He waved me before him to a door at the end of the room. I passed desks holding ongoing criminal files and flickering computer screens, wondering where the office’s usual occupants were. I found them outside in a short hallway. Most of them were civilian clerks, but there were two deputies and they gave me a look like I was something they’d trodden in and tracked all over the carpet. I ignored them and walked along the hall, with Walter and Hubbard bringing up the rear. Now that we were out of the way, the displaced office staff filed back into the room. Passing an open door, I glanced inside and saw a solid, silver-haired man sitting behind a desk. His stare was laser guided as it met my eyes. The sheriff: pissed off that he’d been relegated to house arrest in his own office while the G-men ran all the shots. Walter flicked him a salute as he passed and I heard him grumble in response.

We entered an office at the end of the hall, a utilitarian area with work desks and PCs and laser printers. There were chairs at the desks but nobody sat.

“So what’s the deal?”

Walter chuckled to himself. “There’s a lot to go over, Hunter, but first things first. I’ve got a deal for you.”

“Spit it out, then.”

Hubbard crossed his arms on his chest, not fully at ease with what Walter was about to offer but with no recourse but to go along with the black ops controller’s plan.

“You’ve been a loose cannon since your arrival in the U.S. It’s time to change that.”

I looked at Walter. “I’m not standing down. Someone’s trying to hurt me and people around me: I’m going to stop them.”

Walter nodded at my words.

“We don’t want you to step down.”

Hubbard muttered something under his breath, but I paid him no heed. My attention was fully on Walter.

He smiled. “I want you to step up. I want you to come back and work for me, Hunter. As a fully sanctioned asset.”

I just knew it.

Chapter 17

17

It was time to check in with a progress report.

It wouldn’t be good.

His plan to sate his need for dominance over Imogen Ballard had been ruined by the untimely arrival of that damned old man and his idiot grandson. Plus, he’d had to leave behind incriminating evidence: there’d be fingerprints in Imogen’s car, which he’d intended destroying by setting the car ablaze. Worse than that, her survival meant that Imogen could describe him and there was no way now that he could continue with the plan to implicate Joe Hunter in his crimes. The surgery he’d undergone—and the time spent recuperating—had been a complete waste of time.

But he wasn’t bothered by that.