Tracy Montoya - Maximum Security

She didn’t even blink. “Okay, Billy, then how about you enlighten me as to why you were sniffing up Maggie Reyes’s skirt this afternoon?”

Nothing the all-seeing Parker said should have surprised him, but he was still taken aback.

“Oh, yes, I know where you were today. I’ve been watching you for a long time.” She took the glasses from her face and leaned forward, the thin line of her mouth softening slightly. “I make it my business to know when one of my agents is about to sabotage the hell out of his career.”

He sat up a little straighter at her remark, feeling suddenly pinned down by her gaze.

“It’s been two years, son. I know you never get over losing a family member, but you’re killing yourself over this.”

He shook his head, but couldn’t bring himself to form the words of denial that automatically rose to his lips.

“You work all the time. You cut off all contact with the people you used to see socially. You rarely talk to anyone outside of the job.” She shrugged, a faint trace of pity in her dark eyes. “Not that that’s abnormal in a unit full of techno-geeks, but it’s never been normal for you. Driving your body and mind to the brink of exhaustion every damn day for nearly two years is eventually going to take its toll.” She folded her glasses into her fist with a small snap. “And I don’t want any of my agents in the field with you when you finally crack, Corrigan. This has to stop.”

He didn’t even bother to ask her what. “He killed my sister. And he’s coming here.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “Says who? Certainly not Violent Crimes.”

“Maggie.”

“Oh, it’s ‘Maggie’ now, is it?” Parker stood, her iron-gray bob swinging along her jawline with her sudden movement. “I don’t care if the entire city of Monterey decides to throw a parade in the Surgeon’s honor. This is not a case for the Computer Crimes Division. And, given your position in the Bureau, this is not a case for you.”

Billy rose off the floor. Parker was only five foot six to his six-three, but she had the presence of an Amazon, and he wasn’t about to let her loom over him. He hated people who loomed.

“I know what you want, Corrigan, and I’m warning you now, I will not have vigilante justice in my department. I’ll say it again.” She punctuated her words by shaking her glasses at him. “This. Is. Not. Your. Case.”

Billy relaxed his stance, as if in preparation for physical combat rather than a battle of wills. “Jenna was everything I had,” he said quietly. “I won’t stop looking for him. You can fire me now, if you have to, but I won’t ever stop.”

She didn’t even blink. “Turn in your badge and your gun.”

Without hesitation, Billy walked to where his jeans lay on the floor and took his badge wallet out of one of the pockets. His gun rested on the fireplace mantle, and he picked that up, too, then handed both items to her.

The room grew quiet for several seconds as they stared at each other. Parker was the first to crack. “Damn you, you stupid, stubborn male.” She sighed and shook her head. “This is an extended leave of absence. When you’re ready to give up any and all delusions that you’re John Wayne, give me a call.”

She placed the items he’d given her onto the recliner she’d just vacated. “Now. Promise me one thing, Corrigan,” she said.

“If I can,” he answered.

“If, through some giant stroke of luck, you run into that son of a bitch before the Violent Crimes Division does, you follow the law to the letter. Because if I hear just a hint of the words excessive force in a sentence with your name in it, I will not lift a finger to save you.”

She spun around and walked to the door, then stopped just before exiting. “Live, Billy,” she said. “Please, just live.”

MAGGIE’S VISION CLOUDED and tunneled until all she could see was the vicious hunting knife, the serrated teeth on its top edge tearing into the wood on her door. She remembered that knife. The Surgeon had worn a mask when he’d taken her, and she’d never seen his face, but she’d remember that knife for the rest of her days. Every time she looked at the scars on her stomach.

“Addy, get a plastic bag from the kitchen, would you?” Her own voice sounded tinny and remote to her ears. She didn’t notice Adriana leave the room, but suddenly, the plastic bag was in her hand. She wrapped it around her fingers and pulled the knife out of her door. A piece of paper fluttered to the floor.

Then her vision cleared, widened, and she could see beyond the door, outside, down her sand-strewn driveway to the copse of trees across the street, so thick she wouldn’t know if someone were standing among them right now, watching.

The tremors were small, at first, starting with her fingers and vibrating up her arms, but soon, her entire body was shaking and jerking hard enough to make her teeth chatter. Her hand loosened its grip on the knife and it clattered to the floor, but still she stood in the open doorway as if rooted to the spot. Staring at the trees.

Adriana gripped her shoulders and steered her toward the couch. She pushed a glass of water in Maggie’s hands before moving away to shut the door. She was saying something, or her mouth was moving anyway, but Maggie had no idea what was coming out. She barely managed to catch the words “—calling 911.”

He’d been at her doorstep. In the trees outside her home. And all she could do was stay holed up in her house like the proverbial sitting duck, practically inviting him to come inside and finish what he’d started. She glanced at the thin panes of glass that separated her from the Surgeon’s terrible hands. How had she ever thought this house, that glass, could keep her safe when it would shatter so easily?

“Little pig, little pig, let me come in…”

Oh, no.

She stood up and backed away from the window.

“…Maggie? Maggie, please.”

Maggie glanced down at the hand on her arm. Focused on the thin silver rings and graceful fingers. Focus. She had to focus.

“Maggie, James esta aqui. I have answered most of his questions but you have to talk to him, por favor.” Adriana’s voice brought her out of her thoughts. “Please?”

She shook her head, scrubbed her hand over her eyes. She’d obviously been in la-la land for some time, it didn’t seem like enough time had passed for the police to be here already. “Sure, Addy. Of course I’ll talk to him.” She tightened her mouth upward in what she hoped was a smile and looked around until she zeroed in on the real James Brentwood, a tall, brown-haired man in a rumpled shirt and tie, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. He wore a pair of trendy brown glasses, behind which were sparkling brown eyes, set deeply in a face that seemed to crinkle into a smile naturally. There was an almost frenetic energy about him—even his hair cowlicked wildly about his head, as if it, too, couldn’t stand still. “Hello, Detective Brentwood,” she said, putting on her best I’m-a-sane-productive-member-of-society voice.

He reached forward and clasped her hand in his in a brief handshake. “Maggie Reyes. A pleasure.” Brentwood introduced her to his partner, Detective Elizabeth Borkowski—Billy’s friend, she noted—who had gathered up the knife and the note in plastic bags. Borkowski was a petite brunette with short, curly hair, milk-white skin dotted with pale freckles, and a wedding ring on her left hand.

Borkowski quickly excused herself and headed outside to check the yard and exterior of the house. Maggie gestured for Brentwood to have a seat. He sank down into the overstuffed, sage-green sofa in the living room and had a brief battle of wills and elbows with the throw pillows piled up near the armrest. When they’d been beaten into submission, Brentwood leaned back and settled in. Adriana lowered herself next to him.