His phone buzzed an incoming text. He was smiling as he pulled it back out of his pocket, already formulating his teasing response about Amory being up so early.
She loved when he sent her pics and stories. A late-in-life baby, she’d been born with Down syndrome when Parker had been twelve. Their parents had qualified for state funding and had gotten help, and they’d been lucky enough to have that help genuinely love and care for Amory. But this had created an unexpected problem. Amory had been overprotected and overshielded from normal life at every turn.
She expressed only contentment with her life, but Parker could only imagine how constricting it was. She had to feel closed in by perimeters of her quiet existence.
He hated that for her, and that more than anything else had him texting her pictures from wherever in the world he was as often as he could.
But it wasn’t Amory on the phone.
It was Kel. “So,” the sheriff said without preamble. “Interested in knowing that Cat’s Paw is suddenly a hot topic around the water cooler?”
“Very,” Parker said. “Although word got back to my boss that I’ve been digging.”
“You up shit creek?”
“Without a paddle,” Parker confirmed. “Tell me you got something concrete to make it worthwhile.”
“I’ve got a buddy in the ATF. He couldn’t confirm for certain, but word’s out that your guy cut some sort of a hush-hush deal.”
Parker had suspected this very thing, but goddamn, that asshole didn’t deserve a deal of any kind. “Anything specific?”
“Nothing,” Kel said. “Whatever’s going on up there, it’s above my pay grade. They still haven’t included any local law enforcement. I’ve got a few feelers out for more intel. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Thanks,” Parker said. “Appreciate it.”
“Stay safe.”
“You, too.” Parker stared at his phone after he disconnected, torn by conflicting urges. He wanted to say fuck everyone and whatever they were waiting on and go in after Carver himself. But that was stupid and selfish, and he tried very hard not to be either of those things.
He needed to play this safe but he wasn’t exactly in tune with his safe side. He looked at the time, and knowing it was two hours ahead in D.C. and that his boss would be up and in the office chewing on the balls of her underlings for breakfast while simultaneously running her world, he called her.
“All I want to hear from you,” Sharon opened with, “is that you’re on a fucking island making your left hand jealous of your right.”
“I have a theory,” Parker said.
“Oh Christ. Is it that you’re a pain in my ass? Because that’s a fact, Parker, not a theory.”
“I think Tripp Carver made a deal,” he said.
Sharon’s silence went glacial.
“I think he’s giving information,” Parker went on, “and in return he’s got his freedom. How am I doing? Am I close?”
“We’re not having this conversation,” she said.
Yeah, he was close.
“Listen to me, Parker,” Sharon said. “You’re not able to see reason on this case because of Ned’s death, and I get it. But I’m trying to protect your job here.”
He blew out a breath and rubbed his still-sore ribs. “I know, and I appreciate that. But I need you to be straight with me on this.”
There was another long silence, during which Parker heard rustling and then a door shutting, as if Sharon was getting herself some privacy.
“What did he have that made it worth keeping him in the wild?”
“I’m not confirming this, Parker.”
But nor was she denying. “Shit,” he said with disgust. “This is insane. To give him his freedom after all he’s done—”