Jordan spotted a grinning Silverman behind him, standing between one of his goons and a handsome young man with an expensive-looking microphone.
How on earth did the asshole find the time?
Jordan almost snapped at the reporter and then stopped, remembering how he’d told his team to keep their cool. Reminding himself to act like the goddamn sheriff.
“Yesterday, we tracked Cara Campbell to a civilian residence,” he said flatly. “The landowner did not allow us permission to search, so after obtaining a warrant, a multiagency task force breached the compound. By that time, both the landowner and Campbell were no longer at the location.”
A pretty, brown-haired TV reporter stood up on tiptoes. “Are they together? Does this mean she has help?”
Jordan was irritated at the unprompted question but decided to roll with it. “We believe they left together, but until we find both of them, we simply won’t know. It’s possible they left separately or are separated now. One or both of them could have died in the fire. The landowner is an experienced outdoorsman but Campbell is not.”
Not saying,And I have zero idea why he would be helping her, if he actually is.
“If you had them surrounded, how did they get away?” The voice of the CNN guy, Jack Schapiro, was impressive. He wasn’t shouting—it was more like orating.
“As I said, the situation is highly unstable,” Jordan answered. “It was night, the area is heavily wooded, and the trail was cut off by a fast-moving fire.”
“It’s my understanding that you had a helicopter with infrared spotting technology,” Schapiro prodded, taking a second question and obviously irritating the other reporters. “How did that fail?”
And who is your source, Jack?
Asking would be a bad look. Jordan regulated his breathing and tried not to react.
“The hot spots of the advancing fire create their own heat signatures, as do wild game fleeing the blaze. The homeowner’s livestock also appear to have escaped. Our aerial spotter identified so many heat signatures he was unable to make a conclusive judgment.”
Beto leaned over the mic. “Five more minutes, folks.”
“What do you say to the growing numbers of people who doubt Cara Campbell is even guilty? That she was wrongfully convicted?”
This question came from the handsome young guy next to Silverman. Jordan thought his mild, slightly high voice sounded familiar.
At least this answer was easy. “It’s not my job to determine guilt or innocence. That’s up to the judicial system.”
“So your job is catching them?” interrupted Silverman, obviously teeing himself up for something.
They were both drowned out by bass and drums pumping through overtaxed speakers as a billboard truck with a huge LED screen rolled slowly past on the street. The driver slowed, looking like he wanted to turn into the parking lot, but there were too many bodies in the way.
As Jordan saw a black-and-white Photoshopped image of himself behind bars, quickly covered up by the text of Silverman’s greatest-hit tweets, a voice boomed out: “Silverman for Madera—the Burke Stops Here!”
Reporters turned to watch and found themselves facing Silverman in the flesh. He almost seemed to grow in size, inflated by their attention.
“I’m just here as a civilian, folks,” he said, as the truck rolled away. “Your questions should all be for Jordan here, about what he is and isn’t doing.”
But when no one filled the stunned silence immediately, Silverman took it upon himself.
“If your job is simply catchin’ criminals, and you couldn’t catch this one, wouldn’t you say you been failin’ at your job?”
“Look, sometimes they get away,” Jordan began angrily, then paused, forced to wait through another blast of amplified nonsense from the truck, which had pulled a U-turn. One of his deputies waved the driver on. By the time he could finally be heard again, Jordan had collected himself, concluding, “But the Madera County Sheriff’s Department doesn’t quit, ever. We will find Cara Campbell and bring her to justice.”
Beto stepped in front of the mic. “Thank you all for your time. Please direct any inquiries to Sergeant Mark Stevens. We will continue to issue updates through official channels as new developments arise.”
Jordan had already turned his back on the throng and was trying not to hurry too obviously as he headed inside. He hoped his true feelings didn’t show on his face: he was furious at Silverman, at the situation, and above all, Jordan Burke. Once again, he’d allowed himself to be baited into losing his cool.
Maybe the biggest mystery was why Silverman was so damned intent on taking his job. Did a professional heckler really want to sit in the hot seat, with an army of anonymous trolls watching his every move and second-guessing every decision?
Or maybe that was the attraction. The man obviously craved attention. It was possible he didn’t care what kind.
Jordan wondered why he was still intent on keeping the job. Would he still want it if the hunt for Cara Campbell ended in failure and things in his quiet county never went back to the way they were before?
