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and neck.
    “It’s Hank.”
    “What’s going on?” He glanced at the time display on the oven. 5:45. Since adopting the six Bennett children, Hank rarely worked past four o’clock. He did, however, make exceptions for national security emergencies. “Is something going down?”
    “What? Oh, no. The kids are over at the neighbors on a scavenger hunt. I checked my messages and already had the results on that search we talked about, so I figured I’d give you a call while I can hear myself think.”
    “Already? That was fast.”
    Hank chuckled. “I may have put a rush on it. Anyhow, he’s clean.”
    Leo knew better than to say Wynn’s name on an unsecured line. “No flags?”
    Hank huffed out a breath. “No flags. But it’s a slim file. He’s got a year of birth of 1948, but from birth until mid-1975, your guy was a ghost.”
    “Meaning?”
    “For the first twenty-eight years of his life, he may as well not have existed. No school records, no driver’s license, no draft registration. Nothing.”
    “You think he’s a spook?”
    “It crossed my mind. He could be one of us.”
    Leo pondered the possibility. If another federal agent had information about his father, why wouldn’t he just go through official channels? Unless the information could cast a shadow on Leo and endanger his own standing. Even though he was a contractor now, he’d been a federal marshal for several years—this could be an effort to protect him.
    Valentina poked her head into the kitchen. “Leo? Do you need any help in here?” She noticed the phone to his ear and mouthed ‘sorry’ before retreating to the living room.
    He waited until he heard her resume her high-pitched stream of chatter directed at the twins then lowered his voice a notch and said, “You think it’s safe to meet with this guy?”
    Hank answered instantly, as though he’d been waiting for the question. “Ah, heck, Leo, I don’t know. It’s a risk. How big of one? No telling. All I can say, is this guy doesn’t have a record or anything approaching a flag. He’s allegedly a retired fisherman, apparently did well enough to buy that house in Maine with cash.”
    Cash home sales were yet another tell that suggested Wynn was, or at least had been, undercover at one point in his career.
    “Hmm. Nothing on the prints?”
    “Oh, we got some hits on the prints. All yours. Do you need a refresher?”
    Leo ignored the jab. “Thanks for the intel.”
    “Don’t mention it.”
    He knew Hank intended for his words to serve as a literal admonition. They’d both have some explaining to do if Hank’s database queries traced back to Leo’s personal life. The government tended to frown on using their resources for personal purposes.
    “Understood.” He eased the roasting pan out of the oven and rested it on the stovetop.
    “Have a good night.”
    “You, too.”
    “And Leo?”
    “Yeah?”
    “If you go up to Maine to meet this guy, take a friend.”
    “Right.” Leo had no plans to travel to Great Cranberry Island without his Glock.

12
    S asha was typing up the notes she’d taken at Golden Village when she felt someone watching her. Naya stood in the doorway to her office balancing a stack of files in her arms. She wore an expression that said she was trying to figure out how to broach a touchy subject.
    “What?”
    “What what?” Naya responded.
    “Come on, I know that look. What’s on your mind?”
    Sasha had an inkling that Naya might suggest it was time to hire an actual legal assistant instead of piling that work on top of her own associate workload. And Sasha tended to agree. But what Naya actually said was completely unexpected.
    She cleared her throat. “I don’t know Mac, just thinking about what Dr. Allstrom said. She has a point.”
    Sasha searched her memory. It was entirely possible that the self-righteous geneticist had a point. But if she’d made one, it had been obscured by her didactic delivery. “About—?” she finally prompted