Ailes is hinting to me one of his geek friends can hack Reynolds’s whole server, which without a court order would be illegal. Hopefully they can get one before then, although I’m afraid that Reynolds is smart enough to see that coming and too dumb to get out of the way.

He’s an okay programmer who makes a living as a freelancer, with his one claim to fame being some code he probably lifted from one of his clients. This is his ticket to nerd stardom. He doesn’t see himself as standing in our way. He’s the wise hacker trying to show the jackbooted FBI thugs the noble path. He thinks cooperating with us is worse than what the Warlock is doing.

More disturbing is the idea that he’s trying to protect the Warlock. Asshole or not, he genuinely surprised me when he said he thought it might not all be a trick. The news is filled with idiots entertaining the idea the Warlock is legitimate. Seeing someone with an IQ in the triple digits think that is scary.

Having failed this task, I have a few hours in the hotel before the plane heads back to Quantico. I place my clothes on hangers while I take a bath. I keep my gun on the toilet seat and close my eyes as the hot water pours past my toes and around my body. Normally it’s relaxing. I have to take myself to that calm place I’d go when my family would argue or I’d be stressed out on the road.

I messed up. I know I did. My stomach clenches and my skin burns from the shame of it all. I try to just give myself a moment of peace in the bathtub and listen to the water. It’s hard. I see Chloe’s face. I hear Swanson’s wife.

We only have two or three days left until the next crime.

The primal part of me wants to take my gun and go shove it in Liam Reynolds’s fat gut and make him cry. That’s one of the hard parts about being a cop. You’re taught how to use force to solve problems and then admonished to never actually do it. I’d put a gun to his mouth if I knew, absolutely knew, it would save a life. I wouldn’t pull the trigger. Not for being an asshole. But I’d let him know I’d consider it.

The hotel phone rings.

I ignore it. If anybody with the FBI was trying to reach me, they’d call me on my mobile. I pull my hair up higher and dip down into the tub so the water can soak my neck. I get cramps there when I’m stressed. Right now there are a ton of them squeezing like vise grips.

The phone rings again. Whoever it is, they’re not giving up. If I want any peace I’m going to have to answer it. I lean out of the tub and grab the handset from the wall.