“It’s a curious world,” T.J. said.
Rook laughed in spite of himself. Nothing ruffled T. J. Kowalski. When he pulled into Rook’s driveway, T.J. shook his head. “Another thirty grand, and this place will look like a hard-ass FBI agent lives here instead of a sweet little old grandmother.”
“Shut up, Kowalski.”
“Used to stop here for homemade cookies after school, didn’t you?”
“I’m armed.”
But what T.J. said was true. Rook had grown up within walking distance of his grandmother’s house, and as a kid he’d stop by for cookies, to help her with chores, to tell her his tales from school. When he joined the FBI, he’d never expected to end up back in Washington, living in his old neighborhood – the Rook neighborhood. His seven years in Florida had given him distance from his tight-knit family, provided a perspective he’d never have if he’d stayed. When his grandmother died, he’d intended to fix up the house and sell it, but once he’d started working on it, he’d found himself staying. He added skylights on the stairs and in the kitchen, stripped the carpet to reveal hardwood floors. It was looking less grandmotherly, but the dogwoods and bird feeders in the garden still reminded him of her.
She knew he’d go into law enforcement. It was the Rook destiny. He couldn’t see himself switching careers the way Mackenzie had, after all she’d invested toward earning her doctorate.
He noticed his nephew’s car in the driveway. The kid was a casualty – with any luck a temporary one – in the ongoing battle between Scott Rook and his wife. To please one, he had to disappoint the other. To please them both was impossible – and not, they knew at some level, Brian’s responsibility. They loved their oldest son more than life itself, but every day, they woke up thinking about how they could motivate him, focus him.
“I saw the sketch of this guy with the knife,” T.J. said. “He could be anybody. If the police up in New Hampshire think he’s a deranged hiker who slashes women for kicks, who am I to argue?”
“I don’t like coincidences.”
“Life is full of them. I asked around about Deputy Stewart. Word is she’s cute as a button, smart as a whip and could kick your ass – provided she got half a chance. She’s hard on herself. Her fellow marshals are protective of her, which she hates, and word’s getting around that some FBI asshole broke her heart.” T.J. looked over at Rook. “That would be you. I could get good money for turning over your name.”
“I didn’t break her heart. We only went out a few times.”
“One of them was dinner here.”
“Almost. That’s the date I canceled.”
“There’s discipline for you. If it’d been me, I’d have had dinner first, then dumped her.”
“I’m not talking to you about Mackenzie anymore. It’s Harris I’m after.” Rook shoved open the car door and got his bag from in back. “Harris is a bitter, entitled old man who drinks too much, T.J., and I don’t know if he’s on the level or spinning bullshit. If he’s on to something -”
“Then he needs to start talking and stop with the bullshit. He’s a smart man. If he’s serious, he’ll know telling us what’s going on is his only option. Ten to one he got cold feet and bailed on us.”
“I hope so.”
Rook shut the door and headed inside, straight upstairs to the computer room. His nephew barely looked up from the flat screen. “I’ll be off in a sec.”
“You have to work tomorrow?”
“I gave my notice, and my boss said not to bother to come in.”
“You gave your notice? Why?”
“I don’t like to work weekends.”
Rook kept his irritation to himself. It was the second job of the summer Brian had quit – a retail job with irregular hours. His mother had wanted him to study abroad over the summer. His father had wanted him to get a job and at least pay for his car insurance. But Brian had flunked out of college instead.
“Put in any applications?”
“Nah.” Brian tapped on the keyboard. “I don’t think I’m going to work anymore this summer.”
“That must mean you’ve decided to go to college this fall, after all.”
“Maybe. I don’t know. I’m still thinking about it.”
“You’ll need to get applications in.” When his nephew didn’t respond, Rook sighed. “Brian…”
The kid looked up at him. His features were so like his father’s, but he didn’t have Scott Rook’s self-discipline and hard edge. “If I take the year off to work, I can afford not to work for a few weeks now.”
The logic in that statement was typical Brian. “We can talk about it tomorrow,” Rook muttered.
“Yeah. Okay. How was New Hampshire?”
“You’d have hated it. No computers, no cell phone service – I didn’t even bring an iPod with me.”
The kid grinned awkwardly. “What’d you do, listen to the mosquitoes buzz in your ear?”
“Loons,” Rook said.
His nephew gave a mock shudder. “Even worse.”
Fourteen