Little Girl Gone (An Afton Tangler Thriller #1)(19)

Sleepy moans and groans ensued as the girls stumbled down the hall—Bonaparte padding after them—so they could brush their teeth and get dressed for school.

After helpings of Cap’n Crunch and a quick dash into the backyard for Bonaparte, each girl solemnly kissed the dog on the nose and bade him good-bye. Then, in a flurry of red-and-yellow nylon parkas, they dashed outside to meet the yellow school bus that came lumbering down the street.

After a bowl of kibble and a slurp of water, Bonaparte looked expectantly up at Afton as she shrugged into her coat and gathered up her keys.

“I’m not kissing you good-bye, too,” she told him. Then, “Oh, okay. If you insist.”

The dog had been the only good thing to come out of last night.


*

DESPITE having her Lincoln stashed inside the relative comfort of her garage, the car’s engine struggled to turn over in the bitter cold. And once she navigated the ruts down her back alley and swung out onto the street, she became intimately familiar with the sensation of the car’s back wheels sliding ominously on ice.

Nasty day, Afton thought. She shivered as the heater spewed out chill air. With ice-glazed streets and a windchill that was off the charts, she passed three stalled cars on her way downtown, their bundled-up owners looking anxious as they waited for AAA to show up with an industrial-strength battery charger.

The parking garage attached to the precinct building was nearly full, so Afton was forced to park on the exposed top floor of the ramp. Frigid wind whipped her hair and scarf into streamers as she hurried to the building entrance. The elevator down to the third floor was a morass of wet slush.

Once inside, Afton was immersed in a frenzy of activity. Phones jingled, voices rose amid a din of noise, and people rushed about importantly. Hoping to avoid a walk of shame, praying she could remain relatively anonymous until last night’s mess blew over, Afton kept her head down as she hurried to her desk. She turned the corner, slipped off her coat, and sat down.

The Force was not with her today.

There on her desk sat a stuffed Beanie Baby, a floppy-eared brown-and-white bulldog. A sign taped to her computer screen said, ROOM FOR ONE MORE?

Great.

As if someone had given a silent cue, loud, yappy barking suddenly broke out all around her. “Arf, arf, arf.” Then the jerk three cubicles down from her broke into an off-key rendition of “Who Let the Dogs Out.”

Afton felt her stomach start to sink. She’d worked hard to try to fit in here and this was the crap she got? Jeez. She hadn’t screwed up on purpose. And they couldn’t just leave the dog out there to freeze to death.

She heard a noise behind her and spun around. It was Max, looking tired and worn out as he clicked his tongue and said in a mild tone, “Don’t look so worried. It’s just a little friendly departmental hazing.”

“Really?” Afton said.

Max shrugged. “It means you’re part of the gang.”

She loved him at that moment. Would’ve walked across hot coals for him.

Max squeezed into her cubicle and wedged himself into an uncomfortable metal side chair. “You know, I’ve been with the department for twenty years, and the most important thing I’ve learned is that as long as you can meet your own eyes in the mirror every morning, you’re doing okay.”

“It sounds as if you’re perilously close to being a glass half-empty kind of guy,” Afton said.

“Maybe I’ll see if I can balance that out,” Max said.

Afton crooked an eyebrow at him. “What’s up?”

“I just spoke to Thacker. He wants to see you in his office.”

“Oh boy.” Afton’s heart, which had suddenly felt hopeful, plunged again. She grabbed a notebook and pen and hurried down the hall to Thacker’s office. This was one guy who didn’t like to be kept waiting.

His secretary, Angel, was nowhere in sight, but his office door was open halfway. Afton peered inside and saw that Thacker was wearing the same clothes he’d been wearing yesterday. It must have been a long, exhausting night for him again. Lots of explaining to higher-ups, damage control with the media, and dealing with the distraught Dardens as well as the ever-snarky FBI.

Afton gave a tentative knock. She was half hoping he wouldn’t hear her.

“Come in,” Thacker said. He was sitting at his desk, staring intently at his computer screen. When he looked up and saw it was Afton, he said, “Close the door behind you.”

Definitely not a good sign.

Afton took a seat across from Thacker in one of his two rump-sprung leather chairs. She instantly felt eight years old again, back in elementary school, sitting across from Mr. Murphy, the school principal, after she’d gone postal at recess and smacked Corey Miller in the face with an ice ball as retribution for sticking gum in her hair. Hopefully, the punishment meted out today would be the equivalent of one week without recess. A small price to pay.

Thacker grunted, removed his reading glasses, and stretched back in his chair. He looked exhausted.

“Last night wasn’t exactly our department’s shining hour,” Thacker said. “But I want to be clear on this. I don’t believe you did anything wrong. That said, I’m probably in the minority. Richard Darden has some fairly powerful friends, one of whom sits on the City Council. So if I appear a bit bedraggled, it’s because I’ve been up all night fielding calls.”