Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 71843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Lifting my head, I found myself looking into the concerned brown eyes of Supervisory Deputy Christopher Becker of the marshals service. Sam had promoted him, and after that, we had gone to many dinners and a few black-tie events with Chris and his lovely wife, Olivia.
My eyes filled fast, and I blamed it on my waning adrenaline, and that I was hurt.
“Why the hell do you have the husband of the chief deputy of the Northern District of Illinois in the back of your car?” Chris asked the man sitting beside me.
I actually heard the guy in the front seat gasp, and Ferryman looked from Chris Becker to me, and then back to Becker. He reminded me of Richard Dreyfuss in Jaws after the shark dives down under the water with three barrels on him. It was that same look of both horror and hopelessness. He too was suddenly far out to sea with no land in sight. If I hadn’t started shaking, I might have been a bit smug, but as it was, I wiped away a stray tear and stayed quiet.
“I’ll call him now,” Chris promised me before looking at Ferryman. “We’re taking the other guys who were in the SUV with Peterson into our custody. You’ve got the ringleader, and I would have said that’s it but…now,” he said with a shrug, “all bets are off.”
“Listen––”
“No,” Chris cut him off. “You’re going to be the one listening, and you know I’m right.”
After a moment, he gave Chris a quick nod.
“Jory,” Chris said gently, “are you okay sitting there, or do you want to come out here with me?”
My teeth started chattering louder in answer.
“Where’s your coat?”
I lifted the keys to my minivan and pointed behind him.
“Okay,” he said before he closed the door, walked around to my side, opened it, took the keys from me, and then closed it quickly, not wanting to let any of the heat escape from the car.
Ferryman coughed softly.
Turning so I could see him, I watched him take a breath, lick his lips, swallow, try to speak, realize he couldn’t, and then cough again.
“You’re married to Sam Kage?” the man in the front seat asked.
I made eye contact with him in the rearview mirror and nodded, expecting him to reply with the words that normally came after that, or used to, the whole, “I had no idea Sam Kage was gay” business. In the past, I would correct people and say, “He’s bi, not gay,” because he was. But I didn’t correct many folks anymore, as in 2020 what Sam Kage did in his bedroom had lost the shock value it once had.
“Your guys are fucked, Kevin,” the guy in the driver’s seat said, shaking his head. “And I told you that the whole bad-boy, glory-hound bullshit they kept chasing after was gonna bite ’em in the ass, and now it––”
“Just––” he hissed, and twisted in his seat to face me. “Mr. Harcourt, if you could see your way clear to––”
My door opened then, and Chris Becker was there holding my parka for me. “Come stand with me now.”
Following directions, I climbed out of the back seat, and Chris slammed the door behind me, helping me put on my coat and then turning me to face him so he could zip me up like I was a little kid.
“We need to talk to Mr. Harcourt,” Ferryman announced to Becker, having gotten out of the other side, and was now standing there, up on the curb, leaning over the roof of the car.
It was noisy outside with so many marked and unmarked cars blocking off the street and different people rushing around in what was clearly a multi-agency task force.
Chris tipped his head to the left. “The chief deputy has arrived. He lives less than five minutes from here. If your boys had waited…” he said with a shrug.
“You were on your way home?” Ferryman asked me.
I nodded before looking for my husband in the crowd. He was easy to spot.
It was a natural thing people did, moved aside for Sam Kage. I always thought it had a lot to do with his walk. He moved fast, always, like he had somewhere important to be. His height and build helped as well. The man had that whole wall-of-muscle thing going for him, and no one wanted to actually get knocked down. Age had gentled him slightly, but still, you felt his presence sometimes even before you saw him.
My son told me he was certain the thing that commanded instant respect, and a fair amount of fear, that encouraged people to clear a path, instantly, for his father, was the look in his eyes. He had noted, on a number of occasions, that he’d seen bigger men than Sam make room for him to walk on by. It was probably all of it together, but I saw him easily as he was crossing the area from the edge of where the police tape was, toward me.