He retrieved his shirt from the rear deck and pulled it on. On his way back to his Mustang, he diverted over to Toby’s truck, pulled a business card from his wallet, and set it against the Plexiglas cover of the speedometer where it wouldn’t be overlooked. It was a dual message he was sure Toby would understand. He slid into his car and waited. Sitting there, he ran the whole encounter back through his mind. Mara was right. He could’ve hurt Toby, hurt him badly. He knew the consuming rage Toby felt. Knew it well. But over the years since his captivity, he’d learned to control it, to use it like a tool and make it work for him, not against him. Maybe Toby could too.

His cell rang. “Harv. Sorry about that.”

“No worries. Everything okay?”

“Yeah. I’ll call you right back.”

“You got it.”

Toby walked out the front door a few minutes later, his right arm hanging uselessly. Using compact field glasses he kept in the glove box, Nathan watched Toby grab the business card from the dashboard. The big man stared at it for several seconds before backing out of the driveway. Keeping his headlights off, Nathan followed Toby’s truck until it was clear of the neighborhood.

He called Harvey back.

His partner answered after the first ring. “All right, tell me what happened.”

“One of Karen’s girls got slapped around by that big guy I told you about last week.”

“And.…”

“I put a reprimand in his personnel file.”

A pause. “Did you kill him?”

“Now would I do something like that?”

“Yes.”

“I’m deeply hurt by that comment.”

Silence on the other end.

“I didn’t kill him,” Nathan said. “The circumstances didn’t warrant it.”

“I would’ve helped.”

“There wasn’t time. I broke a few traffic laws getting there and a few bones after I arrived.”

“How many?”

“Bones or laws?”

“Is there a difference?”

“Radius, ulna, and a nose. Nothing serious.”

“I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you. Now, is everything okay with you?”

“I’m fine. But Frank Ortega’s not. He’s worried about his grandson.”

“Frank Ortega? The former FBI director?”

“The same.”

“Who’s his grandson?”

“Third-generation FBI. He’s currently undercover inside some kind of arms smuggling racket.”

“What kind of arms?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Where?”

“Up north. Lassen County. Nate, he’s missing. Ortega wants our help. I didn’t promise anything, but I said we’d meet with him.”

“What, tonight?” Nathan heard his partner sigh.

“Yeah, tonight. Hold tight. I’m already on my way.”

Chapter 2

Chapter  2