of this made any sense to him. She confused him, turned his thinking upside down, and put all sorts of crazy, impossible thoughts into his head. He couldn't understand how or why she had become so important to him, only knew he was driven to keep her safe
from harm… at all costs.
Protect and serve. If he kept thinking like this, he would end up on the side of law and order again. He shuddered at the possibility.
The chief interrupted his thoughts. "I've got good strong doors with double-bolted locks. There's a back door out of this area, and that has a glass window, but I put in an alarm because of all the firepower I've collected, and the whole town will hear the noise
if anyone tries to get in."
John Paul checked out the perimeter. Fifteen minutes later he and Tyler were satisfied with the lock-down. He ate, then went upstairs, showered, and put on the sweats and T-shirt Tyler had given him. When he stepped out of the bathroom, Verna was waiting with a plastic trash bag to collect his wet clothes.
"My son-in-law will drop these off with Avery's after they've been laundered," she said as she started down the stairs.
"You take care of her. You hear?"
"I will," he promised.
She left a few minutes later with her daughter.
Tyler had insisted that he could hold down the fort while John Paul caught some shut-eye.
He hadn't argued. He tried not to make any noise as he walked into the dormitory where Avery slept. There were four cots, all with clean bedding, lined up against one wall. The chief had told him that when the building was constructed, the town believed they would have a full-time fire department, but when the town didn't develop the way the city planners thought it would, the budget couldn't afford salaried firefighters. It was volunteer now.
John Paul noticed the window was unlocked. It overlooked the alley behind the building, and there was a fire escape ladder just
a couple of feet to the left. He locked the window and then sat down on the cot next to Avery's.
She was sleeping on her back. Her face was scrubbed clean; her hair was still damp from washing, and he thought she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. She looked like an angel, but she had a little vinegar in her disposition, the way she tried to boss him around. He liked the fact that she stood up to him, held her own. He liked her attitude too. She viewed the world the
way he used to when he had been naive.
He was tired, and surely his fatigue was the reason he was thinking such foolish thoughts. When the FBI arrived, he'd leave. Simple as that. Avery was the ultimate team player, he reminded himself, so he'd let her team watch out for her.
"Hell," he muttered as he rolled onto the cot.
He got in two full hours of sleep before Tyler woke him. John Paul had heard him coming up the stairs and had the handgun
aimed and ready when he opened the door.
The chief waited until John Paul put the gun down. Then he walked inside. "We've got company," he whispered. "The FBI's
here, and the man in charge wants to see you."
Avery was still out cold. She'd kicked off the sheet, and one leg was hanging off the side of the bed. There was a bandage wrapped above her ankle. Spots of dark blood dotted the gauze. When had she hurt herself? he wondered as he carefully
lifted her leg and tucked her back under the sheet. And why hadn't she told him?
He knew the answer to that one. She would never think to complain.
Fighting the urge to kiss her, he went into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face.
He became angry thinking about the interview he'd have to suffer through with the Feds. If the team leader turned out to be
like so many others John Paul remembered, then he'd be an arrogant, opinionated, we-do-it-my-way-or-no-way prick.
By the time he'd dried his face and hands, he was ready for a fight. Fact was, he was looking forward to it. He found himself hoping the guy did turn out to be a prick because he was suddenly in the mood to kick some ass.
Unfortunately, Agent Knolte was neither a prick nor a know-it-all. The freckle-faced agent was intelligent, eager, and sincere,
and seemed to know what hewas talking about as far as strategy went. He'd certainly done his homework on Monk, knew
almost as much about him as John Paul did.
There were only two problems with Agent Knolte. One, he looked like a twelve-year-old. And with a cowlick and braces, no less. What were they doing in the Bureau these days? Recruiting from grade school? The second problem was monumental. Knolte was a by-the-book agent.
"Mr. Renard, it's an honor to meet you," Knolte said, extending his hand as four other eager agents crowded around.
"We all heard about the hostage rescue down in South America, and I want you to know we consider it a privilege to be able
to work with you."
John Paul stared into Knolte's brown eyes. "I was never in South America."
"But I talked to-"
"I was never there."
"Yes, sir. If you say so," Knolte hastily agreed.
Another agent stepped forward. "Sir, we understand the Agency was elated to hear you decided to come back to work after
your long leave of absence."
John Paul didn't look at the man when he responded. "I didn't take a leave of absence. I retired and I'm still retired." Then
without missing a beat, he asked, "How old are you, Agent Knolte?"
The question didn't seem to faze the man. "Older than I look," he answered. "Let me introduce you to my team."
John Paul suddenly found himself surrounded by agents wanting to shake his hand. The attention didn't sit well. Chief Tyler observed the spectacle from the back hallway. When John Paul caught his eye, the middle-aged man shook his head and
muttered something about a damn fan club.
"We'll need to question Miss Delaney," an agent named Brock said.
"Not until she's had some sleep," John Paul said. "You can talk to me."
The interview lasted an hour. There were constant interruptions as Knolte kept getting updates from another agent at the explosion site. He told John Paul that they'd brought in the dogs and were searching for bodies. Thus far, two had been found. From the remains of the vehicle near the site, they knew that one of the women was the former wife of Dennis Parnell, the
owner of the house.
The wait for the discovery of the other bodies was grim and tense. Then Knolte got another call and thrust the phone at
John Paul. "You'll want to hear this."
A minute later John Paul bounded up the stairs. Knolte could have sworn the brooding man actually smiled for a second there.
The door to the dormitory banged against the wall when he rushed inside, but the noise didn't disturb Avery.
He shook her awake. "Sweetheart, open your eyes. Come on, Avery, wake up."
She was slow to respond. She felt drugged and disoriented. She finally opened her eyes and struggled to sit up.
"Is it time to go?"
"Carrie's alive."
She squinted up at him, shaking her head as she tried to comprehend what he was saying. "Alive? How can she be alive?
The house-"
"She got out before the explosion. I don't know how she managed it, but she's okay."
Avery burst into tears. John Paul sat down next to her and pulled her onto his lap. He held her while she cried all over him.
When she was finally able to calm down, she asked, "Did everyone get out? Where's Carrie now? Have they called Uncle
Tony? The poor man will be beside himself. First, they tell him she's dead, and then they tell him she's alive. I hope to God he has a strong heart."
John Paul wasn't sure which question to answer first. "Carrie's in a hospital in Aspen."
She jerked away from him. "Why is she in the hospital? You told me she was okay."