Jennifer D. Bokal - Under The Agent's Protection

There wasn’t much on the internet about Wyatt Thornton. A real-estate transaction, along with a local address. She wrote down the address. And a notice that he’d adopted a dog from a county rescue.

There had to be more. In this day and age, nobody lived off the grid. And if they did, it was because they didn’t want to be found.

She tried again. W. Thornton.

The search was met with a question. Did you mean Special Agent W. Thornton? Thousands of hits followed. She scanned headlines from articles about a notorious serial killer in Las Vegas and the FBI profiler in charge of the case: W. Thornton. She moved the cursor to hover over the No icon. Then she stopped. Her eye was drawn to a photograph of several FBI agents, and one of them was unquestionably the same one she met earlier today, Wyatt Thornton.

His hair was longer now, with just a touch of gray that he hadn’t had when the photo had been taken years ago. The suit he wore had been replaced with jeans, but it was him.

Immediately she wondered why he’d come to Wyoming and, more important, why not tell Everly if he had a professional opinion about her brother’s death?

She clicked on the article, which was four years old. A string of killings—all single men—had stunned the hard-to-shock city of Las Vegas. The FBI, through their behavioral scientist, Thornton, had a suspect. On closer scrutiny, the suspect had an alibi for one of the killings. It was a fact that had been missed, or possibly suppressed, by Thornton.

The media didn’t have a killer, but they had an incompetent or possibly dishonest FBI agent. Thornton had been crucified by the press. And the killings? They stopped. One subsequent article wondered if it hadn’t been a fabrication of Thornton’s all along.

For a moment, she felt sorry for Wyatt. And then she wondered—if he’d have come to her for public-relations help, what would she have said? Probably that he should move someplace where no one knew who he was, or didn’t care.

At least she knew what he’d been trying to hide and why he wanted no part of a possible murder investigation.

She hesitated for only a minute before pushing back from the desk. She grabbed the keys to her rental car. As she picked up the hastily copied address, she made a decision. Wyatt Thornton had investigated murders before. He was an expert in unexplained crimes. He would know how to put all the puzzle pieces together and his was an expertise she was determined to use.

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