“I wouldn’t call her that. She hates that nickname, and if you don’t believe me, just look at Lail’s eye. He only called her ‘Princess.’ ”

“She could smack me any old time.” Sutter laughed at his own comment and nodded his head like he was imagining the lovely Camy Parks punishing him.

“I know you’re God’s gift to ladies, but she might be interested in a different type.” Tasker didn’t want to go into it any further, but he didn’t want his friend to waste his time, either.

“I know she’s supposed to play in the all-girl league, but I think I could convert her.” He paused, then slapped his friend on the back, apparently sensing the concern that was overtaking him about the FBI. “Cheer up, Billy. We’re heroes, even if nobody knows it.”

Tasker smiled at that thought until he pictured Wells’ kids crying as they took him away yesterday.

…

That evening, after a day of congratulations and paperwork at the office, Tasker relaxed at his Kendall town house, waiting for the girls to arrive. He planned to work only a couple of hours tomorrow, then spend the whole weekend with them. This teachers’ planning day would give them time to just kick back before he took them to the little beach at Biscayne Bay, or maybe to the Monkey Jungle.

Without knocking, Donna popped her head in the front door, followed closely by the girls.

“You decent?”

Tasker avoided the obvious comeback.

After the hugs all around and settling the girls in their room, Tasker and Donna walked out onto the patio together.

“You look great,” said Donna.

“Having a normal schedule and less stress helps.”

“No more problems from that FBI case?”

“No, pretty much people act like it never happened, which is fine.”

She paused and looked him in the eyes. “I’m sorry I’ve screwed with your emotions. I didn’t mean to.”

He gave her a flat stare. “You mean leading me to believe we were getting back together was an accident?”

“No. I mean yes.” She gathered her thoughts. “You were just so down and I was in a different place.”

“What place was that?”

“Billy, don’t be like that. We have a good relationship now. Let’s not blow that.”

“We had a good relationship four years ago. Now we skirt all issues and hand the girls back and forth like a hot plate.”

“What issues do we have now?”

“Your boyfriend.”

She stared at him. “My feelings for Nicky don’t really affect us.”

“Unless you hate him, your feelings don’t help us, either.”

“I don’t hate him, but I do have feelings for him. Everything’ll work out, Billy. You’re a good-looking guy and have a good job. You’re a catch.”

He smiled and nodded his head. “Thanks.”

She leaned in and hugged him. “It really is good to see your life back on track. How’re your folks?”

“Good. I’d send them a newspaper about this case if FDLE were even mentioned.”

“I remember you being media-shy not too long ago.”

He remembered how he’d been scrutinized by the press then, and suddenly felt better about not being in the papers now.

Bernie Dashett sat in one of the interview rooms of the Metropolitan Correction Center southwest of Miami, listening to this attorney his mama had hired for him. He wasn’t sure there was much he could do, since he really was guilty of trying to sell the missile.

He looked across at the twenty-five-year-old Reynaldo Hirsh, as the young man ran his hand over his slicked-back hair for the sixth time in the last five minutes.

The tiny room had just a small table in the middle with two chairs. The guards for the Bureau of Prisons only allowed the attorney to bring a pad and pen and searched him thoroughly. Bernie wore his orange jumpsuit.

“What are we gonna do?” asked Bernie.

“You had first appearance, so now we figure out how to cut a deal quick. What about the other guy, Wells?”

“See, that’s what’s so funny. Daniel Wells didn’t have nothin’ to do with this. I just stopped there to pick up my possum trap.”

“Your what?”

“Possum trap. For my exterminator business.”

“So Wells didn’t do anything?”

“Naw, nothin’. I was just waitin’ for someone to ask, but the FBI fella just brung us here. Daniel and I never even got the chance to talk with each other.”

The lawyer stood up. “Don’t tell anyone this. If we tell them Wells wasn’t involved, we got nothing to deal with. Some phantom National Guardsman from Tampa won’t cut it. You keep your fucking mouth shut.”

Tasker took a minute to make sure he had everything that wasn’t necessary out of his pockets and stashed in the car. MCC Miami had good security and didn’t waste time making state cops comfortable. He looked up at the high walls, with row after row of razor wire strung on top. He knew no one had ever made it out of the federal holding facility, but a couple had tried. The concrete compound had even held Manuel Noriega for a time.

Camy Parks pulled up next to him and sprang out of her old, beat-up issued Ford Crown Victoria. The big car made her look like a dwarf next to it. She had on tight slacks and a polo shirt with the ATF emblem on the left side of her impressive chest.

“Hey, Billy,” she glanced at her watch and added, “Sorry, late night.”

“Out partying?”

“Better. In partying.” She let out a sly smile.

Tasker felt his face flush. He wanted to ask more questions but refrained. “Dashett’s attorney just called me and said we couldn’t talk to his client. Since Wells asked to see us, we’re on good legal ground.”

“Did the court appoint an attorney?”

“Not yet. Wells said he wanted the weekend to try and find one.”

“Think he’s got anything good?” She was emptying everything in her pockets, too.

“Don’t know until we talk to him.”

After they had gone through security and waited almost an hour for Wells to be brought down, a guard finally told Tasker and Camy they could go into one of the interview rooms. Tasker counted every minute as one more he could spend with his daughters, but knew he had to get this interview done before Wells changed his mind about talking to them.

Inside, Wells sat on one side of the small table. His eyes followed them into the room without giving away any hint of emotion.

Tasker said, “Daniel, you remember me?”

He just nodded.

“This is Agent Parks with the ATF. ” Tasker waited, then after no response, he went on. “We’re here ’cause you said you wanted to talk.”

“You got the wrong man.”

Camy cut in. “How do you figure?”

“I don’t know nothin’ about any Stinger missile. As far as I know, Bernie Dashett is an exterminator.”

“How do you explain an FBI agent seeing you give Dashett the Stinger just before he tried to sell it to us?” asked Camy.

“All I did was fix his possum trap.”

“His what?”

“Possum trap. For his business.” He looked at Tasker. “Look, mister, you seem pretty reasonable. You guys have made a mistake. That’s all. I did not have anything to do with that missile.”

Camy looked at Tasker and said, “You’d think these mopes would come up with a better story after surveillance saw the whole thing.”

Wells cut in. “That’s the problem. They didn’t see it because it didn’t happen. Listen, I got a friend, an associate, who could clear this up if you called him.”

Camy cut him off. “You need to call a lawyer, Wells. If you don’t want to help us, you’re gonna need to hire one.”

“But if you just call this friend of mine at-”

The ATF agent held up her hand. “We’ve wasted enough time.” She turned to Tasker. “Let’s go, Billy.”

To keep the unity up, Tasker walked out, but not before considering what Wells had said. Maybe he could check a few things out real quick before he got home to the girls.