The biggest problem was that I didn’t know what todoabout it. I lacked the ability to get Noah out of jail, I didn’t know how to protect Elliot (other than by pretending he was dead), and I certainly didn’t have the ability to stop Hart from doing what he was doing. Avoiding the Hills was the best I could do to keep them safe, and it helped to keep Elliot out of harm’s way, too. But that felt more likenotdoing than doing, and it was making me feel twitchy.
I wasn’t convinced by the wisdom of me going back into the Sheriff’s Office, though, although that was Hart’s plan. I wasn’t a terribly good liar, and I was going to have to pretend to be the grieving boyfriend—especially because the deputy who had told me about the accident had actually seen me genuinely grieving, so it would be especially weird if I wasn’t upset now. Assuming he’d be on duty or had reported as much to anyone else.
“What’s the face for?” Hart asked me, glancing over from the driver’s seat at a stoplight.
“I’m a terrible actor,” I admitted. “And I’m going to have to pretend that I still think Elliot’s…” I still couldn’t say it.
“Jesus fuck, Mays. Just say it.”
I didn’t want to.
“Fine,” Hart said after it became clear that I wasn’t going to. “Honestly, that might work for us.”
I didn’t bother asking how. I figured he’d tell me.
I wasn’t disappointed.
“You can’t even fucking saydead, it’ll look more like grief. Trust me, how people act when they first get news and how they act after they’ve had time to sit on it doesn’t usually look the same.” He kept driving, past the incongruously rolling hillocks of a golf course, then a freight warehouse.
I shifted, then winced. I was used to my knee hurting most of the time, but the sharp, swollen feeling was different and deeply unpleasant. It also now liked to give out on me, which was why I’d been ordered to use crutches for the next two weeks. Today was only day two and my armpits already hurt like hell.
“Don’t die on me, Mays. Or fall apart. El will fuckingkillme.”
I shot him a look that said I didn’t really appreciate the joke, given how many people around me were either being killed or had narrowly escaped being killed.
“You joke about it or you have a fucking aneurysm,” Hart said, his voice oddly flat. “Since I’d like to keep my brain as fully-functional as possible, you’re gonna have to deal with my fucked-up sense of humor.”
“And Taavi actuallylikesthis?” I asked him.
Hart snorted. “He gives me the same fucking look you just did. Fuckin’ canids and their judgy looks.”
I couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out at that.
“See? Helps with the stress levels.” He turned left into the Sheriff’s Department parking lot, and we both sobered up pretty quickly.
“No,shithead,youdon’t understand what’s happening here.” Hart was a few steps past annoyed, his wiry arms crossed over his chest as he glared down at the Deputy Sheriff. The Sheriff-Sheriff wasn’t available, apparently, something else Hart was pissed about.
“Sir—”
“That’sAgent Hartto you,Deputy Sheriff Cabell.Federal fucking Agent. As in the F-B-fucking-I, which is currently claiming jurisdiction over this case because by your own admission, you have a dead shifter who was driven off the road in a car that subsequently caught on fire.”
“There’s no evidence Mr. Crane was run off the road.”
“Except for the word of an accident-trained CSI technician, and you didn’t evenbotherto have anyone do an evaluation of the tire tracks at the scene.”
I was the technician in question, since Hart was right. He’d asked, and the increasingly flustered Cabell had admitted that no one had done an accident analysis on the site where Elliot had crashed.
“I’m not sure Mr. Mays is qualified?—”
That was the wrong thing to say.
“Not fucking qualified? You want to call the Virginia State Crime Lab and get a list of his fucking qualifications?” I’d been accident investigation trained while still in Richmond.
Cabell’s face somehow got blotchier, which was impressive, since it was already pink, red, and white in a mildly concerning pattern. “Mr. Mays is compromised?—”
“Compromised, my ass,” was Hart’s rejoinder, although Cabell was technically right on this one. Legally speaking, I was too close to it to be assigned to investigate. Of course, if I were the only person qualified to do so, they’d probably make an exception if they couldn’t bring someone else in.
That was highly unlikely in this case. Highway Patrol probably had two of them. The Sheriff’s Office just hadn’t asked them to look.
