She put him at ease by joining in. “The newly appointed head of the FBI wanted to hear all about me. I should be flattered,” she said.
“ I tell you, Jess, betrayal, even on a small scale, it doesn't sit well in my stomach. I can't do this job if I have to betray confidences and friends.”
Jessica realized only now the depth of Eriq's friendship, for the betrayal seemed more painful for Santiva than his physical injury from which he had fully recovered.
'TBI's a hard place to maintain perspective,” he finished.
She hugged him in response and told him to get some rest. “Besides, I've known, Eriq. It isn't as if you aren't completely transparent, getting in my way like you do on case after damned case.”
“ You knew what was going on all along? From the beginning?”
“ I did-since the Phantom case that took us all over the American West, I've known, although I suspect it's been as long as when you and I teamed up on the Night Crawler case in Florida.” But in fact, she lied. She hadn't known for certain until now. She had been far too fixated and obsessed with saving DeCampe from certain death to play the petty politics game, but a white lie now would assuage his feelings.
“ How is J. T. this morning?” he asked.
“ He's out of the coma and doing well. His doctors are pleased with his progress.”
“ Well, I'd best go. Lot of garbage to take out today. Meeting again with new management.”
“ Sounds like gut-wrenching fun.”
“ Just wanted you to know to watch your back, Jess, especially with that old South Dakota case you were pursuing before all the shit hit the fan with Judge DeCampe.”
She nodded and watched Eriq walk away. She wondered if she'd be working with him again, or if the ongoing shuffle would change the dynamics at their Quantico headquarters. She also wondered how the strange case of Claude Lightfoot figured into the mix; she sensed that her limited interest in the case had sparked some questions in the highest circles of the bureau. Was there some potential embarrassment to the FBI if the Lightfoot case were reopened and the truth crawled out from beneath the boulder that someone or some- ones had placed over it? Perhaps… perhaps it wasn't worth pursuing, or it ought to be left to someone else, someone in a better position to drag out the ugly truth. Perhaps it was altogether someone else's problem. So why was it so snakelike and threatening? Why did it threaten like a cobra trying to find escape from the confined space of her brain? More importantly, was it worth the loss she faced? Was it worth losing everything she had built up over the years: her reputation, her career, her relationships, her every comfort zone?
Jessica had had some inkling before now that the higher ups were curious as to why she had involved herself in the South Dakota case. They would want to know the answers to the standard questions: Why are we footing the bills here? Why are we keeping field operatives in South Dakota busy? Was this a pet project of hers? What were the details? The names and numbers of the situation. And why had she asked field operatives in South Dakota to question a whole population in connection with the death of a young Native American named Claude Lightfoot. It had been a case shunted aside in the '80s, but when a local man came forward to tell the story in toto, and he then mysteriously died before anything was recorded. Previous to his death, two others suspected of being involved in the murder of Lightfoot had died under questionable circumstances. Jessica did not know who might be behind the “sudden death syndrome” of the men she believed to have killed Lightfoot so many years ago, but she feared, unless operatives in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, pursued the case, that no one would ever know the full extent of the story there.
She took a deep breath, turning to go back inside to be with J. T. when she saw a man at the end of the corridor staring. He looked as if he'd been watching with intensity. The stranger then averted his eyes and lifted a newspaper, a sure sign she was under surveillance. Eriq had not been wrong to feel paranoid, after all.
She heard her father's voice in her ear remind her, “When you have a good reason to be paranoid, it's a healthy response. “
She stepped into J. T.'s room.
Meanwhile, back in Houston, Texas, Lucas Stonecoat did not appreciate the fact that the Houston Police Department's Internal Affairs cops were looking at him for the killings taking place in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, a place where he had friends and maintained a getaway residence. IAD could not abide the smell of so close a coincidence. Of course, they could not prove it, but Lucas had known cases to be built against an innocent man that had stuck, sending people to prison on flimsy evidence.
Lucas wasn't in the business of making life easy for IAD, and so he presented them with multiple alibis for his whereabouts on the successive nights that four men were found killed-execution style-in their homes. One had supposedly been an FBI informant wannabe, who planned to rat out the other three.
Four deaths in two weeks proved an enormous statistic in a city of moderate size and permanent residents. The first death was that of a man who had begun opening talks with local FBI agents. Some of the same men in Sioux Falls, knowing of Lucas Stonecoat's reputation as a tough, uncompromising Texas Cherokee firebrand, believed along with HPD's Internal Affairs that Lucas might well be somehow connected to the series of deaths there. They suspected it was some sort of Native American vengeance-is-mine thing. So, naturally, Lucas fit the ready bill.
“ This is all I need,” Lucas complained to Meredyth, where they sat in Tebo's Bar and Grill, having a drink. “I can't believe that IAD is seriously looking at me for what's going on in Sioux Falls.”
“ They're looking closely at every step you take,” she told him. “But then, haven't they always? Ever since you became a Houston cop.”
“ Since I didn't play ball with Dallas over their stripping me of my benefits, you mean. If I can sue Dallas for what they owe me, they figure I can sue Houston. That I'm one mother fucking litigious red man, right?”
She laughed at this, and he grudgingly joined her, but after a sip of his Budweiser, he grew serious again. “Why is it that everybody is so freaking interested in investigating my activities? What's the goddamn fascination? Sometimes, just sometimes I wish I were this… this outlaw that everyone paints me.”
“ Really, now?”
“ Then maybe I could have half the fun everyone thinks I'm having.”
“ Fun as in killing those men in South Dakota?”
He stared hard into her eyes. “You're not among the fools who have me running around on some blood feud, are you?”
“ You know they're talking to the FBI about you?”
“ Are you serious?”
“ Absolutely.”
“ And just how have you come by this information, Mere?” He watched her closely for her reply and how she would say it, and what she would do with her eyes, her hands-clenched or opened-and how she would look when she said it-eyes averted or straight on. She grabbed hold of his hands with a grip that hurt, and she stared deeply into his eyes-both good signs.
“ They came to me… with a lot of questions.”
“ Who? Who exactly came to you?”
“ Houston field operatives from the local FBI.”
“ Sons of bitches at IAD are collaborating with them?”
“ Most likely, yes.”
“ But you're not sure?”
“ Lucas, they think I might know something that could hurt you.”
He laughed. “You've always known something that could hurt me.”
“ But you told me the blackouts had ceased.”
“ They have ceased. You can hurt me far worse than telling my enemies my weaknesses. You can hurt me by becoming my enemy. How long ago did this meeting take place, Mere?”
“ I didn't know what to think. They laid out their case against you, and it sounded-sounds-fairly strong.”