“She was doing the wrong job.” Scotty’s smirk made it clear he knew he was getting to Jericho. “She should have kept her fat ass at home in the kitchen, and she would have been fine.”
Jericho nodded, his neck muscles so tight they were almost shaking. Every muscle so tight they were almost shaking. He took a step back and nodded again, forcing himself to relax.
“Thanks for your help today, Scotty.” He kept his voice quiet and level. “I’ll absolutely remember it when I have the chance to pay you back.”
The big mechanic squinted at him. “You sounded like your dad for a second there,” he said, and for the first time there was a trace of doubt in his voice.
“Yeah?” Jericho smiled, and knew exactly what Scotty was talking about, because he could almost feel his father’s expression on his own face, the way his lips lifted to show his canines as his eyes stayed cold. “I guess blood comes through in the end.”
“Don’t go getting all bent out of shape,” Scotty said quickly. “I was just talking, just pulling your chain.”
“Sure.” Jericho still felt it, his father’s cold menace. And he didn’t care if Scotty was feeling it too. “Nothing to worry about, Scotty. Nothing to lose any sleep over.” And as he took another step backward, he sent his gaze around the service bay, taking in the tidily arranged tools and the haphazard pile of trash in the corner. “You ever worry about fire in here? All the oil, and the rags? This place would go up easy if it ever caught a spark, wouldn’t it?”
“Jesus Christ, I was just talking!”
“Of course you were.” Some part of Jericho was screaming at him, appalled at seeing him become the sort of bully he’d always despised. But another part was purring in satisfaction. “And the next time we talk, you’ll either have something useful to say or you’ll keep your mouth shut. Right, Scotty?”
“Yeah, fine.” Scotty puffed his chest up like he was trying to pull his courage back together, maybe getting ready for another round, but Jericho was done with it. He turned and left without another word.
It would have been almost reassuring to tell himself he’d been channeling Wade with that little show, but he knew better. Wade was dangerous, but in a sly, slippery way. He wouldn’t make threats, not even veiled threats; he’d just make a plan, and then carry it out without warning.
Intimidation? No, that wasn’t coming from Wade. It was coming from Eli. Or, worse to consider, maybe there was no one else to blame. Maybe that had been pure Jericho.
“They’re not telling us anything,” Kayla said, throwing a disgusted glare in the direction of the sheriff’s department conference room. The FBI base was in there, and the door to the outer office was carefully closed. “But they don’t need to, not with the damn reporters and the internet.”
Jericho nodded, scanning the computer screen in front of him. They were in Kayla’s office, but she’d given up her desk chair so he could get a better view. Hockley and Montgomery were standing on the other side of the desk, watching him read. “They’re actually doing it,” he said. “These militia psychos are trying to make Mosely the site for their big showdown?”
“They’re being a bit vague,” Hockley said. “Mostly saying Northwestern Montana. But they’re using yesterday’s incident—all facts totally distorted, of course—as their excuse, so it’s clear what they’re talking about.”
“Shit.” Jericho leaned back in the chair and looked at Kayla. “I didn’t get anything useful from anyone in town. But that makes sense if this is an out-of-state effort.”
“Nothing about this ‘makes sense’ in any way I’d want to use the phrase.” She frowned at him, then at the other two. “But I have to make decisions based on the information we’ve got. And what we’ve got says these assholes are getting bolder. Nevada, then Oregon, then yesterday’s shit show—it might not be all the same groups, but it’s the same movement. And they’re escalating.”
“The FBI is ramping up their response,” Montgomery said, sounding almost defensive. “We may not have details, but we know they’re shipping in SWAT teams and extra agents. They’re taking this seriously.”
“But whatever they do to take the militia down could get messy.” Kayla shoved Jericho’s shoulder to prod him out of her chair. “And the mess could hurt our citizens.” She sank into the vacated seat and started clicking the mouse. “If half of what this Lucas Templeton asshole says is true, the out-of-staters are coming in heavily armed and hungry for a fight. He’s got them worked up into thinking this is the beginning of the end. They’re going to start a revolution, right here in Mosely.”
“When people talk about border towns being rough, I think they usually mean the other border,” Jericho said, partly to himself. “There shouldn’t be this much going on in Mosely, Montana.”
“I’ll just send an email to Templeton and let him know that,” Kay said sarcastically. “I’m sure he’ll see the problem and go on back home.”
“Or down to Texas or wherever.” Jericho shrugged. “Doesn’t have to be home. Just shouldn’t be here.”
“Meanwhile, back in reality,” Montgomery broke in, “we’re going to do the smart thing, right? We’re going to let the FBI handle this without poking our noses in where they don’t belong?”
Kayla looked at Jericho, then shrugged. “At the moment? Since we don’t have any ideas for anything constructive to do? Sure, yeah, we’ll keep out of it.”
Montgomery clearly wasn’t satisfied with that answer, but it wasn’t Kayla’s job to satisfy him and he seemed to realize it. He and Jericho left her office together but separated as soon as they were out the door, Montgomery off to do whatever the hell he did when he wasn’t getting in Jericho’s way, and Jericho heading to his office to read more internet bullshit. There were no names given in the media descriptions of the shoot-outs, luckily, and the law enforcement side was generally described as FBI with local support. Nothing to point unwanted attention toward him.
He needed to regain his apathy from the day before. Needed to remember that he didn’t like his job very much and was trying to escape from it. If he took a paycheck for a little longer and just sat around the office pushing paper, that was fine. Why was he getting all worked up about not being involved in something he didn’t want to be involved in?
And of course Wade had predicted this, the smug bastard. “If you want me to believe you really don’t care about your job, then you need to keep not caring about it for a period of time.” Jericho had managed to not care for about three days, and for two of them he’d been out of town. Damn it.
He did some paperwork, enough to remind himself that the job was pretty annoying, and when his cell rang he reached for it like a life preserver. Seeing the unfamiliar number on the display made the call even more interesting; Wade had a tendency to call from strange places or burner phones, and talking to Wade would make the whole day a hell of a lot better.
“Crewe,” he said into the mouthpiece, and sure enough, it was Wade’s familiar voice that replied.
“Come meet me. You know where.”
