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  This time, using it might save him. But she couldn’t take it along on the plane, so…well, what the fuck was she thinking? Like being handed a washcloth and pointed towards a forest fire, being told, “Beat it out.”

  She sat on the bed, gun in her lap, and waited for the sun to come up.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Colleen told herself, A minor glitch. That’s all he is. And chauffeuring McKeown around on his own gave her more options than if he’d brought the troopers along. Why did he do that, anyway? The one time she’d met the agent, she sized him up as an empty suit, by-the-book, forever an underling. She had wanted Nate to be more than that, which is why she pushed him so hard to hold these guys to their promises, show them his leadership potential.

  But here he was in the passenger seat, even stopped to buy them both some coffee at a gas station after getting rid of the Troopers like they were fleas. Colleen could tell these guys wanted to play escort, wanted to do something more than stop drunks on Interstate, but McKeown just withered them. All it took was a couple variations on “your service is appreciated, but any further involvement would interfere with our goals. You don’t want to interfere, do you? We’re all after the same thing here” to get those folks in their cars and back on the road while Colleen and McKeown headed back east. Yeah, this guy had some smooth moves.

  McKeown was right, too. Nate was dead because he’d been all puffed up by her encouraging him to shoot for better. McKeown shouldn’t have smeared it in her face, though. It wasn’t fair to die because you show a little initiative.

  She told McKeown the kids with the bike had mentioned that their friend Goof—or maybe not really a friend, but just a guy they’d grown up with in town—had called his Uncle Perry not long after the biker left with Fawn, and they had gone off looking for the station wagon. And also that Perry didn’t work much, wink wink, except that he was helping his grandfather with day-to-day chores around the bar in one of the little towns south of there, one pretty much only for the local farmers. Said it was a little cinderblock place with a trailer next to it, called “No Gas Bar”, since Perry’s grandfather had written “No Gas” above the simple black and white “Bar” sign to let people know the pump out front didn’t work.

  Problem was that the kids hadn’t actually been there. Only Goof, who wasn’t around when Colleen was there. The dad of the guy who had traded the station wagon for the bike, he didn’t know either, but was sure it was easy to find off Highway 75. Colleen had passed the turn once, only figuring it out by the time she made the Interstate in South Dakota, and was turning around when the Trooper nailed her.

  This time, she was multi-tasking, trying to think of a way to get rid of McKeown after questioning Perry, if he was even there. It was a long shot, the only real lead either of them had, but maybe not much better than waiting on the Interstate around the South Dakota border and hoping Lafitte would choose fast over scenic.

  Not like McKeown seemed to care much. She already saw it shaping up—him thinking he was in charge and Colleen just a driver who would do as she was told. Fuck. Not likely unless he had back-up. After the coffee, the ride had been too damned quiet anyway, the arrogance steaming off this guy as he flipped through a file folder and sighed a lot. Twice, though, he made calls, waited for the answering machine beep, and left messages that sounded much more personal than business-related.

  Like, “Please pick up. I really can explain. I couldn’t until now…come on. Don’t be like this.”

  And, “Look, I’m sorry. Okay? I’m truly sorry. I promise I won’t call again today, but think about it. I’ll be back soon.”

  McKeown hung on the line after that, eyes skyward, bobbing his head a little, until Colleen heard the ending beep and McKeown closed his eyes, cleared his throat. He snapped his phone shut and stared out the window.

  Well, the guy was hurting. Not as much as Colleen, but surely a hell of a lot more than her own damned Sheriff, it seemed, or her mother, and especially the Trooper. McKeown seemed to be a guy who understood: Pain could piss you off.

  “Sounds like you’re having some trouble,” she said.

  McKeown cut a glance at her, trying to intimidate, as usual. “None of your business.”

  “If that’s the case, take the drama down a notch in my car.”

  “Look, just drive.”

  “I’m not your prisoner, so don’t even. My fucking car, my fucking boyfriend who died trying to help you motherfuckers, so don’t even.”

