After I manage to choke down half a burger and a few fries, I pay the waitress at the diner for my meal and Travis’s, then head over to the hotel to check in.

I’m still trying to convince myself that running into him like this was a good thing. Good that it happened right away, I mean. And especially good that he’s mad at me. That means he’ll avoid me from now on, and I can just focus on my work.

Work. That’s what comes next. I need to clear everything else from my mind.

I walk into the lobby of the chain hotel on the edge of town where I booked my reservation. The place is brand-spanking new, so much so that the furniture in the lobby still has that weird off-gassing smell to it. I approach the front desk, rolling my suitcase behind me. A young girl who can’t be more than nineteen greets me with an overly-lipsticked smile. From the name tag pinned to her shirt, I gather her name is Brandi.

“Hi. I have a reservation under Brentano.”

The girl nods, a parody of adult efficiency, and reaches down to pick up the single paper lying on the counter in front of her. “Absolutely,” she enthuses. “Brentano, single occupancy? Looks like you’ll be with us for… three days?”

“That’s right.” I watch as she turns to a monitor and starts to clack at the keys with multicolored nails. “I may have to extend my stay at some point,” I continue. “Will that be a problem?” It seems like a ridiculous question, given that there are only four cars in the whole parking lot, but I figure I should ask.

“I’m sure it should be fine,” she smiles politely. “Just let us know as soon as you’re able to. Worst case scenario, we’d just have to have you switch rooms. Would that be okay?”

I shrug, even though I can’t imagine why that would be necessary. “Sure.”

Brandi types some more information into the computer, frowning in concentration. She asks for my credit card, which I provide, and then clacks some more. Finally, she reaches for a tiny envelope. “One room key fine?”

“That’ll do it.”

“Okay!” she says chirpily. She scrawls a number on the envelope, slips a card in, and hands it to me. “Your room number is here,” she says, pointing with a colored nail. “Elevators are down the hall and to the left. You’ll be on the fourth floor. Please let us know if you need anything.”

“I will. Thanks.” I take the card from her and turn down the hall, happy to be done with the transaction. I don’t know why, but I’ve always found these kinds of conversations exhausting and unpleasant. It’s not quite fair — Brandi’s just doing her job, after all. I just kind of hate the whole official-speak of it. It makes me feel like we’re all robots, instead of human beings.

As the elevator takes me up to my room on the top floor of the hotel, I shrug it off and turn my mind to the rest of the afternoon. My first order of business is to stop in and see the chief of the Tanner Springs Police Department. A Brandt Crup, apparently. I don’t recognize the name, so I’m guessing he’s not from Tanner Springs originally — meaning he probably won’t recognize or know anything about me, which is a plus. I called yesterday and spoke to his assistant, who told me she’d convey the message that I’d be stopping by sometime today.

Sliding my key card through the slot, I enter the room, turn on the light, and glance around at my new home for the next few days. Nothing glamorous, but more than adequate. I take off my jacket and remove my shoulder holster, then bend down and do a few stretches to work the kinks out of my neck and shoulders. I toss my bag on one of the two beds and decide to spend a few minutes checking my emails, which yields nothing important. Resisting the urge to lie down on the other bed, I instead go into the bathroom to splash some water on my face. A minute later, I’m strapping my holster back on, complete with the familiar weight of the .40 caliber Smith & Wesson that FBI agents carry.

Travis noticed my gun almost immediately.

In my mind’s eye, I see his look of disgust. His curled lip.

We sure did end up on opposite sides of the law. Though to be honest, anyone who was guessing about our futures ten years ago probably would be more surprised by my career choice than his.

I see his deep, cool eyes, staring right through me. Those eyes, that used to know me so well.

And at the same time, that didn’t know me at all.

* * *

I pull my jacket back on and make sure it’s buttoned and that the holster is concealed. Then I head back out to my car to make the journey to the Tanner Springs Police Department.

One thing about Tanner Springs: it doesn’t take very long to get anywhere. I’m parked and walking up to the building within ten minutes. I remembered the location from when I lived here as a kid. The squat, sprawling brick structure with its angular green roof brings back uncomfortable memories. But as with every memory about Tanner Springs, I stuff them down inside me.

A guard behind Plexiglass directs me to where I need to go, and soon I find myself standing at a large desk where a small, efficient-looking woman is sitting. The name plate in front of her tells me her name is Joyce.

“Hello,” I say, pulling out a card and handing it to her. “I’m Agent Brooke Brentano. I called earlier. I’m here to see Chief Crup.”

The woman looks up at me and takes the card I offered. She stares down at it. “From the FBI?” she asks, her eyes widening. She looks at me like she doesn’t quite know what to make of me.

“Yes, that’s right. Is Chief Crup in?”

“He, ah…” she glances back toward a closed door which must lead to his office. I get the distinct feeling she doesn’t want to disturb him, but she doesn’t quite dare turn me down. “Yes, just one moment.”

