now I’ve seen everything. Staff Sergeant Faith Bold in oversized sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt.”

She chuckled. “I’m a lot less by-the-book these days, First Sergeant.”

“So I hear. Word on the street is you’re a maverick.”

“I’ve always been a maverick. You know that.”

He laughed. “If you say so.”

He flipped the steaks, then asked, “So do you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?”

He laughed again. “That’s a no. All right, we don’t have to talk. You want your steak rare or burnt into an ungodly unamerican charcoal briquette that I wouldn’t feed to my enemy’s dog?”

She chuckled. “Rare is fine, First Sergeant.”

“Rare is goddamned beautiful and the only proper way to eat steak,” Jacob corrected.

He pulled the steaks off of the griddle and set two of them on plates. The third he left on a cool griddle to rest. For Turk, Faith guessed.

“Here anything from Michael?” he asked as he ladled mashed potatoes next to each steak.

She sighed. “No, nothing. Well, yes, but nothing about the case. Just small talk.”

“Got it. What about your new ASAC? Have you talked to her?”

“Not since I left, no.”

“You should. The squeaky wheel gets the grease.”

She sat across from him at the table. “Yeah, the FBI works very differently.”

He grimaced. “Sounds horrible.”

“You get used to it. They don’t like when people make waves, but they also let people make their own tactical decisions. To a point, anyway.”

“Well, in that case, it sounds beautiful.”

“It has its moments.”

The two fell quiet and focused on dinner. Turk came in halfway through and immediately devoured the steak Jacob had made for him.

“Damn,” Jacob said, watching the dog eat with an impressed look on his face. “Kid can put it away.”

“Yes, he definitely likes eating.”

“As do I, Staff Sergeant. As do I.” He finished his steak, belched loudly, and capped the statement off with, “God bless America.”

Faith grimaced. “It’s a wonder you’ve never married, First Sergeant.”

“I am happily single, Bold. The last thing I want to do after sacrificing the best years of my life in service to my country is deal with some woman nagging me all day long.”

“Well, thank you for enduring the pain of having a woman live with you for a little while.”

“You’re not a woman. You’re a Marine.”

Faith laughed. “You know, if you told that to anyone who wasn’t a Marine, they’d think you were a misogynistic son of a bitch.”

“And they’d be half right. But in any case, you’re not here for good, and while I am easily the prettiest son of a bitch you’ll ever see, I doubt you’re looking to marry me anytime soon.”

She chuckled. “No, sadly I am not.”

“Good. Then I don’t have to have an awkward talk about how I love you like a friend only.”

Turk trotted to Jacob and laid his head on Jacob’s lap. Jacob looked at the dog with almost fatherly affection. “Maybe I’ll get a dog.”

“You should. You’d be the best puppy parent ever.”

Jacob grimaced. “Puppy parent? God damn, Bold. You’ve been living among the savages for too long.”

“Wait until I tell you about my favorite socially and environmentally sustainable coffee shop.”

“Keep it up, and I’ll have you run laps around the neighborhood in full gear.”

“I might actually do that tomorrow. I ran clean today, but I don’t feel exercised.”

“See? Aren’t you glad you came over here? You can finally learn how to be a Marine again.”

Faith smiled, but her eyes shifted away from Jacob. He watched her for a moment, then stood and cleared their empty plates. “Okay. Spill it. It makes me sick watching grown adults mope, so tell me what’s bothering you before I make you do burpees until I get tired.”

She chuckled, but there was less mirth in her laughter this time. “I just hate feeling like I have no control.”

She waited for him to crack another joke, but he nodded seriously as he retrieved two beers from the fridge. He handed one to Faith and said, “I’m going to the living room. You can follow me, or you can shout at me from the dining room, but if you do that, you have to stand at attention and address me as First Sergeant.”

“I’ve been calling you First Sergeant the first time. I don’t think I’ve used your name once since arriving here.”

“At attention, Marine.”

Faith rolled her eyes and followed Jacob to the living room. She sat on the couch while he sprawled on his easy chair and flipped the tv on to the local news. He kept the volume low and said, “I’m not an FBI agent, Faith, but I understand how frustrating it is when the brass makes decisions for the good of the policymakers and not the good of the boots in the field. Major Yeltsin used to tell me that the reason I was a good First Sergeant was that I could call the brass sons of bitches and articulate why, then still hold my Marines accountable to their decisions.”

“I feel like there’s a lesson there, First Sergeant, but I’m not sure what it is. Will you have mercy on a poor crayon-eater and explain it to me?”

He smiled. “The lesson is a very simple and very brutal truth. Sometimes we don’t get our way.”

“Well, sometimes people die when we don’t get our way.”

“Yes. That’s the brutal part.”

She looked away, and they sat in silence for several minutes. Jacob finished his beer and headed to the kitchen. He returned with Turk, a bag of dog treats and two more beers. He handed one beer to Faith and said, “Just so you know, Staff Sergeant, I’m going to let Specialist Turk eat as much of these treats as he likes.”

Faith smiled. “Go ahead, First Sergeant.”

He handed a very happy Turk the first treat, then said. “The thing is that sometimes people die when we do get our way. The job of the brass is to figure out how to maximize our success, minimize our losses, and keep the bean counters happy. That’s a very, very hard job, and one I’m grateful I’ve never had to do. I don’t know if your bosses are making the right decision. I do know that you made an oath to follow lawful orders as an FBI agent. At least, I’m assuming you did.”

“Something like that.”

“Then you have to trust that they’re making the best decision possible with the information they have.”

“But what if they aren’t? What if I know they aren’t?”

Jacob sipped his beer. “Then you need to make a fully informed decision and be ready to suffer the consequences. All of the consequences.”

Faith lowered her eyes. Jacob's meaning was clear. If she felt strongly enough about the Messenger case to break the rules she was bound by, then she needed to be ready to lose her career over it if it came to that. So, was she absolutely certain she was right? Or did she just want to be right because she didn’t want to accept that the Messenger might actually be able to keep killing and get away with it?

“God damn it.”

She frowned. “What is it?”

Jacob turned the volume on the tv up. “Listen.”

“…was found in Carmel Valley of Peace Pet Cemetery late last night. The cemetery is only a block from Dr. Summers’s veterinary practice at Carmel-Westfield Animal Medical Center. Police have released few details of the crime scene so far, but they have suggested the crime was unusually disturbing. At the moment, it is unclear what the motive might have been.”

The screen showed an image of a woman in her early forties, attractive with a bright smile and playful gray eyes.

“And she was pretty. Don’t hate me, Staff Sergeant, but it hurts more when it’s a pretty woman who dies.”

“And you’re still not married,” Faith quipped.

Her words came on instinct, the typical and nearly constant banter between Marines who served in the same unit. The active portion of her mind was instantly analyzing the information from the news report and trying to determine what sort of killer would murder a vet and then bury her in a pet cemetery.

“Fuck it. I’m putting the basketball game on.”

Jacob switched the channel. Faith got up to watch the news story on the tv in her room. She stopped herself, however, and instead headed to the kitchen for more beers.

First Sergeant was right. She wasn’t ready to face the consequences of defying her superiors. She had to trust that they were right, and she needed to spend this time resting. Watching a news story about a possible exhibitionist serial killer like the ones she’d made a name for herself hunting would inspire her to take risks she didn’t want to take.

Not yet, anyway.

So, she watched the Indiana Pacers drub the Los Angeles Lakers and allowed Dr. Rachel Summers and her violent and untimely death to retreat to the back of her mind.