Jake was bone-tired. All he wanted to do was lie down in the back of the car and go to sleep for a few days. His phone rang. Without checking the number he answered.

“There you are,” Kelly said warmly.

Hearing her voice made his eyes smart with tears. He chalked it up to exhaustion. “Yeah, sorry I’ve been unreachable.” He looked around. The dead guy was being zipped into a bag, and the remaining bikers sat on the ground in a semicircle, hands zip-tied behind their backs, waiting for the paddy wagon. The ground was covered with spent bullets and casings. He couldn’t even begin to sum up the situation, so instead asked, “How are you?”

“I’ve been better. If I never go into a warehouse again it’ll be too soon.”

“Yeah?” Jake said. Syd emerged from the trees, Maltz by her side. They were discussing something in low voices, glancing at the Feds. Jake’s eyes narrowed. Syd didn’t have the look of someone who planned on making herself available to the authorities.

“…and now they won’t let the techs in, not even to print him.”

“Who?” Jake asked, tuning back in.

There was a long pause. “Is this a bad time?” Kelly said coldly.

“No, I mean…yeah, it is, kind of.” He struggled to come up with a way to explain the last few hours. “But I’m listening. I miss you so much.”

The words rang hollow, even to him. “It’s been busy here, too,” Kelly said stiffly. “And now I’ve got another body to deal with, but McLarty still won’t get us a warrant for Burke. Apparently he was just named Morris’s replacement in the Senate, and it wouldn’t be ‘politically appropriate’ to question him.”

“Jackson Burke, the businessman?” Jake asked, confused. “You think he killed someone?”

“I think he’s involved somehow. All the shell companies tie back to him, and the building I’m outside right now has some sort of glowing powder all over the floor. They made us leave, and Hazmat won’t let me inside to see the body. God knows how long it’ll take to ID him under the circumstances.”

Syd finished up her conversation with Maltz and walked over to Jake. She stood a few feet away, arms crossed over her chest, clearly impatient.

“Hey listen, Kel, I’ve got to go.”

“All right.” She sounded almost relieved. “When are you heading back to New York?”

“Not sure yet, we’ve got some loose ends here.” He considered mentioning that his next call might be from a prison cell, then figured he’d cross that bridge when he came to it. “Good luck with the ID.”

“Thanks.”

Jake heard the hopelessness in her voice, and wished he could put his arms around her. He started to say so, but she’d already hung up. He tucked the phone in his pocket with a pang of guilt and faced Syd. “Let me guess. You’re not planning on meeting everyone at the hospital.”

“No, I’ll come. But Maltz and his boys aren’t keen on being fingerprinted.”

“Shocking,” Jake said, watching as Maltz and the remaining commando loaded their injured friend into the back of Syd’s rental car. “What about getting that kid some medical attention?”

“Maltz says they’ll handle it. Earns them a bonus, unfortunately.” Her eyebrows knit together. “I’m hoping he pulls through, otherwise we’ll owe a bundle. Dangel’s death already puts us in the red.”

“Wow,” Jake said. He couldn’t even begin to think of an appropriate response to that. “We’re a little short on cars, then, since the van is out of commission.”

“I know. I was thinking of dropping them off. Can you catch a ride with George?”

“And you’ll meet us there?”

“Sure I will.” She playfully punched his arm. “A little faith, Riley. You and I are stuck with each other.”

“Okay. The hospital is in Sacramento. You have the address?”

“Oh, I’ll find it,” she said breezily. “Bye.”

Jake watched the sedan pull away. The rest of the Feds were distracted, going through the scene, trying to piece everything together. The paddy wagon finally arrived and an agent herded the bikers inside. Jake turned to find George leaning against his car hood, watching him.

“So. Looks like she left you high and dry,” George noted.

“She’s meeting us at the hospital,” Jake said defensively.

“Sure she is.” George shook his head. “You can’t trust the Agency or anyone it churned out. You know that, Riley.”

“Well, I didn’t have a lot of luck trusting the Bureau, either,” Jake retorted.

George raised his eyebrows. “I heard you were engaged to someone from BSU.”

“I am.” Jake sighed. “At least, I think I still am.”

“Wow. You make life in the private sector sound like a complete nightmare.” George grinned. “Where do I sign up?”

“Depends. Are you really going to arrest me?”

George shrugged, surveying the scene. “As long as you can convince me this is exactly what it looks like, and the family backs you up, we can probably cut you loose. The sheriff is thrilled to have something to nail these jerks with, so that’s a bonus. But I can’t vouch for the Benicia P.D. They might still be touchy about you taking off with their star witness.”

“About that.” Jake lowered his voice. “I’m not sure it’s over.”

George’s eyes narrowed. “How do you mean?”

“The husband originally hired us, and now he’s missing. We still haven’t figured out who snatched the girl, and every time we get her back, someone tries to grab her again.”

“Shit, Jake.” George rubbed his eyes with one hand. “And here I thought I might actually get to go home. Start at the beginning, and don’t leave anything out.”

Kelly flipped over again and punched her pillow. Typical cheap motel-issue, the down kept separating until she was lying on nothing but pillowcase. She folded it double, but even then it only offered a small rise from the surface of the bed. She sighed. Sunlight was still leaking through the curtains and around the door. It was only eight o’clock, but she had gone to bed early to make up for the night before. Unfortunately her body clock was thrown off by all the traveling, and sleep was evading her.

Rodriguez didn’t appear to be having any trouble-she could hear him snoring through the paper-thin walls. They were in a Motel 6 a few miles from the Houston field office. That afternoon they’d been moved progressively farther away from the warehouse as a multitude of hazardous material response units descended and expanded the perimeter. An ASAC Leonard from the Weapons of Mass Destruction Unit had shown up, face grave. For an hour he grilled her on every detail of their investigation. He was clearly dubious of the Jackson Burke link, but noted it down. And she hadn’t been able to get any answers on when her dead John Doe would be processed. It was frustrating. For all intents and purposes this was her crime scene, but she’d been squeezed out of the loop. They were practically treating her like a civilian.

Finally, irritated by the vague responses and brush-offs, Kelly had conceded defeat. At a local Denny’s she’d picked at a sandwich while Rodriguez tore through a stack of pancakes, then they’d checked into the motel. ASAC Leonard had promised to call as soon as he knew anything. Kelly checked her phone again, resisting the temptation to throw it against the wall when it showed No new calls.

The stilted exchange with Jake still bothered her, too. They were supposed to be getting married, but the past few weeks they’d had a hard time getting through a five-minute phone conversation. She tried to tell herself that a lot of couples weren’t great on the phone. But the truth was over the past year and a half, they had spent more time on the phone than in person, and this strain was new.

Maybe it was the cases they were working on. This one was getting under her skin, and she was always distracted when that happened. And it sounded like Jake was having a similar experience. He usually shared every detail of his day-to-day activities. It was odd to have that suddenly shut off. She could tell he was constantly searching for things to say that wouldn’t violate someone’s privacy. But if this was how things would be once his business was up and running, how would they handle it? She pictured them sitting in silence at the dinner table every night, occasionally saying, “Please pass the salt.” And a second later realized that after her brother was murdered when she was eight years old, that was exactly how family dinners were at her house. The thought of returning to that was awful to contemplate.