One week ago, Mick had slipped Parker a solid tip, a sighting of Carver in Rocky Falls, an isolated, out-of-the-way county in northern Idaho, some town named Cat’s Paw.
Parker hadn’t been able to locate Cat’s Paw on any map, but he’d found Rocky Falls. When he’d pushed back on their stand-down order, thinking he had a real shot at finding the Butcher once and for all, he’d been told in no uncertain terms to drop it.
Parker had said that he could do a lot of things pretty damn well, but dropping it wasn’t one of them.
In return, the powers that be had suggested that since he was so recently injured and all, not to mention grieving the loss of fellow agent Ned Force, now would be a great time to take some of his thirty-two saved vacation days. Or all of them. Maybe in the South Pacific.
Parker had thought Idaho a better fit. He wasn’t exactly sure what outcome he was hoping for, but he just had a feeling that somehow Carver would screw them and vanish. He couldn’t let that happen. “We are an inch away from nailing Carver,” he said to Sharon, watching her face carefully. “Why not go after him with all we’ve got?”
“You realize no one else in the entire office questioned me on this,” Sharon said.
“That’s because they all kiss your ass.”
“You should try it sometime,” she said dryly.
Yeah, maybe when he was dead. “We’re closer now than ever. Give me one good reason to back off.”
This garnered him another long look through the phone. “It’s not your job to question why,” she said. “It’s your job to get back into lean, mean fighting shape for the next case.”
“I told you, I’m fine.”
“Jesus, Parker, would you please knock that chip off your shoulder?” she griped. “You had a close call. Nearly bought the farm in fact. And we lost Ned.”
Parker did his best to keep his expression even, though it was possible he was grinding his back teeth into powder.
“The case was dropped and you’re taking some well-deserved time off,” Sharon said. “Go heal and grieve like a normal person. Learn to relax.”
He was healed. Mostly. The grief sucked, but he was handling it. “Maybe I am relaxing.”
“Why do I doubt that?” she asked, and shook her head. “Do you have any idea what I’d do with a month off?”
“Go stir-crazy?”
“Go to a deserted island,” she corrected. “With nothing but my loaded e-reader and a cabana guy to feed me grapes. Make that two cabana guys.”
“Yeah,” Parker said dryly. “That’s exactly what I’d want to do on vacation.”
She stared at him, the stare of a woman who knew how to bring a man to his knees. “Just tell me you’re not going to do something stupid and use your considerable skills to let me and this office down.”
He had no intentions of being stupid. As for his skills, he didn’t plan to share his plans or any of the details of his “vacay,” at least not at this time.
Hence his temporary housing. Wyatt had said his older sister had this big old house and would welcome the chance to earn some extra money. Parker had heard older sister and imagined her to be middle-aged, in possession of no less than five cats, and maybe a little wrinkly to boot.
Zoe was none of the above . . .
Which meant that, as a supposed investigator, one of the best of the best, he’d just broken one of his own rules—assuming anything.
Guess that made him the ass. Because Zoe couldn’t be much more than thirty and was deliciously curvy, with honey-colored hair that fell in loose waves to her shoulders and matching eyes. The-girl-next-door pretty even if she was dressed like a grandma in a long, floral print dress.
Not that it mattered. Not only was she the sister of an old friend, but also he didn’t mix business and pleasure.
Ever.
Even if she owned a goofy, wonderful big old dog that was currently drooling on his foot.
“Parker,” Sharon said impatiently.
“Have I ever let the office down?” he asked.