“As a full-fledged U.S. Marshal, I have the power to enlist anyone as a deputy,” she pivoted her upper body toward him, “as long as he’s willing,” before turning back to the scenic beauty enveloping her.
Standing, he grabbed her water bottle and joined her in admiring the view. “I take it home base is going to be in Alexandria?” He nudged her arm.
She glanced down and took her refreshment.
“I live in New Orleans. Kind of a long commute, don’t you think?”
Devlin and Randall took simultaneous chugs of their beverages.
While he emptied his drink, she replaced the cap on hers and raised an eyebrow at him. “I’ll rent a moving van and come pick you up.”
Seeing an image of her behind the wheel of a twenty-six foot truck, he grinned, and water trickled down from his lips. He righted the bottle and dragged a knuckle up the side of his chin. “That,” he wiped the wet digit on his pants, “is something I’d like to see.”
Smiling, Devlin removed her sunglasses, “So what do you say?” She looked out over the still pond. “The President told me there’ll be times when I’ll have to cross over the border...to catch a fugitive.” She paused. “I can’t think of a better person to have my back...”
Randall eyed her.
“...than someone who has the knowledge and skills to help me survive in unfriendly territory.”
He recalled their time together in Mexico. “Somehow, I believe you’d have done just fine without me.”
She shrugged. “Maybe. But I’m not asking for your take on my abilities. I’m asking you to join me and become part of something bigger, something that I feel might be greater than the work either of us currently does for our respective agencies.”
Randall made a face at the scenery. His eyes zipped high and low, left and right, taking in the green foliage, blue skies, white clouds, and serene water. I like it here. And I like my job at the DEA. He scratched his beard. Besides, packing up and moving is such a pain in—
“We’d have a ton of resources at our disposal, and we’d be calling the shots...within reason of course.”
He looked her way. “Technically, you’d be calling those shots.”
“I’d be in charge, but I wouldn’t rule with an iron fist. If you recall, we did a lot of things your way in Mexico.”
The crow that had been cawing left its place among the trees.
Watching the winged creature fly over the water and disappear into a different stand of vegetation, Randall remembered her letting him take the lead as she came to know him better. She was easy to work with. A tick of the clock later, he inwardly sniggered. Once she stopped pointing guns at my nose.
“Well,” Devlin made a quarter-turn and pressed her water bottle to his chest, “think it over.”
He took the plastic vessel, his closing fingers crinkling the thin material.
“Blake’s funeral’s in two days. If I don’t hear from you by then,” she donned her eyewear, “I’ll have my answer.” Leaving him at the water’s edge, she headed for her rental car. “Thanks for the drink...and the fishing lesson.”
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
.
Chapter 34
Reminiscent
two days later...
9 may—12:34 p.m.
alexandria, virginia
United States Deputy Marshals had fired a twenty-one gun salute. The bugler had played “Taps.” As family and friends sat in folding chairs beside the casket, Deputy Director Marissa Thorn, the folded American flag in her arms, took a knee.
Reminiscent of two years ago, Devlin heard nothing after Thorn’s first few words to Blake Hawkins’ widow. Standing behind her grieving friend, Devlin considered the somber occasion, her mind intermingling images from the past—from her husband’s funeral—with the scene before her. She brought a balled hand to her mouth.
On her left, Ashford curled an arm around his wife’s waist and put lips to her ear. “How are you holding up?”
Afraid of losing her composure, she could only nod her reply.
He held her tighter and kissed the side of her head.
A minute later, Thorn stood, leaned over, and hugged the late deputy marshal’s wife while whispering in her ear. Rising to her full height, Thorn nodded once at Devlin and returned to her place.
Ashford gave Devlin a squeeze before patting her lower back twice.
Dressed in black—a long-sleeved dress, nylons, and pumps—her black hair hanging at her shoulders, Devlin walked toward the front end of the casket and stood behind a small lectern. She raised the microphone an inch and listed forward. “Most of you know me, but,” hearing her voice, she glimpsed the speaker to her right and came back to the coffin. This doesn’t feel right.
Stepping away from the speaking station, she drew near to her departed friend. “For those of you who don’t know me,” her voice had gone up a couple decibels, “I’m Jessica Devlin. I was Blake’s partner at the Marshals Service,” she eyed the flowers resting on the brown casket’s glossy wooden surface, “and close friend. I’ve been asked to say a few words this afternoon.”
Devlin took a deep breath and exhaled. “I’m not going to stand here and tell you what you already know about Blake...loving husband and father, impeccable professional, good friend, wise as—” she whipped her head toward the presiding pastor, “sorry...wise guy extraordinaire.”
Grinning, the holy man waved her off while the mourners chuckled.
She gazed at the more than one hundred people gathered around the remains of Hawkins. “What I want to share with you is a...a...a ritual. Blake and I had a ritual, a,” Devlin gesticulated, “back-and-forth we would do every time we entered a potentially dangerous environment. And I think this back-and-forth shows what kind of man he truly was.”
“We would fist bump each other, while one of us would say: ‘Take one for you.’ And the other would respond with: ‘Not—’” her voice cracking, Devlin looked down and swallowed. Regaining her self-control, she regarded the coffin, her mind envisioning Hawkins’ last stand against the men trying to kill his partner. “The other would respond with: ‘Not if I take one for you first.’”
Devlin sniffed,
