“You could sneak in and look through his computer,” Sullivan offered.
“I was being serious.”
“So was I,” Sullivan said. “Look, it’s been close to a month. Don’t you want to come in and get an update? Then maybe Matthew gets distracted, and you get a shot at looking through his computer while Williams or I keep an eye out.”
Jane didn’t know. That seemed like a big step up from just following the guy. And if she got caught, she could kiss her job goodbye. “Wow. You really went there.”
Sullivan shrugged. “Just a thought. But either way, I want dessert. And I want it now.”
“The cheesecake looks fantastic.” Williams smacked his lips. “I’m so hungry.”
“You had a gallon of chowder and seventy loaves of bread.” Jane frowned. “This is why I hate picking up the tab with you two.”
“Hey, you don’t drink. We’ve got to make things even when we can.”
Sullivan nodded.
“Fine.” Jane ordered dessert. Perhaps something sweet would detract from the bitterness of being no closer to getting her job back.
And she wasn’t due back to the Code Blue investigation until Monday.
She really hated time off. Maybe a distraction on Bainbridge Island would help.
Or not,she thought when she arrived at the ranch only to find Hal and Joe stewing about the attempt at McGrath’s that her cousin had blabbed about, in addition to somehow learning about the incident at the gas station.
All the care made her queasy. Jane hated being the center of attention, no matter what Gina might think.
Hal demanded she start wearing a tracker at all times so he could find her if need be. Joe came close to tears while hugging her, worried for her future, and mentioned calling in Uncle Chris every other sentence.
Oh man, Monday couldn’t come soon enough.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Despite all thehandwringing the guys had subjected her to over the weekend, Jane did get some benefit out of it. She’d read through Hal’s extensive notes on Agent Scott, though none of it proved the man’s guilt.
Supervisory Special Agent Matthew Ronald Scott, the thirty-seven-year-old son of Senator Ronald Scott and Mrs. Belinda Scott née Rupert, daughter of a tech giant worth several hundred million dollars, had graduated at the top of his class at Harvard and spent several years getting a law degree, only to join the FBI, not as a lawyer but as a field agent.
Fast forward twelve years while he fast-tracked his way up the organization. Rumor speculated he might move into another position in the federal government, taking steps to eventually slide closer to the oval office.
Scott had the brains and the drive to succeed, not much of a personal life to speak of, and no scandals or secrets to be exploited. Hal’s extensive probing convinced her that tying Scott to any form of misdeed wouldn’t be easy.
Money had a way of burying family skeletons.
And thinking about money led her once again to that envelope he’d handed a stranger in McGrath’s parking lot. Shewas dying to know what was in it and why the handoff had been so secretive. Had Scott been behind her near rundown at the bar? Or did Jane continue to see conspiracies where none existed?
For all she knew, her dislike of Scott colored her view on his involvement in the Mazzuca case. Perhaps he was just a bad boss.
Yet her friends also distrusted him. That had to mean something.
Frustrated at her lack of progress and wondering if the OPR would ever let her get back to her real job, on Monday morning, she worked quietly for the first few hours, going through more data Diego had turned up on the victims.
A few times, she felt someone’s gaze burrowing into the back of her head and peeked up to see Gina glaring at her. Jane thought about the woman’s animosity, realized she didn’t care, and returned to her work.
By noon, her head ached from reading through so much information—information she’d already read several times. But in her experience, paying attention to everything often led to the small things that broke a case.
The Mazzucas had to take a backseat to Code Blue, and that ate at her too. Dan Simmons needed closure. Everyone knew the Mazzucas had to be tied to it. Had Sullivan or Williams found out more? And if they did, would they tell her? Probably. She hoped.
“Okay, you and you. In my office.”
