John Miller - Inside Out

“Where were you, Daddy?” Rush asked.

“Not sure, exactly.”

“Doing what?”

“I did some sitting around on a porch sort of like this. I ate, I slept, I ran, did push-ups and sit-ups. Ate more. Slept some more. Sat, talked. Listened.” He battled back memories of the dead WITSEC crew and the treacherous flight across Rook Island.

“Didn't hunt down any bad guys and arrest 'em?”

“Didn't make a single arrest the whole time I was gone. I'll have to make two arrests next trip out.”

“Bet you will, too!” Rush exclaimed.

Winter usually told the boy what he had been up to, sparing him the hard-core details. He liked for Rush to believe that being a deputy marshal was no more dangerous than strolling through Walt Disney World, which was mostly the case.

“Rush,” Lydia said, stretching. “Let's get you to bed. Let the old men jabber.” After only a mild protest, Rush kissed Winter and went inside, Nemo trailing behind.

“Not all night, y'all,” Lydia cautioned the two men.

As soon as Lydia was safely inside, Trammel pulled a flask from his coat pocket and poured a couple of ounces into his glass. “Chill in the air,” he offered as an explanation. There was a silence while Trammel savored the golden liquid. “Whiskey's a lot like pussy.”

“I know, Hank. The worst you ever had was wonderful. Sort of like comparing apples to house slippers.”

“You think? They're both sure as hell a great comfort. You want a sip?”

“No thank you.”

“Shapiro told me what happened.”

“He did?” That was a surprise.

“Yeah, he thought you ought to have somebody to talk to, if you were of a mind to.”

“Not much to say about it. Nothing I can change by talking. I'm fine.”

“You did your job. You got nothing to regret.”

“My luck is going to run out one of these days, and where'll that leave Rush? We both know I could end up like Greg. I think I should consider a career change.”

“I 'spect Miss Eleanor would pitch a fit if you show up in heaven too soon.”

“She'd kick my ass,” Winter agreed.

“It's getting ready to rain,” he said, screwing the lid on the flask. “Maybe you should get some sleep.”

“I know.”

“I'm real sorry about Greg. Wish I'd known him better. Any people?”

“No family. His mother abandoned him. He was raised by his grandmother. She's dead. Nobody closer than me, far as I know.”

“You going to tell Rush?”

“I shouldn't until they release the names.” Winter knew that he wasn't up to that yet. It just didn't seem right for someone so young to have been through so much suffering, to have lost so much.

“I doubt it'll be a secret for long, media being the way it is.”

Winter walked Hank out to his car and stood in the driveway watching him drive away.

After he locked the back door, Winter went to his room and lay in bed, tired but unable to sleep. The rain started to fall in torrents. Thunder crashed and the sky lit as though artillery shells were being lobbed. Winter's door opened slowly and he turned and stared at the shapes framed in the doorway.

“What's up, Rush?”

“Aw, Nemo's scared. You can't reason with him when he's like this.”

“I imagine I can bunk down a good deputy and his sidekick.”

Winter knew the dog could sleep on an operating rifle range. Rush wasn't going to admit his fear of lightning. From the time he was an infant he had never stayed in a room alone during a storm. Not being able to see the flashes made it worse because there was no warning of any kind for him before the crashing booms.

Winter threw the covers back for Rush. Nemo curled up on the floor. Father and son lay shoulder to shoulder listening to the storm rage outside.

USMS headquarters

Arlington, Virginia

It was dark outside. Sean tried not to yawn, but she did anyway. Richard Shapiro's office was one enormous space divided into three areas. In the five hours she had been there, she had read through a stack of magazines, eaten a ham sandwich, and drank more coffee than she usually did in a month.

The chief marshal's conference room was enclosed by a wall of soundproof glass. Through it, Sean could see Shapiro railing at his men like a basketball coach. She'd seen and heard enough to know that the marshals had been shut out of the investigation into the murders. And nobody at 600 Army Navy Drive was at all pleased about having to wait for the FBI to share the information it was compiling. Sean had seen Shapiro on the phone, his face so red she was sure he would blow an artery. For the past hour his staff had been in the glass room and she had watched them like fish in an aquarium.

Bored, she went into her briefcase, took out her computer, and turned it on. She opened the nasty note Dylan had sent her. She closed the document and, dragging it into the garbage deleted it. If only she could only erase memories as easily as she had Dylan's final message to her.

She was beyond ready to leave. She looked up and waved at the marshals behind the glass wall. One saw her and spoke to Shapiro, who looked wearily out at her. She waved good-bye to him.

He said something to his men and they all seemed to relax.

Richard Shapiro came out and sat near her on the couch. “I'm sorry,” he said.

“I'm tired,” she said, thinking how stress might trigger a migraine.

“Listen, Mrs. Devlin. We want to do everything we can to help you through this. I have a few thoughts.”

“Can we discuss it later? As I said, I'm quite tired.”

“Sure. You don't have to make any decisions right away. I think we can give you the equity in your house.”

Sean made her voice firm. “I'm not your witness. I am not changing my name, and I want my belongings put back in my house, which did not belong to my late husband.”

“Let's discuss all of that tomorrow, okay? We'll get you a death certificate so you can get to your husband's bank accounts, which as his widow, you are entitled to.”

“Do you seriously think I would take money he made murdering people?”

“I assumed you could use it.”

“I don't need it and I'd sweep streets before I accept one cent of that blood money.”

“We intend to compensate you for what you went through.”

“Do that. Figure out what keeping my husband's killings a secret from me, and what I have been through in the past few days is worth. In the meantime, I want to go to a hotel and sleep.”

“I'll have a couple of deputies-”

“No! No more deputies, no guns, no protection. If you want my cooperation, I demand some consideration. I am not testifying against anyone. I will not agree to be watched over or followed. I do not want the United States Marshals Service knowing where I am. If no one here knows where I am or what I'm doing, nobody can tell anybody anything.” Sean was reaching the absolute limit she could take. She had to get away.

“I'm sorry you feel that way.”

“Tell me the truth. Do I have to accept your protection?”

“No, I can't force you to. You can decline it, but I can't emphasize strongly enough how dangerous that might be. Mrs. Devlin, please-”

“I am officially declining protection of any kind. Do I need to sign anything for that?” she said briskly.

Shapiro's eyes hardened. “We can't force our protection, but the FBI can decide that you are crucial to the investigation, declare you a material witness, and take you into custody. Obviously, I'd hate to see that happen, even if it was for your own safety.”

“I suppose if the FBI decides to do that, there's nothing I can do to prevent it,” she replied. “I'd be happy to relive that night over and over, if you'll treat me like a friend and not a prisoner. You can start by calling me a cab. I will return first thing tomorrow if you like.”