This arrogant young man with hissilky hair and fitted suit was not going to be joining the list.
Which meant that Zoe now faced abattle on two fronts: not just to push through past the numbers that invadedeverywhere her eyes turned, every sound her ears heard, so that she could solvethe case, but also to keep him from knowing how she was doing it.
Zoe kept her eyes on the clouds,relishing this small bit of calm before it all began. This wasn’t going to bean easy case. She just hoped she could get it solved quickly, so she wouldn’thave to put up with this new partner for much longer.
CHAPTER SIX
Zoe pulled the seatbelt away fromher neck again, holding onto it more firmly. She had to take several steadyingbreaths to calm her stomach. She had never been a fan of being a passenger—italways made her carsick—but it was even worse with the rookie driving. He tookcorners far too fast, and sped up straight roads even though he was inunfamiliar territory. Every time the GPS barked at him to take an exit, he hadto perform a tight turn at breakneck speed just to make it. It was a wonder hehadn’t resorted to using the handbrake and drifting.
“Looks like this is it,” Flynnsaid, bending his neck to see ahead more easily. They were pulling up outside asheriff’s station, the building quiet except for the few patrol cars parkedoutside and a single reporter in a downy coat.
Zoe took a deep breath of relief,finally letting go of the seatbelt. Even as they came to a stop, the pressureof it against her neck was enough to make her feel nauseous until she unbuckledit and let it go. The nausea combined with the headache that was stilllingering at the edges of her consciousness, as well as the numbers crowdingher vision, left Zoe feeling winded, unable to focus. She wanted to just sit,rest her head back against the seat, maybe sleep for a while—not that there wasany chance of that.
The rookie was already opening hisdoor and getting out, so Zoe begrudgingly followed suit. She couldn’t afford tolag behind, not with a partner who didn’t yet know what he was doing. She’dbeen partnered with rookies fresh out of training before. All they wanted to dowas rush in and prove themselves, and they tended to be annoyingly procedural.Unwilling to bend from the precise structure they had been taught. That meant aheadache for her, and a lot of arguing. Just exactly what she needed at a timelike this.
She caught up with Flynn on theapproach to the double doors of the squat, low, gray sheriff’s building. It wasgetting late in the day; a check of her watch showed her that it was past sevenat night, and the sun had long since set. Artificial yellow light from securitybulbs around the building kept it fully visible, with tiny flies and mothswobbling around each of them, dancing forward and back under the irresistiblepull. The reporter, who was trying to warm his hands as he bounced up and downon his feet, watched them go in but didn’t call out.
A receptionist in a fleece jacketlooked up as they entered, taking the end of a pen out of her mouth. “Hi, can Ihelp you?” she asked. Zoe noted that she was wearing three earrings in each ofher ears, and that her fingernails were two-inch-long plastic painted with acomplex mottled pattern.
She opened her mouth to answer,but found another voice seemingly coming out of it. “We’re from the FBI,” Flynnsaid, raising his badge to show it. “We’re supposed to meet with the sheriff.”
The receptionist noddeddisinterestedly and picked up the phone on her desk. She spoke a few words intoit; Zoe was too busy counting the spirals in the desk phone’s cord to hearthem. After putting the phone down, the receptionist put the pen back into hermouth and proceeded to ignore them, poring over something that lay flat on herdesk, just out of sight.
Zoe turned impatiently under thefluorescent strip lights at the sound of footsteps. A door up ahead in thecorridor opened, and a woman stepped through. She wore a brown sheriff’suniform, complete with radios and gun tucked into her belt. Around fifty yearsold, she had slightly graying hair that had been dyed over, though the rootswere showing through at least an inch long.
Zoe clocked her height at fivefoot six, shorter than herself by four inches. She weighed about a hundredfifty pounds, and she walked with a determined gait—though slightly hunchedover, her back a curve rather than a line.
“Sheriff Danielle Petrovski,” shesaid, in a broad New York City accent, sticking out a hand in front of her. Shedirected it toward Zoe first, which was a nice surprise; in the majority ofcases, people tended to assume the male was the superior.
“Special Agent Zoe Prime,” Zoesaid, taking the offered hand and showing her badge with the other. She shookfirmly, calculating the sheriff’s grip strength as she did so. “This is SpecialAgent Adrian Flynn.”
“Aiden,” he corrected her, takinghis turn to shake hands. Zoe kept her face blank. It wouldn’t do to let himknow she’d made the slip on purpose, to try to knock him down a peg or two.
“You’ll be wanting to get stuck inright away, or find a motel for the night?” Petrovski asked, looking betweenthem expectantly.
“We will get stuck in,” Zoe said,talking over whatever Flynn had been trying to say. He was a rookie. Heprobably wanted to go to sleep. “If we could start by seeing the crime scene?”
“Of course.” The sheriff nodded.She patted her pocket, indicating the presence of keys. “I’ll drive you over,if you’re comfortable. It’s about ten minutes away.”
Zoe nodded easily, then lapsedinto silence as they turned and walked back toward the entrance and the parkinglot. She allowed Flynn to begin talking, asking questions. Nothing that hesaid, or the answers that he gained, gave them any further
