“Will they?”

“No. I told them I had top people in place and they believe me— unless you prove otherwise.”

“So who’s in charge now?”

“They’ve already assigned a new special agent in charge—a young guy named Daniel Flanagan. I briefed him early this morning; he’s on his way out there now.”

“A new boss,” Nick groaned. “It took me years to break you in.”

“Go easy on this guy,” Donovan said. “He’s a little green.”

“Are we talking who-left-this-cheese-in-the-refrigerator green, or Ireland-in-the-springtime green?”

“You’ll know soon enough. Look, do me a favor—keep your balance this time, okay? Try not to turn into the usual neurotic, self-destructive Nick.”

“Thanks, I’ll write myself a note. How am I supposed to do this without you around? What do I do when I need to bend the rules a little? What happens when I need the boss to look the other way?”

“Here’s an idea: You might try following the rules for once.”

“No, seriously.”

“Look, I’ll help you in any way I can. Give me a call if you get stuck and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“Has it occurred to you that Braden might have other reasons for wanting you off this case?”

“Like what?”

“You know what. Maybe he wants somebody a little less experienced in charge. Maybe he doesn’t want this thing resolved too quickly. Maybe he’s got something to hide.”

“It’s occurred to me,” Donovan said, “but we have no way to know—so let’s not get paranoid, okay?”

“Sorry—paranoia is a part of my neurosis.”

“Keep me posted, Nick. I’d like to know how this thing plays out.”

“Right. Gotta go—I think Mr. Green just arrived.” Nick dropped the phone into his pocket.

A man had just stepped across the crime scene tape and, after a brief word and a handshake with the sheriff’s deputy, headed in their direction. He was definitely young, not more than a year or two out of the academy, with a fresh, scrubbed face and a messy, tousled hairstyle that seemed more appropriate for a club than a crime scene. He was dressed in a standard executive three-button with a white handkerchief in his lapel pocket; he kept fingering the buttons as he walked, as if he was still checking the fit.

“Who’s the suit?” Kegan asked.

“Our new boss.”

“New boss? You’re joking.”

Nick looked at her. “We’re working for the government, where jokes don’t exist—just nightmare after nightmare.”

“He’s kind of cute.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “What is it with you women? Is everything cute?”

“Except insects.”

“That figures.”

“Dr. Polchak,” the man called out. “Dr. Nicholas Polchak.”

“Present,” Nick said, raising one hand.

“I’m Special Agent Daniel Flanagan. Have you spoken with Agent Donovan today?”

“I just got off the phone with him.”