Long Range (Joe Pickett Book 20)(8)

Nate had given up on all of that when he’d gone straight and back on the grid. Liv was adamant that he stay there.

“Yes, Liv?” Loren asked.

“Can you please put Kestrel down for a nap?”

Liv turned in her chair and handed the baby to Loren. The nanny gently backed away toward the baby’s room so Kestrel’s release of Nate’s finger wasn’t jarring. Nate tried not to show his annoyance.

“Nate’s going to get the Swaddlers today,” Liv said to Loren.

“Oh, good.”

“No more washing cloth diapers.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Loren said.

“Then it’s settled,” Liv said while turning back to her screen.

Nate beheld his wife, his daughter, and the nanny. He could not believe how his life had changed.

*

NATE AND LIV turned their heads toward the front door simultaneously as the rumble of a large engine vibrated through the floor of the house. Nate admonished himself for not tracking the progress of the approaching vehicle he’d glimpsed. He’d gotten too wrapped up in Kestrel’s gesture to remember.

Going soft, he thought.

“What is that?” Liv asked.

Nate strode across the dining room toward the picture window and eased the curtains aside. The massive RV was parked with its diesel engine rumbling less than thirty feet from his house. It was so large it filled the window.

“Someone must be lost,” Liv said.

“Maybe.”

The engine shut off. Nate could see the form of a man behind the wheel. The man turned to stand up after he’d killed the engine and he was out of sight for a few seconds. It took that long, apparently, for the driver to walk through the behemoth to the side door.

When it opened, it took Nate a few moments to realize who had come. Jeremiah Sandburg looked frail and ten years older than when Nate had last seen him. Sandburg’s hair had thinned and grayed and he moved stiffly. He opened the side door of the recreational vehicle and stood within the doorframe as if contemplating whether he wanted to take the long step down to the gravel. Sandburg looked up plaintively toward the house.

“I’ll be a minute,” Nate said to Liv.

“Do you know who it is?”

Nate said, “Remember that FBI agent who survived the massacre last spring? It’s him.”

“I thought he’d retired,” Liv said.

“I did, too.”

Nate tried to fight the feeling of suspicion that always arose in him when he encountered law enforcement officials, especially feds.

“Are you going to invite him in?” Liv asked.

“No.”

Nate opened the front door and said to her over his shoulder, “I’ll see what he wants.”

“Be a gentleman,” she cautioned.

“Always,” he said through gritted teeth as he stepped outside and closed the door behind him.

Sandburg acknowledged him with a nod of his head. He seemed stuck in the doorframe.

“Nate Romanowski,” the man said. “You’re a hard man to find.”

“That’s the idea. What can I do for you?”

Sandburg had short-cropped brown hair, rimless glasses, and a thin face. When Nate had seen him the first time, Sandburg had had a thick barrel chest and the gliding moves of a one-time athlete. Not anymore. His recovery had obviously taken a tremendous physical toll.

Sandburg had been hit four times in an ambush that had killed longtime local sheriff Mike Reed, Sandburg’s superior from the FBI, and his partner Don Pollock. He was the only survivor of the attack except for the former county attorney Dulcie Schalk, who had retired to her family ranch. Nothing like it had ever happened in Saddlestring before. Nate kept his distance from town matters and gossip, but the reverberations of the incident still resonated.

Nate didn’t know Sandburg well, the way Joe Pickett did. Nate’s friend Joe had described the special agent as arrogant, condescending, and more than a little crooked. Sandburg liked to threaten civilians by describing how much trouble they’d be in if he felt they were lying to him—or refused to say what he wanted them to say.

Nate had no idea at all why Sandburg was there.

*

“IF YOU HAVE a few minutes, I’d like to talk to you,” Sandburg said.

“I really don’t have much time,” Nate said. He didn’t mention his mission to buy the right brand of Pampers.

“You’ll regret it if we don’t,” Sandburg said. So far, he was true to form and just as Joe had described him.

“We can do it in here,” Sandburg said, meaning inside his recreational vehicle. “I might even have some coffee.”

Nate looked the man over. Sandburg looked relieved not to have to step down out of his RV.

“Because of my injuries, it’s painful to move around,” Sandburg said, as if answering Nate’s thoughts. “I notice it’s worse out here at high elevation. Everything hurts more.”

Nate followed Sandburg into the RV. It took a while for the man to get settled behind a table and Sandburg grunted as he did so. The table was in a dinette booth configuration with one open side. Nate sat opposite Sandburg and looked around. The closets and cupboards were constructed of high-end hardwood and the chairs and sofas were covered in leather. A coffeemaker secured to the kitchen wall smelled of fresh coffee, but Sandburg didn’t make a move to get up. Nate assumed he’d either forgotten his offer or, more likely, didn’t want to expend the physical effort to serve it. Either way, Nate was fine with it.