Birds of a Feather. Don Easton

that Slater is pretty self-assured. Even if you started screaming at him, I don’t see him as the type to break down and talk.”

      “I’m not talking about getting him to say something to incriminate himself. I’m talking about getting him to say something to help us find Lily. We know it wasn’t him who murdered Porter. I want to find out who did.”

      “I know, but what if Slater is implicated?” Connie asked. “What if he murdered Lily? If you do something a judge says will throw justice into disrepute, then Slater will walk away from any charges we might —”

      “What if Lily’s not dead? Maybe she was taken hostage to put pressure on Porter for whatever he did. Maybe he ripped off their stash or something. The bad guys might have left her tied and gagged in the trunk of some car. They sure as hell didn’t worry about hiding Porter’s body. The fact Lily’s body hasn’t turned up should give us hope.”

      “Trust you to think of that scenario. You sure know how to keep me awake all night.”

      “Let’s hope Lily is still awake. Come on, CC. I’m not even thinking of hurting Slater physically. Like I said, more of a tough guy image combined with a little intimidation.”

      “You think that would get him to talk? I get the feeling he isn’t easily intimidated.”

      “The important thing to do is find Lily. I think he will talk.”

      Connie paused as she thought about it. “Nothing physical?”

      “Nothing physical … but, uh, I suspect whatever he says wouldn’t be admissible in court.”

      “What you’re saying all sounds pretty innocent … but I know you. There’s no way I’m going to okay this on my own. I’ll talk it over with Wilson but even if he agrees, I’m still going to run it past a prosecutor. Hopefully one who doesn’t know you.”

      “Make it soon. If she’s alive, she may not be for long.”

      Connie sighed. “Okay, I’ll get on it right away, but it’s late in the day now and tomorrow’s Canada Day. Bet I don’t get an answer from a prosecutor before Thursday.”

      “Let me know. In the meantime, I’ll try to think of an angle to get to Slater.”

      Jack grimaced as he hung up. He had a plan brewing in his mind as soon as he heard Slater had obtained a lawyer … but knew it was a plan that if known, would never be approved.

      chapter twelve

      On Thursday in El Paso, Texas, it was eleven o’clock in the morning when Special Agent Adams awoke to the sound of Yolanda opening the bedroom curtains. She had been up for an hour and was already dressed.

      “Christ, close those,” muttered Adams. “The sun feels like someone hit me between the eyes with a hatchet.”

      “Serves you right,” replied Yolanda, leaving the curtains open.

      “How much did we drink last night?”

      “How much did you drink is more like it. Come on, get dressed. It’s almost lunchtime.”

      Half an hour later, Adams wandered into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Yolanda looked up from the table at the sound of a can of Budweiser being opened.

      “After last night I thought you would have had enough. What’s this? The hair of the dog?”

      Adams nodded and took three gulps out of the can before sitting down.

      “Want to talk about it?” asked Yolanda.

      “What’s more to say,” replied Adams, taking another gulp of beer, more as an excuse to avoid eye contact than to drink. “We got a gun tucked away in every room of the house. Don’t go out without taking the one in your purse. Always keep an eye in the rear-view and the doors locked.”

      “It’s not that. I understand why we are on high alert, but …”

      “But what?” snapped Adams, yanking a kitchen chair out to sit down. “What is it?”

      “That’s what I’m asking you. These last two days you’ve hardly said a word to me. Even last night when I drank with you, I may as well have been drinking alone. I know you. There’s something going on you haven’t told me.”

      “Can you blame me for being a little upset over what happened to Greg?” said Adams angrily. “He was my partner for Christ’s sake!”

      “Don’t give me that,” she replied in annoyance. “There’s something else going on. I’ve watched you when you’ve been recalled to go out on special ops with the military. I’ve seen you when you and Greg were in the thick of things. Things I knew to be secret and things I’ve never asked about. But something has changed. These last couple of days you’ve hardly spoken.” Yolanda’s face softened and she leaned forward and put her hand on his and said, “I’m worried about you. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

      Adams lowered his voice, but his response was terse. “This is different. The bad guys crossed the line with Greg. They had to be sent a message.”

      “Had? What kind of message?” she asked, gripping his hand tight.

      Adams stared at the Budweiser and didn’t respond.

      “What have you done?” cried Yolanda.

      Adams looked at her and said solemnly, “Nothing I feel guilty about, so quit worrying.”

      Yolanda stood up and stared at Adams for a moment, before shaking her head in exasperation and walking out of the room.

      Adams stared after her. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her. That he would do anything to protect her.

      His cellphone rang. It was his boss.

      “Get in here immediately,” seethed Weber.

      “I thought you gave me a week off,” replied Adams.

      “No time to be funny … you stupid, dumb fucker. You really did it this time. Davidson and a DA are going to interview you. They decided to leave me out of it to show impartiality because I know you. What a laugh that is. After what you did, I don’t know you at all and I don’t want to.”

      Adams hung up. He slowly finished the beer and left without saying goodbye to Yolanda. He was afraid to. He knew he would break down if he did.

      District Attorney Norman White waited in Davidson’s office for Adams to arrive.

      “How long have you known John Adams?” asked White, grimacing as he took a sip of coffee. Not exactly Starbucks …

      Davidson leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands behind his head.

      “I was transferred in here five months ago to head the FBI contingent in the office. I met him then for the first time.”

      “What kind of officer is he?”

      “Well, he comes under the direct command of Weber, but this is a small enough office that we all know each other to some degree. I consider Adams to be a loose cannon. Not one to follow rules, particularly. Surprising for a guy trained with the Special Forces … they usually follow orders to a T. Adams and his partner … or ex-partner now, were always working on their own and taking unnecessary risks.”

      “Did they get any positive results in their invest-igations?” White asked.

      Davidson sat forward in his chair, momentarily drumming his fingers on his desk before replying. “Yes, I would have to admit they did,” he replied. “Adams was good at developing confidential sources. It gave him an advantage.”

      “Does he have lots of friends in the office?”

      “No. I would say none. He is more of a loner type.”

      “What about Greg Patton? Isn’t he close to him?”

      Davidson