Killer Weekend Read Free Page A

never be another one,” Walt said.
    “Amen to that.”
    A knock on the door.
    “Probably another fund-raising call,” she said.
    “So the rumors are true?” he asked.
    She bit back a smile. Her eyes were positively luminous. She smelled like a garden of lilacs. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”
    She pulled open the door. There were five people jammed into the hallway, all vying for her attention.
    “Not exactly the same as running for county sheriff,” he said over her shoulder, unsure if she’d heard him or not.
    He glanced up the hallway toward the bedroom. He remembered hearing the glass break, could still feel the grip of his weapon cool in his right hand as he slipped it from the holster. Could still feel the hot jolt as the knife entered him. He’d shot three men in the line of duty since that first time—had killed one of them. But nothing came close to this memory. And though he hadn’t admitted it to her, he, too, felt a kindred bond with this woman unlike anything he had with anyone.
    She had heard him, for she turned over her shoulder and spoke to him, as if able to block out the five voices all speaking at once. “You didn’t tell me about the divorce, and I’m going to honor that. But when you’re ready, I’d like to hear about it. If you’re okay with that.”
    They moved as a group then, back down the hall until she let out an ear-piercing whistle without touching her lips. Walt had once had a baseball coach who could whistle like that. Her entourage shut up, and she was tall enough that when she rose onto her tiptoes she lifted above them. “I have a security meeting with Sheriff Fleming, Agent Dryer, and Patrick Cutter right now. It’s confidential, and none of you are invited. After that, I’m going fly-fishing for the afternoon. And after that I’m yours again. I ask you to respect my schedule, and for the time being to leave the house and take a break. Jenna, that means you, too. Okay…so go. Go!”
    The group of handlers dispersed immediately. A moment later it was just the Secret Service detail of four agents, including Dryer, and Patrick Cutter, and Walt. He noticed for the first time that some press was encamped across the street in front of the library, their dark lenses aimed like rifle scopes.
    “Let’s get to it,” Dryer said, clapping and rubbing his hands together.
    One of Dryer’s men lowered and twisted the living room blinds shut, then left through the front door. Walt noticed another of the detail stood outside the kitchen door. The four of them took seats on a couch and a pair of art deco overstuffed chairs that had been a part of the house since the 1950s. A rectangular glass coffee table, covered in magazines and newspapers, sat as an island between them.
    As the four-way conversation began, Walt took a quick assessment: Dryer was efficient and down to business, as he’d learned to expect of the government man; Cutter seemed slightly aloof and impatient, a man with his eyes on the bigger picture; Walt’s job seemed to be to play the paranoid local cop, but he resisted playing to the stereotype; for her part, Liz Shaler found it in her powers to give each person her full attention while scribbling out the occasional note to herself. Walt envisioned the discussion as a transcript written from the recording made by the digital pen that Patrick Cutter placed in the center of the coffee table with everyone’s permission.
     
    FLEMING: So, a credible threat.
    DRYER: A telecommunications intercept. Most likely the NSA, although we got it from the Bureau.
    CUTTER: Dick never tells me who we get this stuff from. But it’s obviously for real.
    DRYER: Very real.
    FLEMING: Do we have a transcript?
    DRYER: It’s coming, which probably means we’ll get it Tuesday or Wednesday, after the conference and Ms. Shaler’s talk, Sunday morning, are long behind us. Government work.
    FLEMING: But credible.
    DRYER: Mentions “AG” and a price of five