Page 3 of Fallout

He glanced back over his shoulder to see the newly minted female detective stride up the long drive to the front porch. Only an inch shorter than him, she had blonde hair pulled back and not a lot of skill in small talk. He liked her.

Jasper said, “No point both of us wasting our time if he doesn’t want to talk.”

Detective Samantha Jesse had passed the test and been promoted just a few weeks ago after a number of officers were killed outside what had been a fake funeral. Not the way anyone wanted promotion slots to open up. The entire department had collectively suffered a trauma during a mass shooting at the beginning of the year, and they were doing their best to move on as a team.

As a family.

She stepped into the house first. “So let’s talk.”

Samantha Jesse might seem new, but she’d been an officer for years in Benson, and she was shaping up to be a decent partner.

He closed the front door and followed her down the hall to the kitchen, noting the spaces on the walls where pictures used to hang. Anderson had no dining table, just a folding table and two chairs. He sat on one and put a foot on the other. On the table was a single squat glass and a nearly empty decanter.

Detective Jesse wandered over to look out the French doors at the backyard.

Jasper stuck by the island so it would seem like this was a casual chat. “Doctor Anderson?—”

“Not anymore.” George took a sip of his drink.

“I’m sorry about that.” But the guy had performed illegal surgeries on criminals in order to hide their identities. He had a shot at a reduced sentence as it was his first offense and he’d served the community as a renowned surgeon in the years since. But that was for the judge at his upcoming trial to decide.

“Mr. Anderson, I won’t waste your time.” Jasper had asked Violet for some tips on talking to her father, and she’d told him to be plain and get to the point. “The reality is, you’re not going to go free. But the strength of the sentence isn’t completely out of your control.”

He huffed. “You think I can plead my way down to community service? My wife laughed at my lawyer when he said that. Shelaughed. I think she wants me to go to jail so she can have the house, too.” He shrugged. “She already took everything else.”

So that was what had happened to the furniture and decorations. The wife was only a couple of years older than Anderson’s daughter, and by all accounts, they barely acknowledged each other’s existence.

Jasper said, “I’m sure you can understand the wall the police department is backed up against. We need to ID the man who killed so many of our officers.”

“And you think I know who it is.”

“You might have only been indicted for performing plastic surgery on the bomber that was killed during that massacre, but we know there was more than one. We think you know who the other man was.”

Detective Jesse turned back from the view. “Mr. Anderson, do you have any photos, paperwork, or a record of financial transactions from that time?”

The woman was all business, and he respected that. This investigation was personal to her. Samantha’s partner had been killed during that massacre. Shot in front of her. He knew why she maintained absolute control over how she presented herself.

Because he did the same thing.

Loosening his grip meant things slipped through the cracks. He couldn’t afford for that to happen. Not when his family’s hold on stability was so tenuous. Not when he had strong feelings for a woman who’d left and gone to Africa—only to get kidnapped. She was back now, rescued by Vanguard, but after she screamed at him in the hospital to get out, he hadn’t seen her.

Didn’t know where she was.

Or what she was doing.

“You think I have a paper trail?” George scoffed. “The police already tore apart my life. They’d have found it.”

Jasper pulled back the chair and dislodged George’s foot. He sat opposite the older man. “There were two surgeries. So who is he? The police will lock the guy down the minute you tell us what he looks like.”

“So he can retaliate and kill me?”

As far as Jasper could see, this man was a walking target whether he talked or not. “He knows you’re probably the only person who can tell us who he is. What do you think that does for your life expectancy?”

“Guess I won’t have to worry about prison, then.”

“If you tell us who he is,” Jasper said, “then you can get a deal that includes protective custody. You’ll have a shot at doing something good and safeguarding yourself. Making your daughter proud.”

George looked aside at the blank space where a cabinet had been. His career had been destroyed. His wife had taken all his belongings, except the decanter.

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