immediately. I don’t care what he’s doing. If he’s in a meeting...if he’s taking a shit...put him on the goddamned phone.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“What?”
“I’m not going to be able to continue this conversation with you speaking to me like that.”
“Marcy?”
“Yes?”
“I apologize. I’m sorry I raised my voice with you, but I have to speak with Hassler. It is urgent.”
“I’d be happy to slip him a message if you’d like.”
Ethan closed his eyes.
He was grinding his molars together to keep from screaming through the phone.
“Tell him to call Agent Ethan Burke at the Wayward Pines Sheriff’s Office, or at the Wayward Pines Hotel, Room Two Twenty-Six. He has to do this the moment he gets the message. Agent Evans is dead. Do you understand me?”
“I’ll give him the message!” Marcy said brightly and hung up the phone.
Ethan pulled the receiver away from his face and slammed it five times into the table.
As he was hanging the phone back up, he noticed Sheriff Pope standing in the doorway to the conference room.
“Everything all right, Ethan?”
“Yeah, it’s...just having a little trouble getting through to my SAC.”
Pope came inside and closed the door. He sat down at the end of the table opposite Ethan.
“You said there were two missing agents?” Pope asked.
“That’s right.”
“Tell me about the other one.”
“Her name’s Kate Hewson. She worked out of the Boise field office, and, prior to that, Seattle.”
“Did you know her there?”
“We were partners.”
“So she got transferred?”
“Yes.”
“And Kate came here with Agent...”
“Bill Evans.”
“...on this top-secret investigation.”
“Right.”
“I’d like to help. Would you like my help?”
“Of course, Arnold.”
“OK. Let’s start with the basics. What does Kate look like?”
Ethan leaned back in his chair.
Kate.
He’d so thoroughly trained himself over the last year
not
to think of her that it took him a moment to retrieve her face, the memory of it like tearing open a wound that had just begun to scar over.
“She’s five-two, five-three. Hundred and five pounds.”
“Little gal, huh?”
“Best lawman I’ve ever known. Short brown hair last time I saw her, but it could have grown out. Blue eyes. Uncommonly beautiful.”
God, he could still taste her.
“Any distinguishing marks?”
“Yeah, actually. She has a faint birthmark on her cheek. A café au lait about the size of a nickel.”
“I’ll put the word out to my deputies, maybe even have a sketch of her drawn to show around town.”
“That’d be great.”
“Why did you say Kate was transferred out of Seattle?”
“I didn’t say.”
“Well, do you know?”
“Some sort of internal reshuffling was the rumor. I’d like to see the car.”
“The car?”
“The black Lincoln Town Car I was driving when the accident happened.”
“Oh, of course.”
“Where might I find that?”
“There’s a salvage yard on the outskirts of town.” The sheriff stood. “What was that address again?”
“Six-oh-four First Avenue. I’ll walk you over.”
“No need.”
“I want to.”
“I
don’t
want you to.”
“Why?”
“Was there anything else you needed?”
“I’d like to know the results of your investigation.”
“Come back tomorrow after lunch. We’ll see where we’re at.”
“And you’ll take me to the salvage yard to see the car?”
“I think we can swing that. But for now, let’s go. I’ll walk you out.”
* * *
Ethan’s jacket and shirt smelled marginally better as he slid his arms into the sleeves and started down the street, away from the Wayward Pines Sheriff’s Office. He still reeked, but figured the offensive smell of decay would draw less attention than a man walking around town in nothing but dress slacks.
He pushed as strong a pace as he could manage, but the wooziness kept coming in waves, and his head was alive with pain, each step sending new tendrils
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“What?”
“I’m not going to be able to continue this conversation with you speaking to me like that.”
“Marcy?”
“Yes?”
“I apologize. I’m sorry I raised my voice with you, but I have to speak with Hassler. It is urgent.”
“I’d be happy to slip him a message if you’d like.”
Ethan closed his eyes.
He was grinding his molars together to keep from screaming through the phone.
“Tell him to call Agent Ethan Burke at the Wayward Pines Sheriff’s Office, or at the Wayward Pines Hotel, Room Two Twenty-Six. He has to do this the moment he gets the message. Agent Evans is dead. Do you understand me?”
“I’ll give him the message!” Marcy said brightly and hung up the phone.
Ethan pulled the receiver away from his face and slammed it five times into the table.
As he was hanging the phone back up, he noticed Sheriff Pope standing in the doorway to the conference room.
“Everything all right, Ethan?”
“Yeah, it’s...just having a little trouble getting through to my SAC.”
Pope came inside and closed the door. He sat down at the end of the table opposite Ethan.
“You said there were two missing agents?” Pope asked.
“That’s right.”
“Tell me about the other one.”
“Her name’s Kate Hewson. She worked out of the Boise field office, and, prior to that, Seattle.”
“Did you know her there?”
“We were partners.”
“So she got transferred?”
“Yes.”
“And Kate came here with Agent...”
“Bill Evans.”
“...on this top-secret investigation.”
“Right.”
“I’d like to help. Would you like my help?”
“Of course, Arnold.”
“OK. Let’s start with the basics. What does Kate look like?”
Ethan leaned back in his chair.
Kate.
He’d so thoroughly trained himself over the last year
not
to think of her that it took him a moment to retrieve her face, the memory of it like tearing open a wound that had just begun to scar over.
“She’s five-two, five-three. Hundred and five pounds.”
“Little gal, huh?”
“Best lawman I’ve ever known. Short brown hair last time I saw her, but it could have grown out. Blue eyes. Uncommonly beautiful.”
God, he could still taste her.
“Any distinguishing marks?”
“Yeah, actually. She has a faint birthmark on her cheek. A café au lait about the size of a nickel.”
“I’ll put the word out to my deputies, maybe even have a sketch of her drawn to show around town.”
“That’d be great.”
“Why did you say Kate was transferred out of Seattle?”
“I didn’t say.”
“Well, do you know?”
“Some sort of internal reshuffling was the rumor. I’d like to see the car.”
“The car?”
“The black Lincoln Town Car I was driving when the accident happened.”
“Oh, of course.”
“Where might I find that?”
“There’s a salvage yard on the outskirts of town.” The sheriff stood. “What was that address again?”
“Six-oh-four First Avenue. I’ll walk you over.”
“No need.”
“I want to.”
“I
don’t
want you to.”
“Why?”
“Was there anything else you needed?”
“I’d like to know the results of your investigation.”
“Come back tomorrow after lunch. We’ll see where we’re at.”
“And you’ll take me to the salvage yard to see the car?”
“I think we can swing that. But for now, let’s go. I’ll walk you out.”
* * *
Ethan’s jacket and shirt smelled marginally better as he slid his arms into the sleeves and started down the street, away from the Wayward Pines Sheriff’s Office. He still reeked, but figured the offensive smell of decay would draw less attention than a man walking around town in nothing but dress slacks.
He pushed as strong a pace as he could manage, but the wooziness kept coming in waves, and his head was alive with pain, each step sending new tendrils
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