Chapter 15
While Fletcher continued to eat, Sam explained what was going on.
“Xander’s being a cowboy.”
“You like that sort of thing? I could strap on some chaps and spurs and little else if it would do it for you.” He smiled wickedly and Sam just shook her head.
“Fat chance, bubba. I’m allergic to horses.”
“Alas.”
“Alas. No, Xander thinks he has an idea of who committed the attack on the Metro yesterday, and he’s running off half-cocked to try and prove his theory.”
That got Fletcher’s attention. He pushed his plate and cup away, crossed his arms on his chest, and said, “What?”
Sam sat in the chair across from him. “He was on a survivalist website he frequents, and the owners of the site made mention of a new member who was apparently spouting off. Before he could dig deeper, the site went dark. He thinks he might know who runs it, though. We were supposed to sit down with you this morning and lay all this out, but it seems the man has different ideas. Which means he’s in deep shit and doesn’t want it coming back on us.”
Fletcher stared at her, not at all amused. “Where the hell is he?”
“On a plane. He was banking on being in the air before I called.”
“Did he tell you where said airplane was heading?”
“No.”
“Jesus, Sam. What computer was he using?”
“My laptop.”
“Get it.”
Sam got up from the table and went to fetch her laptop. She heard Fletcher on the phone. Shit. This wasn’t going as planned. Now instead of helping Xander look for the perpetrator, the law was going to be looking for him instead.
She found her laptop on the coffee table in her living room, the only object on the smoky tempered glass. There was a Post-it note stuck to the top. “Don’t bother. I erased the history. Love, X.”
Sam gritted her teeth. Damn that man. He knew exactly what they were up to here in the townhouse, trying to piece together his meager clues, and was probably laughing his ass off at the idea of them searching for him.
He, the man who knew more about going to ground than the entire D.C. Metro police force combined.
She brought the computer and the note to the kitchen table, handed both to Fletcher, who glanced at the note and promptly blew his top.
“Does he not realize this is national security we’re talking about? If the JTTF finds out about this, he’s going to go to jail for hindering the investigation.”
Sam looked at him squarely in the eye. “Then I trust you won’t be sharing how you got this information with the JTTF, will you.”
Fletcher’s look was incredulous, and her heart sank. Oh boy. Now she’d stepped in it.
“Sam. You’re kidding, right? You think I can hold back how I received the information? You know I can’t do that.”
“You can, and you will, or else I won’t cooperate, and you’ll have to arrest me, too.”
“Don’t think I won’t. I’m not fucking around here.”
“Then do it. Arrest me. I won’t help you arrest Xander, too.”
They were nose to nose now, shouting at each other.
“Such loyalty for a man you barely know.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you ran off with him without thinking about the consequences. Left your practice, your city, your life, to live in the woods and shit in an outhouse because you’ve got the hots for soldier boy.”
“So? Why do you care what I do or don’t do with my life? We hardly know each other, and we’re barely friends as it is.”
“And why is that, do you think?”
“You’re jealous,” Sam spit.
“Damn right I am. You deserve better. You deserve a man who’s emotionally available and capable of taking care of you properly, not someone so caught up in his own demons he’s going to rush off at a moment’s notice to save the day.”
“And that’s you, Fletch? You can take care of me properly? What would Felicia say about that? And your son?”
“Don’t bring them into this. You have no idea about the situation with my family.”
Sam was about to bite back when the doorbell rang.
Neither of them moved for a moment, both still ruffled and arched like furious cats. Then Sam broke his gaze and started for the door. He grabbed her shoulder, squeezed hard enough to hurt.
“Don’t even think about it, Dr. Owens. This is a crime scene now. Go sit your perfect little ass back down at the kitchen table, and don’t touch a damn thing.”
“Fletcher. Who is at my door?”
“Sit. Down.” His voice was dangerously smooth; his face red and blank with anger.