Read Online Edge by Jeffery Deaver - Free Book Online

this world . . . what you and I do? Joanne can’t handle it well. Things freak her out, things we don’t even think about. Sometimes she even leaves the room when the news comes on. I’d appreciate it if you’d keep that in mind.”
    â€œSorry. I’ll make sure of it.”
    â€œThanks.” Ryan smiled and went upstairs to pack.
    In fact, I’d been much more blunt with sensitiveJoanne than I needed to be—so that Ryan would do what he just had: asked for that very favor, which I’d agreed to. Solely for the purpose of getting him more on my side.
    My phone buzzed and my audible caller ID said through my earbud, “Fredericks.”
    I hit ANSWER . “Freddy.”
    â€œI’m pulling in the driveway, Corte. Don’t shoot me.”

Chapter 5
    I NEVER UNDERSTOOD the FBI agent’s compulsive joking. Perhaps it was to protect himself, the way not joking is some kind of shield for me. I found it irritating but I didn’t have to live with him, the way his wife and five children did, so I tried not to let it bother me.
    I told him, “Come in the front,” and disconnected.
    At the door I greeted the tall, white-haired agent. Claire duBois, whose quirky mind had a habit of prodding her to make odd but accurate observations, once said of Freddy, “Did you ever notice that the best FBI agents look like TV Mafia dons and the best Mafia dons look like TV agents?” I hadn’t but it was true. Solid and columnar, ever in low gear, the fifty-five-year-old Paul Anthony Xavier Fredericks was a long-timer in the Bureau; he’d worked nowhere else after his graduation from college. He stepped into the house, accompanied by a younger agent. Both followed me into the kitchen.
    Special Agent Rudy Garcia was in his late twenties. Scrubbed and reserved, he’d clearly been military before the Bureau. Quick eyes, unsmiling and married, he wasn’t, I judged, the sort to have a goodtime going out for a beer with. But, then, I’ve heard the same about me.
    â€œThe Kesslers’re packing. Any word from West Virginia?”
    A shrug said it all. I hadn’t expected much. An unidentified vehicle, an unknown route. Loving was invisible.
    â€œWhat do you think, Freddy, about his ETA?”
    â€œAt least two hours plus till he gets to Fairfax, at the earliest,” the agent said, reading the framed news story about Ryan the hero. “I remember that. Sure.”
    Garcia was walking around the ground floor, glancing out the windows. He was good, careful not to give anything away to anybody outside.
    And not presenting any target himself.
    Joanne and Ryan came down the stairs, two suitcases in the cop’s beefy hands. They stopped in the hallway and he set them down. They joined us in the kitchen and I introduced them to the agents.
    â€œMessing up your weekend,” Freddy said. “Sorry about that.”
    I asked, “Is Maree up? We have to go.”
    â€œShe’ll be down in a minute.”
    I suggested, “Amanda might feel more comfortable if her aunt goes with her to your friend’s place in Loudoun.”
    For some reason Ryan replied, after a hesitation, “Probably not.” Joanne agreed.
    Freddy’s radio clattered. “SUV approaching. Registered to William Carter.”
    I told him, “The friend. The Kesslers’ daughter’s staying with him.”
    A moment later Bill Carter was at the door. He entered without knocking and joined us, huggingJoanne hard, then he shook Ryan’s hand warmly. The white-haired man was in his early sixties, tanned and fit, six-two or so. His face grave and gray eyes sharp, he looked me over through large, clear aviator glasses as he gripped my hand. He greeted Freddy and Garcia too, carefully examining all the IDs. I caught the crown of a holster and shiny butt of a pistol under his jacket.
    â€œThis is for real, then,” he muttered.
    â€œIt’s