  “I didn’t ask for Nate—”

  “No, you didn’t, but he was willing to help out anyway. Doesn’t that count?”

  McKeown sighed, waved his hand at her, and kept staring out the window. Another mile of quiet. Colleen didn’t feel like bottling her voice any more, now that she’d started. “Was it coming here that pissed her off?”

  “Pissed who off?”

  “Whoever you were leaving a message.”

  He grinned, but it wasn’t a fun one. “Yeah, it was getting up in the middle of the night and having to fly to Bum Fuck South Dakota without even saying good-bye. I’m sure that’s why he’s not talking to me.”

  “Him?”

  McKeown bit his lip. Oh, yeah, Colleen could tell that wasn’t supposed to slip out.

  She said, “It’s okay if you’re gay.”

  “Goddamn, I know, all right? If I don’t want to share my personal life with, with, you or anyone….let’s stop talking. Forget what I said. You don’t know me.”

  What, like, McKeown had the moral fucking high ground now? What a prick. And a fucking self-absorbed faggot. She said, “They wouldn’t like it at the Bureau if they knew.”

  He turned to her. “I said to stop.”

  “If that’s what’s bugging you, though, tell me. Might as well. Or do I have to tell Agent Rome that your love life is causing you to fuck up on the job?”

  Whatever he was about to say, he stopped. Then, “I don’t appreciate that.”

  Colleen crossed her left hand over, stuck up the ring finger. “You see this?”

  “An engagement ring?” McKeown took her fingers lightly in his. “It’s beautiful. My God, I’m sorry.”

  “Even worse was I didn’t find it until after he died. He had bought it already, but just hadn’t asked yet. I’m thinking he had something special planned.”

  McKeown let go of her fingers. “That’s sad. Really, I can’t imagine how you feel.”

  Colleen put her hand back on the wheel. Admired the ring again. Very nice. Nate had done a good job picking it out. “Talk to me, then. Your boyfriend? Doesn’t like your work?”

  “Look, it’s not what you think. I’m not gay, you know.”

  “Not to hear you or look at you. But that’s only on TV anyway, isn’t it?”

  “I like both, I mean. Can’t…never been able to choose one.”

  “You’re bi.”

  He scrunched up his face. “That sounds so weird. I just like…both. Then I met this guy down in Memphis, and things were going really well. It was bad that I couldn’t tell him who I really was. I thought, I don’t know. He could use it against me, or he wouldn’t like it, or someone would see.”

  “That sucks.” Colleen had never known any fags before. At church, it had been drilled into her that God hated them, but she hadn’t read enough Bible to know why. Those radio guys Nate liked were all anti-gay, but more politically than religiously. McKeown might have been a Fed prick, but pretty much like any other Fed prick.

  “Last night was, like, our first time.”

  “Aw, really?” That’s gross.

  He nodded, pretty torn up about it. “The call came in about Lafitte, and instead of waking him up and telling him the truth, I sneaked out. It was only on my way back to the hotel that I realized…you know, I should’ve…but it was too late.”

  “Shit. Too bad.”

  “He won’t answer the fucking phone. You know, it wasn’t like a one night stand, I didn’t think. We’d been moving towards this for we
eks, and he seemed pretty serious. Why didn’t I wake him up? I’m kicking myself.”

  Colleen made sympathetic noise. She wondered if McKeown was the fuck-er or the fuck-ee, or if she’d learned about that all wrong and he was both.

  “I must really love this job,” he kept on. “Because right now I hate the fucking FBI but look at where I am. Right where they need me”

  Right here, Colleen thought, would be a good time for McKeown to remember that he was talking with a woman who had lost her fiancé not even a full day ago and could give a shit about his trivial boy problems. But she was the one who started it, just looking for conversation. Anything to occupy her mind. Helped her think more clearly if there was more going on up there than watching herself shoot Lafitte down like she should’ve back at the scene. Or how Nate should’ve wriggled out of the car and rolled around on the ground to put the flames out. How she should’ve risked burns herself to go drag him out. Colleen would’ve preferred scars to this, hunting a man because it’s the only thing she imagined might take the lump out of her throat.

