“He won’t talk,” Darren said, remembering Rosemary’s stridency and presenting it as fact here. Some part of him knew he was putting on a show, not wanting Wilson to think him too eager to get in a room alone with King.

“We’ll see about that,” Wilson said.

Darren remembered the sister all of a sudden, the image of her crying inside the trailer, and he mused aloud about finding a way to talk to her alone.

“Don’t you dare. This is Sheriff Quinn’s deal to run. Marion County didn’t ask for an assist. Your presence there is a courtesy offered by the local sheriff. Act like it. Remember your mission out there. Just make sure you’re in that trailer when the warrant comes through.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And hey, Mathews, you didn’t mention anything to Frank Vaughn, the San Jacinto County DA, about Ronnie Malvo being an informant for the task force, did you?”

“Of course not,” Darren said, feeling an irrational fear that Wilson could read his mind, the things he had planned to redirect that case. “Why?”

“He’s been calling my office,” Wilson said, sounding puzzled, and for a moment Darren pictured him hunched over a stack of those pink message slips his secretary still used. “Left word Friday and then again today. Mentioned your name both times. Want to be clear we’re on the same page before I call back.”

“Of course, sir,” Darren affirmed dutifully, damn near clipping his words like a soldier’s steps. Why was Frank Vaughn calling his boss?

“The good work you done down in Lark got you over the hump of people pointing the finger about you knowing more than you’ve let on about the Malvo deal. Steer clear of it now, hear? Keep your eyes on the prize out there in Jefferson, Mathews. We got a real shot at flushing the Brotherhood out of Texas.”

“Copy,” Darren said flatly before ending the call.