Jericho smiled peacefully. “Okay, then. That’s all I was asking about.”
Casey gave him a stare, then said, “We have a team on the way to deal with communication and negotiations. We have another team that will handle the interrogation of the men in custody. Our plan is to pursue criminal charges against those involved in the incident yesterday while continuing our investigation of those not directly involved. Yesterday was an unexpected tragedy, but we have regrouped and will proceed with care and attention to detail.”
He paused, looked around the room, then added, “The FBI appreciates the support offered by other agencies yesterday, at the federal, state, and local levels. But it was only necessary because we hadn’t anticipated this level of resistance. Now that we know what we’re dealing with, we will be carrying on using FBI resources. This is the last all-agency meeting we have scheduled. Thank you, everyone, for your help.”
Jericho let himself glance over at Hockley, sitting with his DEA buddies, and the frustration on their faces was almost enough to make it worthwhile. Sure, the sheriff’s department was getting pushed out of another case on their turf, but this time the DEA was getting pushed out too. Now Hockley had some idea how it felt.
Then Hockley noticed Jericho’s attention, obviously recognized it for what it was, and gave him a rueful grin. Damn. Jericho might actually find himself liking the son of a bitch.
“My office,” Kayla told Jericho quietly, and she made eye contact with Hockley and nodded gently toward the exit. Time to go get some real work done.
Jericho fell in behind his boss, pausing only to jab his pen through the middle of four donuts on the table by the door, then strode on, carrying his baked goods like a trophy. When he reached Kay’s office he offered her one, took one for himself, then turned and held the pen out to Hockley and Montgomery, who were standing in the doorway.
“Welcome to the Outcasts Club,” he said. “We have snacks, but only if we pilfer them from the overlords.”
“Don’t drag us into your fantasy world,” Montgomery said, but he took a donut, and then a seat. Jericho settled his ass on the windowsill so Hockley could take the other free chair.
“They have no local contacts,” Hockley said, clearly more interested in bitterness than sweets. “They don’t know the terrain. They won’t know what’s normal up here and what’s worth investigating.” He turned to Jericho. “You were right about the border, obviously. But the FBI isn’t stupid—they can look at a map and see the problem.” He sighed. “I’m just not sure what they’re going to do about it.”
“Maybe they don’t need to do anything,” Jericho tried. “Do we really believe Sam Tennant or any of his boys were behind yesterday’s mess? I mean, the feds—the FBI, sorry—they’re thinking of Sam as the leader. But yesterday was a deliberate shoot-out with federal agents; Sam’s a jackass, but he’s not that stupid or that crazy, is he? So maybe it’d be okay if the FBI ignores the border, and Sam and his less-than-crazy friends slip across. He can hang out up north for a while until things get figured out down here.”
“You think we should just let him walk? I mean, if it wasn’t Sam, who was it?” Kayla asked. “Who is stupid or crazy enough to try something like this?”
“Have you guys not seen the internet this morning?” Montgomery asked with a frown.
Jericho shivered at the memory of what he’d been doing instead of checking his email, and caught a furtive glance between Hockley and Kay—maybe they’d been similarly distracted?
“What’s on the internet?” Hockley asked his partner.
“A call to arms. Some hard-core whack job based in Idaho named Lucas Templeton, saying this is the final federal aggression that he and his followers are going to tolerate. According to them, this was an FBI ambush and the militia members only fought back because they knew they’d have been murdered otherwise. Self-defense.”
“Okay, that’s somebody capitalizing on the situation,” Kay said. “But you aren’t actually suggesting that was the original motivation, are you? You aren’t saying they did it on purpose, to be martyrs?”
Montgomery shrugged. “I’m not saying, but I’m wondering.”
“Why would they come all the way up here?” Hockley mused. “Why not stay in Idaho?”
“Maybe the border,” Jericho said. “I don’t want to sound obsessed, but it’s why you guys spend so much time here, right? It’s why this town is still alive after the mine closed down—smuggling shit across that imaginary line is good business. But it’d also be a pretty good escape route. I’m not saying the Mounties wouldn’t do their part and help out, but they’re not going to spend the kind of man hours on it that we would. And every time someone pops across the border, whoever’s chasing them, from one side or the other, has to fall back.”
“I remember my dad bitching about you doing that, years ago,” Kayla said. There was an awkward moment as her expression showed that she’d remembered what was happening with her dad, remembered why she didn’t talk about him at work anymore. But then she raised her chin and charged on. “You and Wade, being stupid, and he and Garron chasing you and you’d run north across the border, then turn around and run south as soon as you thought you were clear.”
“Or as soon as we wanted more attention, more of an adrenaline rush,” Jericho said. “God, we were assholes. I’m surprised they didn’t shoot us.”
“Me too.” Kayla shook her head ruefully. “Maybe your actual parents didn’t care what you two got up to, but you had me worried sick.”
“Sorry,” Jericho said. It wasn’t really enough. “Like I said—we were assholes.”
Montgomery had his mouth open to make a comment, probably about Jericho’s use of the past tense, but Hockley cut in with, “Okay, let’s get back to the current issue. We—well, Jericho, and I assume other members of the sheriff’s department—have an existing relationship with one of the chief suspects in the current clusterfuck. The sheriff’s department also has significant knowledge of the local terrain, and the local culture in general. The FBI is either unaware of these assets or simply isn’t interested in taking advantage of them. So, the question is, what are we going to do about that?”
“If we pooled our resources, I bet we could buy a farm in some third-world country. We could move down there and live like kings,” Jericho suggested.
“Let’s keep that as a plan B,” Kayla said.
Then there was a knock on the door and everyone’s gaze shifted. Deputy Garron shoved the door open and lumbered inside, closed the door behind him, frowned at Hockley and Montgomery, then told Kayla, “Jenny Taylor’s outside. She’s got Butch Travis with her and Ben Tran.” Garron sounded like he was delivering notice of an execution order when he added, “Jackson’s with them.”
A county commissioner, a justice of the peace, the editor of the city’s weekly newspaper, and the disaffected deputy who knew Kayla’s father was being investigated for corruption. “This is not the fucking time—” Jericho started, but Kayla raised her hand to cut him off.
“When is the time?” Her smile only seemed a little forced as she told the others, “I need to deal with this. Could you continue the meeting in Jericho’s office?”