  She said, “How about this, though. If it means you could have a nice, no fear climb up the FBI ladder, why not choose girls? You know, get married. Maybe even find a kinky one who didn’t mind that sort of thing. Wouldn’t that be better?”

  He gave her a lazy laugh. “You can’t just…fix things like that. It’s not a game.”

  “No, but if you want to be with a man and the FBI at the same time…”

  “It’s not about them. They’d be fine with it, I guess. I mean, maybe some of the guys would give you a hard time, and maybe it would close certain doors, like, unofficially—”

  “Yeah, but you want them to stay open, right?”

  He nodded, turned to her. “Best case scenario, sure. But it’s social, not legal.”

  She sighed. “I know, listen. You’re major pissed off right now and you’ve only known the guy two weeks. But if you’re bi, find a girl who doesn’t care. Right? You have to compromise.”

  McKeown turned back to his window. Quiet a long moment. Colleen thought they had maybe twenty something more miles to go. She didn’t want him going right back into “prick” mode. Keep him talking.

  “Marry a beard,” she said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Find a wife who wants health care, or a woman who needs a green card. Tell her she can fuck anyone she likes except you. Take her to parties, ceremonies, all that stuff. Tell her the free ride stops if she ever spills your secret.”

  “You must think I’m rich.”

  “No, only richer than her. That’s all I’m saying.”

  McKeown tapped his cell phone’s antenna on his bottom lip. “Sounds like you’ve thought about this a lot.”

  She grinned. “What? Are you trying to imply something?”

  “Not at all, no. Just saying you’ve thought about it.”

  “It’s common sense, Agent McKeown. You got a first name I can call you?”

  *

  He was about to tell her when his cell phone buzzed to life again. Saved by the bell, so to speak. McKeown didn’t realize exactly how much info he’d been revealing. On a roll. He glanced at the message on the screen. Another text from Rome. Same as before but with extra !!!s and an “URGENT”.

  McKeown wondered about that. Rome’s cell phone still charging? Text messaging? If he didn’t find out now, then Rome would start with the threats again. Okay, fine. Call him, and don’t tell him a goddamn thing unless he already knows.

  He dialed the home number. Rome’s wife picked up on the first ring. “Hello?”

  That was a little weird. If Rome was texting, he expected the man to be hanging over the phone, ready to pounce. “Um, this is Agent McKeown. Your husband asked to speak to me.”

  “No, I’m sorry about that. I’m the one who sent the messages. I’m sorry. Am I bothering you?”

  She had a nice voice, very polite, personable. What the hell did she want? “You said it was urgent. Has something happened to Franklin?”

  “Well, no. Not exactly.”

  The voice blinked out, fuzzed over, and he was only catching a couple of words. “Hello? Mrs. Rome? I…the signal. Hold on a minute.” To Colleen, “Pull over and let me figure this out. I need a spot with good coverage.”

  “How would I know?”

  “Look, just,” McKeown gestured. What was so hard about this? “Pull off on the shoulder and stop when I tell you.”

  She slowed and eased off onto the narrow shoulder, McKeown watching his screen as the strength bars waned, then another popped up. Two. That was the best he could get, he supposed. Middle of fucking nowhere. “Here’s fine. Fine.” Held his phone up to his ear as he climbed out of the car. “Mrs. Rome? Are you still there?”

  “Can you hear me?”

  “I can now. Hold on.” He bent down and turned towards Colleen. “You leave, and I swear, you’ll regret it more than that stunt you pulled earlier.”

  Her eyes went wide. Shit, was that a bit too harsh? Remember: her boyfriend just died, man. Ease up. He added, “Please? I’m asking nice.”

  “You got it. We’re partners now, buddy.”

  He grinned. Did hicks do sarcasm? “Great, we sure are.”