Joyce gets out of her chair and goes to the door. She taps on it a couple of times and then turns the knob softly. I see her hunch a little, almost apologetically, as she enters.

I wait there, taking in my surroundings. The office is a large, open area, with quite a few desks distributed around the room. Uniformed officers of different ages talk on the phone or work on computers. A couple of them look up at me curiously.

I notice that of the dozen or so people here, Joyce is the only woman.

“Chief Crup will see you now,” Joyce murmurs, coming back outside. She’s no longer carrying my card, so I’m assuming she gave it to him.

“Thank you,” I smile.

“Oh, would you like some coffee?” she asks, flustered, as though she’s remembering her manners.

“I’m fine,” I reassure her. Joyce steps back, letting me pass, and I push open the door to the chief’s office.

Chief Brandt Crup stands up to greet me. He’s holding my card in his left hand as he reaches out his right to shake mine. He’s a fairly nondescript man, medium build. I’d place him somewhere in his early forties. He’s got a bit of a paunch, which causes the buttons on his blue shirt to pull ever-so-slightly.

“Agent… Brentano,” he greets me, glancing at my card. His face is expressionless. “What can I do for you?”

The first thing that strikes me about him is his overly officious air — an attitude that is enhanced by the multiple framed pictures on his wall shaking hands and smiling with various men in suits. Pillar of the community, I muse to myself ironically.

“I’m sorry to show up more or less unannounced, Chief Crup,” I begin. Normally, I don’t apologize when I’m working — for anything. As a female FBI agent, I’m already operating at a disadvantage by people who don’t take me as seriously as they would a male agent. But there’s something about this man that makes me instinctively decide to proceed carefully. His rigid posture tells me he’s already on his guard. By softening — feminizing — my approach, I’m hoping to get him to relax that a little.

“Not at all,” he replies magnanimously, motioning for me to sit down. His shoulders loosen just a hair. Bingo.

“I’m here from the Cleveland field office,” I continue, sliding into a seat opposite him. “I’ve been assigned to follow up on a call we got from a citizen in your community.”

“What sort of call?” He leans back in his chair and gives me an indulgent smirk.

This is where it gets tricky. I’m under no obligation to give Chief Crup any information. In fact, there’s nothing saying I even need to have this conversation at all. FBI agents are not required to work with, or even inform, local law enforcement of their comings and goings. Often, they don’t.

But I know Tanner Springs — at least, I used to. A small town like this, it doesn’t take long before people notice a stranger walking around, and start asking questions. I made a calculated decision to tell the PD I’m here, before someone sees me sniffing around and calls them.

“I’m not at liberty to say,” I reply, stepping carefully. “It’s very possibly a false tip. But the agency has a duty to follow up on it anyway. I’m just letting you know I’ll be here in town for a few days.”

Chief Crup’s eyes narrow, just a hair. It’s clear he doesn’t like the fact that I’m keeping him in the dark.

“If you let us know what’s going on, I could assign an officer to you,” he suggests, peering at me. “Help you out, show you around town.”

I don’t offer that I’m not a stranger to Tanner Springs. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.”

Crup is not impressed with my answer. “Where’d you say you’re from? Which field office?”

“Cleveland.”

“Little lady,” he begins, leaning forward. He puts his elbows on the desk, and fists one hand into the other below his chin. “I’m sure Tanner Springs sure ain’t Cleveland. But you might find you’ll want some backup with you when you go around confronting strangers.” He gives me an indulgent smile. “People here don’t always take kindly to outsiders. You take one of my men along with you, the citizens of our fair city might be a lot more likely to talk to you.”

And you’ll be able to keep an eye on me, I think.

In my experience, local PDs run the gamut from cooperative, to indifferent, to hostile when confronted with the FBI entering their turf.

Looks like this one’s gonna be hostile.

And sexist, to boot.

It’s probably just that he’s one of those guys with some sort of superiority complex. He likes being in charge. Likes the people around them to take a deferential attitude.

Still, there’s something going off inside my head as I stare at him. A tiny alarm bell, sounding somewhere in the far-off reaches of my brain.

I tamp down the urge to knock him down a peg or two, and try to see the situation from my advantage. Since I’m a younger woman, it’s possible he’ll just dismiss me as incompetent or unimportant. And then he’ll leave me alone.

“I can handle myself, thank you, Chief.”

His smile fades a little. “Well,” he says dubiously, “suit yourself. But let me know if you change your mind.” He stands up, clearly indicating we’re done here. “How long did you say you’ll be in town?”

“Not long. A few days, probably.”

“Anything I should know? Anything you’re at liberty to tell me?” he asks, his tone slightly mocking.

“Not at the moment. I’ll be in touch if that changes.”

I leave Chief Crup’s office, feeling unsettled without quite knowing why. To be honest, this is about how I would have expected our conversation to go. But still. Something tells me if I don’t treat the chief of the Tanner Springs PD with kid gloves, I might have more interference from him and his men than I bargained for.