King and Maxwell (Sean King & Michelle Maxwell 6)

THE SNOW WAS COMING DOWN harder when Michelle stepped out of the Panera.

As a Secret Service agent she had spent years dissecting the physical world into discrete grids as part of her security matrix, looking for danger in all the right places. Though she had been out of the Service for a while now, that instinct still rode with her. It probably would forever. And right now her antennae were quivering.

The parking lot was half full, which still constituted a great many cars because the lot was a large one. Yet there was only one vehicle that drew her attention. She stared across at it.

Government plates, one silhouette inside, motor off, and the driver had been there awhile because the sedan was covered in snow. And no one had gotten out of the car, because there were no footprints in the snow around it. This was a strip mall where one made quick stops, in and out and on one’s way. Yet this driver had pulled in, cut the engine, and sat there in the freezing cold waiting for something.

Or someone. Maybe me.

She walked to her truck, climbed in, and started it up. Without appearing to do so she was watching the government sedan. The silhouette had not moved. She was considering whether she had been wrong in her deductions when the situation status abruptly changed.

The silhouette transformed into a man with wide shoulders and military-cropped hair, wearing a long, dark overcoat and regulation black shoes. His military rank rode on the sleeves of the overcoat in the form of pinned-on bars.

Bars, not stars. But then again, Michelle hadn’t expected them to send out a general to grapple with her.

When the man drew close, she rolled down her window. “You must’ve been cold sitting in the car all that time. Want to jump in and get warm?”

In response he showed her his credentials.

“Captain Aubrey Jones, military police,” Michelle read off the ID card. “What can I do for you?”

Jones said, “You were meeting with Tyler Wingo?”

“If you say so.”

“Why?”

“That’s confidential.”

“I understand that you’re a private investigator?”

“Again, if you say so. But if I am and if I was meeting with him, you can understand why I can’t reveal confidences.”

“Wingo is a minor. He can’t be your client.”

“On the contrary, yes he can,” replied Michelle.

“Why would he need a PI?”

“Could be lots of reasons. Why does it matter to you?”

“He just lost his father.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

“He’s vulnerable and scared and the Army does not want to see him taken advantage of. Did you ask for money from him?”

“So you think I’m shaking down a grieving teenager for cash?”

“Are you?”

“Yeah, that’s how I make my living. I look up dead soldiers in the newspaper and then arrange to meet with their crushed kids so I can get rich one dollar bill at a time.” She paused. “How likely does that sound?”

“We know that you were formerly with the Secret Service but were asked to leave.”

“Actually, I was offered full reinstatement but chose to voluntarily resign instead. And that’s ancient history.”

“You and your partner have been involved in some high-level cases. Serial killers, CIA, national security.”