Jill Nelson - Calculated Revenge

Noah thanked the group and unfolded himself from the floor where he’d gotten down on their level to ask his questions. He consulted his notes as he headed for Sheriff Lindoll, who was speaking with a group of sixth graders. So far, the feedback indicated that the backpack had not been on the playground during the first half of recess period when grades kindergarten through three were outside.

The sheriff turned away from his group and met Noah in the middle of the gym floor. “I’ve got credible positives on the bag being seen by students and teachers during the second recess period.”

Noah nodded. “I’ve got the opposite with the younger group. It looks like either the bag was placed during the ten minutes between recess periods or when grades four to six were on the grounds.”

“Sounds reasonable.”

“Has anyone reported seeing who left it?”

“Negative. But we’re not done talking to people.”

“Yes, you are,” sniped a voice from the past.

Spine stiff, Noah swiveled toward the last man on the planet he ever wanted to see again. “Hello, Special Agent Justin Burns.”

The sheriff’s brows flew up. Was it because Noah knew the FBI agent or because he hadn’t done too well at keeping the sneer out of his tone? Burns hadn’t changed much. Looming middle age had drawn a few more creases on his bulldog face, but the frost-gray eyes were still as cold as a gravestone. As usual, he wore a crisp-pressed suit that made him look like a surly, burly version of Tommy Lee Jones in Men in Black. And the set of his pencil mouth…well, the urge to knock the arrogant expression off that mug hadn’t diminished with time.

“It’s Supervisory Special Agent now,” Burns said, his sneer not hidden, either. “What are you doing here, Ryder? I thought you were retired from bungling investigations.”

Make that urge a compulsion…suppressed. Barely. This time.

Noah stretched his lips into a smile that was as good as a spit. “Tread lightly, Burns. You’re on my territory, and my students’ best interests will be served.”

“This is our school principal.” Hank plunked a hand onto Noah’s shoulder.

Burns barked a laugh. “Nurse-maiding the kiddies, are we?” He turned his attention toward the sheriff. “Make no mistake. We are in charge. We’ll collect whatever information your people have gathered and take the investigation from here. You’ll be informed whenever we need information from you on a local matter, but this case reaches beyond Cottonwood Grove.”

The sheriff’s gaze met Noah’s. He sent Hank a miniscule shrug.

“I can take your team to the backpack,” the sheriff said to Burns.

“No need. The ERTs are already examining the bag and the site. We recognize crime scene tape when we see it.”

“Hooray for the good guys.” Noah looked around the gym. Other agents were joining interview groups or consulting with the city officers. Some even deigned to smile and joke with the local yokels. At least the rest of this federal team didn’t have their ties yanked too tight. Most of them weren’t even wearing one. Or a suit, either. He returned his gaze to Burns. “I wonder if you’re the one.”

The agent drew himself up to his full height, which was a good couple of inches shorter than Noah. “The one what?”

“Miss Thompson mentioned an agent that was involved in the original investigation.”

“Would that be Laney Thompson, the victim’s sister? Where is she? She’s got questions to answer.”

“She and her daughter are backstage. Come with me.” If this guy got out of line with Laney, he’d stop curbing his impulses, even if the swing got him jail time.

“That was very good, sweetie,” Laney told her daughter, who gazed up proudly from the book she was reading aloud.

“Laney Thompson, I need to talk to you!”

The hairs at the base of her neck stood on end as if someone had scraped fingernails across the chalkboard of her mind. Those growled tones were from a long-ago nightmare. She looked up to see Noah, with Special Agent Burns in tow, bearing down on her.

The FBI agent stopped in front of their chairs. “Supervisory Special Agent Justin Burns. I’m told you remember me.” He spoke as if her recollection of him was a matter of pride.

It had taken her a long time to overcome the nightmares featuring the agent’s roughshod interrogation of her as a traumatized child. Burns would have to trample her dead body to do the same thing to Briana.

Laney rose and stared the agent in his pug nose. “What would you like to know? But leave my daughter out of it. This is the first she’s heard about what happened back then, and she wasn’t anywhere near Gracie’s schoolbag.”

Burns looked from Briana back to her. “All grown up and with a kid of your own. We’ll see where the investigation takes us. Is there somewhere we can visit in private?” The agent pointed a look toward Noah, who stood with his arms away from his body, legs slightly apart, as if he’d as soon tackle Burns as look at him.

They glared at one another like familiar enemies. Burns must have worked fast to get on Noah’s bad side so quickly. Then again, the agent had that gift.

“You can use my office,” Noah said. “I’ll escort you.”

“No need.” Burns waved him off. “I’m sure Laney knows where it is.”

“Ms. Thompson.” Laney spoke in unison with Noah. They shared a look, and sparkly fizz shot through her middle at the smile in his eyes. What was the matter with her? Now was so not the time for this hopeless attraction to her boss.

Burns’s jaw firmed. “Very well, Ms. Thompson. Lead the way. And you,” he turned and jabbed a finger toward Noah, “stay out of this investigation.”

Laney drew herself up. “Stay out of this investigation? If your people find any lead worth following it will likely be because of this man’s quick thinking. He secured the scene, alerted the school, organized the interviews—”

“You did what?” Burns put himself in Noah’s personal space. “I might have known you couldn’t keep your nose out of where it doesn’t belong. I told the sheriff not to make a move until we arrived.”

“How can you be so obtuse?” Laney burst out. “We need a vicious murderer apprehended, and you instruct your fellow law officer not to employ his intellect, training or experience?” Both men were staring at her now. She was babbling in English-nerdese, but she was on a roll. “If Sheriff Lindoll had listened to you instead of Noah, you’d be hours behind on an investigation that is now well in hand. Accolades are more in order than scorn. And,” she sniffed, “if you need a dictionary to look up any of my verbiage, this school is gifted with an abundance of those.”

“Mommy?” A tap on her side brought her attention to her daughter, who stood clutching her book. “He can use a dictionary from my classroom.”

Silence blanketed the moment, except for the background noise of voices from the gymnasium. A snort turned everyone’s heads. Officer Carlson stood red-faced and grinning from his post behind the folding chairs. A suppressed chuckle came from Noah, whose lips had disappeared between his teeth.

Laney tugged a lock of her daughter’s hair. “Thank you, sweetie. You’re a thoughtful little girl.” Her heart was galloping like a colt let out of the gate. She’d just thoroughly antagonized the man who held the authority in a life or death investigation involving her family. Great going, girl. She tried, but an apology wouldn’t form in her mouth. The man was a grade-A blockhead, but they were stuck with him.

Burns’s subzero gaze surveyed her as if she was a speck of lint. “If your sophomoric tantrum is quite finished, you and I have matters to discuss. And I do want to speak to the child, as well.”