  Outside, he paced beside a corn field, empty now except for leftover pieces of stalks. Had to hold his fingers in his open ear to hear Mrs. Rome over the wind.

  He said, “Now, what’s happened to Franklin?”

  “He said something came up with the case and he had to go out of town. But he didn’t say where and I can’t reach him.”

  Shit. It was McKeown who was out of the loop, not Rome. Pulled some sort of fake to the right. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything. It’s confidential.”

  “More like it’s your dirty little secret.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I know what happened to Ginny Lafitte, so quit treating me like a Stepford wife. I need to find my husband before he kills that man or gets himself killed.”

  Son of a bitch. Some tractor trailers roared down the county road and blew wind and dirt all over McKeown. Like a vacuum cleaner sucking his brains out of his ears. Mrs. Rome was a smart one, which fucked up McKeown’s plans royally. He wanted both of those assholes Rome and Lafitte alive and in jail while he got himself a permanent posting to the Memphis branch.

  So how would she play this one? He tried, “Again, that’s information I can’t tell you.”

  “I’m guessing you ain’t told your bosses either.”

  Oh yeah. Smart old bitch. McKeown would’ve liked that if she wasn’t pissing in his sandbox.

  She didn’t stop. “He’s been going behind my back about it, so I’m damned sure he’s not on the level with the Bureau.”

  “I don’t think this is a good time to talk.”

  “He’s out there and he’s looking. You’re helping him. So maybe I should sic the dogs on both of you.”

  Fuck fuck fuck! “Okay, fine. Listen. I don’t know where your husband is. He didn’t tell me what he was doing or where he was going.”

  “Mm hm.”

  “I’m serious. I ignored your first page because I didn’t want to tell him what I’m doing. I’m already trying to keep Lafitte from killing him.”

  “You know where Lafitte is?”

  “Maybe, I don’t know. I’m following a lead. Look, you said something happened to Ginny Lafitte?”

  “That’s right. Tried to kill herself. Franklin had put her up in a hotel here.”

  McKeown closed his eyes, let out a long breath. What he’d suspected had been right all along—Rome was cutting his right hand man off the case. “She okay?”

  “I got some nurse friends at the hospital. They say she’s fine. Crazy, though. Talks all soft and gentle but has crazy eyes.”

  “If he calls me, I’ll call you, how about that? As long as you don’t tell anyone else what’s going on.”

  Nothing for a long moment. McKeown checked to see if there were still any stre
ngth bars. Then, “Mrs. Rome?”

  She said, “How can I trust you?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t trust your husband. How’s that for something in common?”

  “Okay. If he calls me first, I’ll let you know. Help me keep him safe, understand?”

  McKeown said some polite things and closed the phone and shook his head. He regretted letting Rome have so much power over him, especially now that he knew how expendable he was. It was all down to Lafitte. Whoever found him first.

  He climbed back into the car, told Colleen they could keep looking for the bar.

  “Who was that?”

  He shrugged. “Business.”

  A couple of minutes passed quietly. Then Colleen turned to him and said, “How about a girl with a strap-on? That enough to keep you happy on the job?”

  TWENTY-THREE

  As soon as Perry and Fawn’s footsteps faded, Lafitte got to work. First thing he needed to do was stand the fuck up. After Fawn had hit him with the pistol, Lafitte had seen colors, felt the sting, his head ringing like a church bell, but he hadn’t passed out completely. He got his marbles back quickly and pretended to be out cold for the spectators.

  Then they left and he gritted his teeth. It amplified the pain in his head, but enough to keep him down. He pulled his elbows as far up the beam as he could, then brought his knees in, tried to squat.

  That worked all right. It also reminded him he had a gash in his leg that was probably getting infected. And also that he was exhausted, high, and aching all over. Plus, he stunk like puke, paint, and sweat. Now he was mobile, able to crabwalk around the post, see what he was dealing with. Stairs to his right. The underside of the stairs on his left, thick with cobwebs littered with dead bugs. Nothing to grab hold of or use to cut the wire.