Page 67 of Don't Let Go

No, more northeast. Not New York. Boston?

“Tell me what has you afraid,” Remy said, seemingly unmoved by the man’s urgency. Unfortunately for Mr. Reynolds, Remy could be furious and his pulse would barely blip. His self-control and discipline were crucial to his work.

Did make reading him frustrating.

But I was getting better at it.

“Why?” Reynolds demanded. “I’m trying to do you a favor. I don’t know what the hell is going on with these people. Theycould be cartel, or criminals, aliens, or just some people whacked out on happy juice trying to form their own cult.”

That was a lot to take in. Locke was on his way out of the vet’s office, whistling. “Can you see McQuade?” I asked him before I could even think twice about it.

“Nope,” he said, switching from whistling to humming. “Need me to punch him for you?”

Surprise bubbled up at the offer and I laughed. “No, I just— Never mind.”

He was running quiet. He was a grown man. He could handle it.

I apparently couldn’t, but he could.

“Remy is getting some conflicting info from Reynolds. Head toward the barber so you’re in place for extraction. We need to get in the sheriff’s office.” Yes, it was stream of consciousness.

“I don’t mind getting arrested for you, sweet, but I think we should wait until later. This town probably closes at sundown. I’ll get you all the eyes and ears you could want.”

“You might be on to something.” It wasn’t a bad plan. I switched to the screen where I could see McQuade’s comm, it was in standby mode. Not connected.

Annoying man.

“The problem,” Reynolds was saying as I tuned back into the conversation and continued paging through all the angles I had on the town. Where the hell had McQuade gone? “The people in this town ain’t playing. I came here to follow up on a story…”

“You’re a journalist.” Remy’s cool tone masked his personal feelings but I gritted my teeth. A journalist could be in a lot of trouble here.

A lot.

“Yeah, I am and you have fed written all over you, only you’re British, so maybe you’re a foreign operative. Either way, you don’t need to be here,” Reynolds told him firmly.

“By that logic,” Remy replied. “Neither do you.”

“I have a job to do. A job I’m going to do. Now, they’re watching me which means they know you came up here…”

“No, they don’t,” Remy told him, and I caught Remy’s movement as he shifted to glance out the window before drifting back. It was just a shadow, but I knew who it was. I had to give Reynolds credit, he didn’t look like he was talking to anyone.

“They have eyes everywhere.”

“So do I,” Remy said. “They won’t know I’m here. What are you investigating?”

The man pulled out a tape recorder. “If you get to ask questions, so do I.”

I chuckled. “I like him.”

“I like you,” Remy said, echoing the sentiment.

“We can’t read him in. Not enough info. But I’m running him now.”

I flicked a look at the clock. It was closing in on forty-five minutes since McQuade told me to not freak out.

“Liking me isn’t answering my questions,” Reynolds said.

“No, it isn’t. I’m not entirely sure what to do with you.”

---