Poulton began laughing. “You think I’d letyoutalk to the press, Camden? No, no, no. If you have extra days to spare, we’ll bring in ATF early on the gun case. Me, you, and Barry Kemp. Nine a.m. tomorrow.”
Barry Kemp was the deputy director of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives. Above Kemp was the ATF director, who was Poulton’s counterpart.
“You want ATF to use the next two days to get up to speed,” I said. “Then they’ll be ready when our C.I. realizes it’s time to talk or he’s going to prison for life?”
“Now we’re tracking,” Poulton said.
I agreed and hung up, telling Richie to change direction and drive to the Gainesville airport.
“So we’re doing this one without you?” he asked.
“At least for tomorrow,” I said.
I considered the two cases. One thing was clear: Therehadto be some connection between the mystery man at the ATM and Freddie. There was too little time between their meeting and our C.I.’s death.
Could Freddie have known something about these murders up north?
Did he die for that reason?
“What are you thinking about?” Richie asked.
I glanced over at him. The problem was that if a connection existed, we didn’t have a clue what it was.
“Nothing,” I said.
We reached the airport in fifteen minutes. On the way, I told Richie that he would run point here in Shilo until Cassie and Shooter showed up.
“Can you handle that?” I asked.
“No problem,” he said.
But as I pulled in and gave him the keys, my phone buzzed. I stared at the incoming text, frozen in my seat.
“Agent Camden?” Richie said to me.
I glanced over, but didn’t answer.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes,” I said.
But I wasn’t sure that was exactly true.
I got out of the SUV and grabbed my bag. When I entered the airport, I ignored the line to check in for D.C. and found the AmericanAirlines counter. Booked a flight to Dallas instead and waited at the terminal, my phone turned off and my eyes closed.
Impossible, I thought, my throat going dry and my pulse quickening.
But sometimes the impossible happens.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I stood at the threshold of the hospital room and stared inside.
“Looks likesomeone’sgot a visitor,” said the nurse, positioned to the right of the single bed in the room.
The bed that contained my mother.
She opened her eyes and stared at me. Awake. Conscious. Responding to directions.
