Long Road to Mercy (Atlee Pine, #1)(16)

She opened it up and looked at the picture of three people standing side by side. One was a tall man about six three, and lean. This was obviously Edward Priest. In the middle was his wife. On the other end was a shorter, thickset man wearing glasses who could only be Ben Priest.

She thought of a few more questions and decided to call Edward Priest back.

“I got the picture, thanks. Couple of quick questions. In the picture, your brother is wearing glasses. Does he also wear contact lenses?”

His reply made Pine’s eyes widen and her thoughts swirl in completely new directions.

“No, Agent Pine, you’ve got it backwards. I’m the one wearing the glasses, not Ben. He’s the tall one on the left.”





Chapter

8



GOOD MORNING, Special Agent Pine.”

Pine had just unlocked the door of the FBI’s office in Shattered Rock. It was a hardened portal with a pickproof lock and an intercom-and-video system. It might seem like overkill in a place like this, but there was a good reason for such enhanced security protocols. In the late seventies two FBI agents in El Centro, California, had been shotgunned to death in their unsecure office by a social worker under investigation for misuse of funds. Ever since then the Bureau had hardened pretty much all their offices in the field, from the largest to the smallest.

Carol Blum had greeted Pine from her desk in the front room of the two-room office. The other building tenants included a law firm, a dentist, a home contractor, and a title insurance company.

And another federal law enforcement agency.

Pine shut the door behind her.

“You know, Carol, we’ve been working together for a while now. You can just call me Atlee.”

“I like to keep things professional. I understand that was the way Mr. Hoover preferred it.”

“Well, the offer remains open. And Mr. Hoover was a long time ago.”

Pine had on jeans held up by a wide leather belt with a large square brass buckle, dusty boots, and a white shirt with a windbreaker over it. By contrast, Blum was dressed in a navy blue jacket and white pleated skirt. Low heels, nylons, and her thick, auburn hair carefully done up in a bun. Her makeup was minimal, and Pine actually thought she needed none. She was a striking woman who had kept herself fit, possessing enormous emerald green eyes that contrasted vividly with the reddish hair, an angular chin, elevated knuckles of cheekbones, and an air about her that seemed exotic, as silly and dated as that term seemed now. But the other term someone would unfailingly apply to her would be: professional.

“I put your recent case files on your desk. Flagstaff will be calling in this afternoon for a routine update. It’s on your calendar.”

“Thank you.”

“You know, I like it that you never post and coast.”

Pine lifted her gaze to the woman’s.

Blum said, “I’ve worked in other offices where right before the supervisor sit-down comes, agents rush around to drop in a new page and a fresh serial number.”

“I know what the term means, Carol.”

“But you never do that.”

“Never saw the point. I work cases to solve them, not play paperwork tricks.”

“How was your time off?”

“It was just fine.”

“What did you do?”

“I went on a trip.”

“Somewhere fun?”

“Not particularly, no.”

The enormous eyes widened a bit more. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“Not really, no.”

The eyes dimmed. “Would you like some coffee? I just purchased a Keurig for the office.”

“That must have cost you a ton of paperwork.”

“It would have except I bought it with my own money.”

“You’re brave. Coffee would be great, thanks.”

“Black?”

“Just like always.”

Pine went into her office and closed the door.

She found it puzzling and more than a bit hypocritical that Blum wanted to keep things strictly professional and was still eager to learn every facet of her boss’s personal life. But then again, maybe she was just being friendly. Despite being together for about a year, Pine didn’t think she knew Blum very well.

She probably thinks the same thing about me. And maybe that’s just fine.

She hung up her windbreaker in a small closet, sat down behind the battered, standard issue gunmetal-gray desk, the kind that the FBI seemed to own by the boatload, and turned on her desktop computer.

The Bureau was still behind the times on technology, and her computer was about eight years old. When she really needed to crank out something she just used her laptop or her phone. Some days she was surprised she didn’t still have a dial-up internet browser.

Blum knocked and came in carrying a steaming cup of coffee with a saucer.

“Did you eat breakfast?” she asked.

“No.”

“Are you hungry? I can run to the bagel shop. It’s no trouble.”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. I have six kids. I know that for a fact.”

Pine glanced up from a file she had just opened. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Anything else?”