On the other side of the glass, Sergeant Grave Hopper was dumping a pint of sugar into his coffee and glaring daggers at the two feds. “But we can’t have you and your boys and girls running around mucking up my investigation,” Idler continued. Wanted to feel something other than the great, sucking void that rolled over me, inevitable as the tide. I wanted to work my way up to pissed off. Marshal Nolan Graham, had a mustache and the look of a man forced into something he really didn’t want to do. She was a steely woman in a pantsuit who looked as though she ate procedures for breakfast. She flicked her gaze to the coffee stain on my shirt. “The Bureau understands you have a personal interest in finding Duncan Hugo,” Special Agent Sonal Idler said from across my desk where she sat with a ramrod-straight spine. The federal agents in my office were lucky for two reasons.įirst, my left hook wasn’t what it had been before getting shot.Īnd second, I hadn’t been able to work my way up into feeling anything, let alone mad enough to make me consider doing something stupid.
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