Chapter 27

MY DECISION to go rogue took longer than anticipated to bite me in the ass.

Two days, actually. As I sat in a chair in Lieutenant Tate’s office, I tugged at my tie and did my level best not to squirm. My weeks working on Danny’s laid-back squad had affected my wardrobe, and I’d been wearing some variation of jeans and shirts lately. But as always I figured a good ass chewing deserved a suit and tie, so that’s what I did—a pale pink shirt and a pink silk paisley tie. I yanked at the tie again.

I also tried not to look at a grim-faced Danny in the chair next to me. Yes, I’d gotten us in a bit of trouble, but would it kill him not to look so stone-faced? They could just stick him on Mount Rushmore at that point, right behind Lincoln and Roosevelt.

Apparently it was taboo to tell an upstanding member of the community—and active volunteer of the Policeman’s League—that she was a suspect in a murder. And that you weren’t going to rest until you proved it. Now I knew. Jeez. Wouldn’t kill someone to post some rules.

Lieutenant Tate had her phone tucked in the crook of her neck and nodded periodically, her face more than a little grim. “Yes sir,” she said, and she sent us both a look that should’ve turned us into two identical piles of smoking ash. “I will, sir. No, I understand completely.”

I winced. I had a feeling that the degree of her ass chewing was going to determine the length of ours. To occupy myself I inventoried the photographs on the shelves behind her. A tall, dark-skinned man played with a young boy in one of them, both clad in matching red polos. That young man’s life through the years was charted in the photos and appeared to involve a lot of karate, Boy Scouts, and football.

“No, that is not the kind of operation I like to run,” Tate said, teeth gritted.

Burning bridges used to be more difficult. Apparently interrogating the influential Macmillans of the world was tantamount to sticking a block of C4 under that proverbial bridge. Especially when that influential Macmillan was talking lawsuits and all kinds of nasty business.

Tate finally hung up the phone so hard I’m surprised the cradle didn’t crack. She seared us both with a look. “I’m sure you know why you’re here.”

“I have an idea.” Danny’s tone was mild.

“Do you? Because apparently some crazed agent assured Margaret Macmillan that she would be prosecuted for the murder of Amy Greene. Would you believe that?”

“The things people say,” I murmured.

“Don’t get smart with….” Tate took a deep breath. “I spoke with your direct supervisor this morning, Agent Christiansen. He told me that your mental health was… fragile at the moment. He’s requesting your presence. Immediately.”

Fucking Graycie. “We’re not through with this case.”

“You certainly are. We arrested Brock Johnson earlier this morning. We won’t be needing your assistance any longer. You’re free to return to DC.”

“Brock Johnson didn’t do this,” I said stubbornly. “All of our findings point toward—”

“He has evaded authorities on several occasions. He’s been proven to be abusive toward the victim. Her belongings were found in his possession—the ones he didn’t bother to pawn, that is. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.”

“Circumstantial at best—”

“You are finished, Christiansen,” she said, her tone a little sharp, and it was clear she meant more than the case.

It was like a sledgehammer to the gut, and I was briefly speechless. Someone tell Journey I stopped believin’.

“That’s not exactly fair,” Danny said, his brow furrowed. “He’s a good agent.”

She turned her gaze on him. “Would you like to hear exactly what he told Ms. Macmillan? What he implied?”

Danny scowled. “You’re taking the word of a suspect in a murder case over that of an agent?”

“You’re right, Detective.” She made an exaggerated moue of courtesy. “Why don’t we ask the source right now? Agent Christiansen, did you imply that you spoke to ghosts? Vengeful ghosts?”

“She said they were vengeful,” I said with a scowl. “Not me.”

Danny’s sigh spoke volumes. So did his muttered, “Fuck.”

At my words something shifted in her expression and she waved a hand at Danny. “I need to speak with Agent Christiansen. Alone.”

I looked down at my hands. Like that ever boded well. I could feel Danny’s gaze on my profile. And then the steel in his tone. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

I could hear the shock in Tate’s voice. “I wasn’t asking. And if I’m not mistaken, you’re still on the clock. My clock.”

“I’m not going to let you just browbeat—”

“No one is trying to browbeat—”

“Well, it sure looks that way.”

“Detective, do I need to remind you—”

“McKenna.” I appreciated the sentiment, appreciated the fact that Danny was willing to go to bat for me, but it wasn’t necessary. I made the mess. He was the one who had to stay and work there, not me. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

He looked doubtful. “Are you sure?”

“Just… go. I’ll be fine.”

Danny swore. Got up. Left. The door slammed behind him. Hard enough to shake the quintessential family photos on her shelf.

She spoke first. “Look, I’m not pretending to know what’s going on with you or what you think you saw. But I think we both know you can’t be part of this investigation any longer.” Her voice softened a smidge. “Not if you want someone to pay for what she or he did to that girl.”

I want the right person to pay for what they did to that girl. I swallowed. “I’m not crazy.”

“Never said you were.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I think you believe what you’re saying. I’m saying that it’s damned strange that you were able to find her vehicle when a team of searchers, dogs, and police officers couldn’t.” She knuckled her eyes as though the subject alone were making her tired. “I’m saying there are a lot of things out there that we can’t understand.”

I guessed by her pause that it was my turn to talk, but I had nothing else to say. I waited.

She sighed. “I’m saying it’s a long flight back to DC. I think you should use that time to think about what you’re going to say to the head of the BAU. He didn’t sound… pleased.”

That was probably a mild word for it. “I don’t know if I have anything to go back to,” I muttered.

“That’s not really my business.” Someone had certainly earned her merit badge for emulating a fucking robot. She pulled a paper from a file on her desk and handed it to me. “Here’s your flight itinerary. He’s already taken care of the booking.”

I raised an eyebrow and looked over the information. “Business class? Looks like I’m coming up in the world.”

“Looks like.”

I sighed. From the look on her face, she had nothing else to say either.