“I didn’t take Shipka’s laptop,” Jason said again. “I have nothing to gain by interfering with your investigation. We’d already discussed where we thought our cases intersected. If you’re asking me, I think there’s every indication Shipka’s killer took his laptop.”
“Exactly,” O’Neill said. Maybe he was just being an asshole. Maybe he could sense Jason was hiding something. If so, he continued to bark up the wrong tree.
Meeting his smug look, Jason’s lip curled. “Give me a break,” he said, forgetting his resolution not to do anything to further annoy and antagonize.
The interrogation room door opened. Jason sat back in his chair, swallowing the rest of what he’d been about to say. O’Neill swung around in his chair and glared.
A deputy sheriff who looked like a stunt double for The Rock said, “His boss is here.”
“Goddamn it, Harris. Do you mind not announcing—never mind.” O’Neill threw Jason a this isn’t over look, shoved back his chair, and left the room. The heavy door swung shut.
Jason scrubbed his face with his hands and sat up straight, waiting for the next development. He was relieved someone had shown up. It wouldn’t be George. It would be someone from the Albany field office. Either way, news of reinforcements was a relief.
On the wall across from him a placard read:
We operate with the desire to enhance the quality of life and maintain a pleasant experience for our residents and visitors. Our officers understand the importance of community involvement through community policing and work diligently to foster good working relationships with its residents. The agency works for a successful conclusion of every incident, balancing the outcome based on the need of the community.
Jason rolled his eyes.
O’Neill was back in a couple of minutes, his expression noticeably bleaker. “You’re free to go for now, Agent West. We’ll be in touch.”
Jason rose without a word and walked past O’Neill who stared stonily straight ahead as though this escape was the final proof of Jason’s malfeasance.
The industrial-sized deputy led Jason down a couple of narrow hallways lined with bulletin boards and wanted posters to an office where his coat, wallet, cell phone, and holstered weapon were returned to him. A side door opened, and he was facing Sam Kennedy.
Kennedy was dressed as though he’d come straight from a search-and-rescue op. Jeans, a white cable knit sweater, and his blue and gold FBI jacket. But casual dress or no, he looked like the guy in charge. Of everything. Everywhere.
“Agent West.”
“Sir.”
Jason’s heart was thudding with astonished, even joyful relief. He had no idea why Kennedy was the one to show up, but he was passionately grateful he had.
Kennedy nodded curtly to the deputy sheriff who scrambled to get the glass front door open and see them out. Whatever had transpired in the minutes previous to Jason’s release had not been pleasant, and clearly the Jefferson County Sheriff’s Department could not wait to see the back of Jason—or, more likely, the back of his “boss.”
Sparkling sunshine and fresh air came as a surprise. The breeze carried the scent of the ocean, though it was actually the St. Lawrence river, a glittering band of blue beyond the faded buildings of the ferry depot. The seagulls circling the boats in the harbor didn’t seem to know the difference.
Jason drew in a deep lungful of clean, crisp morning—he felt like he’d been holding his breath since he’d been taken into custody.
“All right?” Kennedy asked quietly. Behind the shades, his face was inscrutable. A sphinx in Foster Grants.
“I’ve been better.”
He was surprised when Kennedy dropped a firm hand on his shoulder and gave him a quick squeeze. “The car’s this way.”
Now that Jason had a chance to really look, he could see Kennedy looked bone-weary. Maybe it was the light, but his skin had a sallow undertone. Lines of fatigue were carved into his face. What the hell was happening in Oregon to make him look like that? And why had George sent Kennedy of all people?
No, that made no sense. George wouldn’t—couldn’t—ask a BAU chief to step in. Jason had to be even more tired than he knew because he just couldn’t seem to work it out.
Neither said anything else until they were inside the black rental sedan neatly parked between two blue and white SUVs lining the white street.
“Why didn’t you call me?” Kennedy asked. He made no move to start the car. He took his sunglasses off as though to better scrutinize Jason.
“Call you? For one thing, I don’t work for you. For another—” He’d been about to say what could you do? But that was a silly question. Jason said instead, honestly, “It never occurred to me.”
Kennedy threw him a quick, disbelieving look, but it was the truth. It had never crossed Jason’s mind to call for Kennedy. Frankly, he’d have gone to jail for a thousand years before asking Kennedy’s help. Not that he wasn’t sincerely grateful that Kennedy had stepped in. “Did George ask you to come? How did you find out what was happening?”
Kennedy said dryly, “I phoned you last night. A deputy sheriff from the Jefferson County Sheriff’s Cape Vincent Station was monitoring your cell phone calls, so I heard the whole story.”