The older man watched the dog. The younger man kept his gaze on Angus.

The older guy was obviously the smarter of the two.

The younger guy smoothly reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew his wallet to flip it open. “Special Agent Thomas Rutherford of the HDD.” His voice was low and cultured. Confident. He was probably about Angus’s age—in his early thirties.

“You’re lost,” Angus returned evenly.

“No. We’re looking for you, FBI Special Agent Angus Force,” Rutherford said, his blue eyes cutting through the space between them.

“I’m retired.” A true statement, which had made nosing around lately a little difficult. However, he’d obviously shaken something loose, considering these guys were now standing on his front porch.

The older guy cocked his head. “That’s a tactical Czech German shepherd,” he said thoughtfully.

Angus lifted an eyebrow. “Nope. He’s a mutt. Found him last week in a gulley.” Was he drunk, or did Roscoe send him an irritated canine look? Angus jerked his head at the older man. “You are?”

The guy also took out a wallet to flash an HDD badge. “HDD Special Agent Kurt Fielding.” Rough with an edge of the street—no culture there.

Angus crossed his arms. “There is nothing the Homeland Defense Department could possibly want with me.” The agency was an offshoot of the Department of Homeland Security; one of the offshoots the public didn’t really know about. The name alone made it easy to divert funds. “Go away.”

Agent Rutherford set his hands in his expensive pockets in an obvious effort to appear harmless. “We’d like a few minutes of your time.”

“Too bad.” Angus wanted another drink. They stood between him and his bottles. That was a bad place to be.

Agent Fielding had deep dark eyes that looked all but hangdog. He finally looked away from Roscoe and focused on Angus. “We know you’ve been contacting witnesses from the Henry Wayne Lassiter cases.”

Heat flushed down Angus’s spine. “The last person who said that name to me got a fist in the face and a broken nose.”

“We’re aware of that fact,” Rutherford said. “FBI Special Agent in Charge Denby still has a bump on that nose.”

Yeah, well, his former boss had known better. Angus shrugged.

Agent Fielding tried again, his gruff voice matching his weary eyes. “We just want to talk.”