As he took the mountain path again, the car angled up, climbing the old road, his eyes fixed off into the distance, his mind working through the sparse information he’d been given on the case.

No viable connections between the victims.

Victims of opportunity in a premeditated killing spree. What did that tell him?

Agent Sawyer was a man who trusted instinct. Instinct was like the snuffling nose of a hound on the track of scent molecules. Instinct was what gave him the edge—gave the BAU the edge. Granted, not all of his colleagues or higher-ups saw eye to eye with his methods.

It was why he’d been restationed, after all.

He frowned, recollecting Detective Lopez’s biting words. “Is it true? Did he punch an FBI director in Oakland?”

Sawyer massaged his jaw briefly, running a rough, calloused finger along the edge of his chin. He stared through the fogging windshield as he wound his way through the mountainous roads. Absentmindedly, he lowered his hand, his knuckles trailing along the buttons of his flannel shirt. He tilted his head, feeling the plastic strap of his baseball cap pressed to his prematurely graying hair, and puffed a little sigh.

The way his knuckles pressed to his buttons aroused a familiar sensation. He could still glimpse the image in his mind. Glimpse the way he’d lost his temper, jolting across the table, hand swinging before he’d even realized what was happening.

Sawyer shivered at the memory, puffing another breath, fogging the glass from the inside this time.

Certainly not his finest moment. Lucky he hadn’t ended up behind bars.

Only his prior relationship with Director LeGrange had kept him from more serious consequences. Still, a six-month suspension, and then a transfer up to this gloomy place. It wasn’t like LeGrange hadn’t deserved it. Sawyer already knew, if he ever saw the director again, he’d punch him a second time for good measure.

But as far as consequences went, things could have gone worse… far, far worse.

He’d lost his only friend with that punch. Lost his wife not long after. He could still feel the hot jolt of fury. Feel the rage bubbling up. Could see the way his old director had frowned, tensing at the look in his eyes.

Sawyer thought he’d had his temper under control. He was a man governed by instinct, but also a man who could keep his temper in check.

Or so he’d thought.

Until he’d heard the news… until the director had told him.

Sawyer sighed, shaking his head and gripping the steering wheel. No sense dwelling on the past. He was in Washington state now. Still BAU. Still doing what he was meant to.

Silver linings could be found even in the overcast Pacific Northwest.

As his thoughts meandered, trailing along with the crunch of the tires against old roads, his radio crackled to life from his dash.

Sawyer straightened a little, grateful for the distraction from rumination and boredom.

He answered. “Yeah?”

“Tom?” said a voice. Sounded like Faber.