MONDAY

TWENTY-SEVEN

Nick Shelton had not been entirely forthcoming when he'd told Jeffrey the Georgia Bureau of Investigation could only step in when the local law enforcement agency asked them to. There was one exception to this rule: when the local law enforcement was so corrupt that there was no other choice but for the state agency to come in and clean house. You didn't get more corrupt than trying to blow up a cop and a police chief's wife in a meth lab, and the state agency had swarmed into Elawah County like a pack of angry hornets.

Jeffrey had been halfway between Coastal State Prison and Reece when his cell phone rang. He hadn't recognized the number, but knew the voice as soon as he picked up.

'I'm okay,' Sara told him, not even bothering with the formalities. Her words had stopped his heart in his chest, because you didn't say you were okay unless you'd been decidedly un-okay before.

Sara was calling him from the back of an ambulance; the siren in the background competed with her voice. She had laid out everything she could remember, from Valentine pulling the gun to Bart injecting her with something that had knocked her out. By the time she'd finished the story, Jeffrey's jaw was so tight that he could barely form words. He had been blowing smoke up Ethan Green's ass while Sara had been in mortal danger.

He would never forgive himself for leaving her alone with Valentine. If the man was not already dead, Jeffrey would have found him and done the deed himself.

Two hours later, when he had finally reached the hospital, Sara seemed more concerned about Lena than herself. She was worried about the plastic surgeon being good enough to fix the burn on her hand, scared an infection would set up in her lungs, sure that the pulmonologist didn't know what he was doing. She'd been almost manic, pacing back and forth as she spouted her concerns until Jeffrey had physically stopped her.

'I'm okay,' she kept telling him, long after he figured out the words were more for her own benefit than his. Even when he drove her back to Grant County, she kept telling him that she was fine. It wasn't until last night that she'd finally broken down. He'd told her he was returning to Reece to help Nick Shelton interrogate Fred Bart. She hadn't told him not to go, but this morning, he'd felt like a criminal as he sneaked out of the house before she woke up.

Jeffrey pulled up in front of the Elawah County jail, vowing that this really would be the last time he laid eyes on the place. There was a HAZMAI truck parked in the lot, a couple of government types milling around and drinking coffee. After the explosion at Hank's house, they had evacuated his neighborhood within half a square mile so they could clean up the toxic waste. The only things left of the sheriff were bits of DNA they'd found in the yard and the man's severed hand.

Jake Valentine. Jeffrey felt sick every time he thought about the man. Now that Valentine was dead, they'd found out all sorts of interesting things about him. His modest house in town was obviously his idea of slumming. He owned a large cabin at the lake with two powerboats docked outside. His arrest jacket was pretty clean, but his brother's was another matter. David Valentine had been stabbed to death in a knife fight with a rival skinhead gang, but judging from his rap sheet, he'd been pretty high up in the Brotherhood. Arson, rape, assault with a deadly weapon, attempted murder.

Valentine must have learned from his brother's mistakes; he'd kept a low profile. Except for a misdemeanor arrest for public drunkeness back in college, there was nothing on Jake Valentine's record that would tell you he was a skinhead drug trafficker running millions of dollars worth of meth. The missing piece of the puzzle was Myra, his wife. Myra Valentine, nee Fitzpatrick, was the baby sister of Jerry and Carl Fitzpatrick, the leaders of the Brotherhood of the True White Race. Their parents had moved to Elawah after their hometown in New Hampshire had made it clear that they didn't want the family of a cop killer living in their midst. Myra had liked it in Reece well enough to stay. Jake Valentine had married into a powerful family, and like most powerful families, they had found a way to employ their shiftless brother-in-law.

Nick had sent out a request to the Brotherhood's New Hampshire compound, asking to interview Myra. The compound had not replied.

Jeffrey had never entirely trusted Jake Valentine, but he'd been so damn hot on putting Ethan in the middle of everything that he'd let Sara and Lena go off alone with the man. Jeffrey didn't know whether to feel angry or ashamed at his own blindness. He remembered Grover Gibson's words that day Jeffrey and Valentine had gone to the man's shack in the woods to tell him that his son was dead.

'You did this to him!' Grover had screamed, fists flying as he jumped the sheriff. 'You killed him!'

Valentine had set it up so well, warning Jeffrey ahead of time that Grover blamed him for his dead son's drug dependency. Jeffrey had actually helped defend the sheriff.

He couldn't dwell on that now, because it only made him furious. Fred Bart had to be his focus now. The slimy dentist was the only one left to punish, and he seemed intent on fighting it every step of the way. He'd been in his office filling a cavity when Don Cook finally got around to looking for him. Bart insisted it was sheer coincidence that the patient in his chair also happened to be his lawyer. Nick was sure that Jeffrey could help him break the man. Jeffrey didn't share the state agent's optimism. Elawah County was built on secrets that went back decades. The town thrived on looking the other way. Jeffrey doubted very seriously anyone was about to change that, especially Fred Bart.

The jail lobby was even more claustrophobic than Jeffrey remembered. Don Cook was probably in the sheriff's office upstairs, measuring for new furniture. Nick was seated at the man's desk, thumbing through one of the deputy's hunting magazines. He glanced up when he saw Jeffrey. 'You look like hell, man.'

'Sara's not too happy about me being here.'

'She'll get over it,' Nick said, but Jeffrey wasn't too sure. 'I'm real tore up about Bob Burg, man. They picked him up last night.'

Jeffrey felt the same way. He'd assumed Burg was one of the good guys, but the GBI agent had apparently been taking money for years. 'Is he saying anything?'

'Not a peep,' Nick answered. 'Bob's not stupid. He knows he's not going to see daylight for a while, and he's not about to rat out a damn skinhead.'

'You didn't find anything about Hank contacting him?'

'Bob didn't write down jack, man. Even if he did, we'd need him to testify, and there's no way he'll flip. Those Nazi fuckwads are everywhere. Bob's gonna be sleeping with one eye open for the rest of his life.'

Jeffrey guessed that was some kind of payback.

'How's Lena doing?'

'Fine,' he answered, glad to be talking about something else. 'She's gonna need therapy for her lungs, but she should be ready to go back home by the middle of next week.' He added, 'They moved her to the same hospital as Hank last night.'

'How's he doing?'

'Better. Still not out of the woods yet. What about Bart – he doing any talking yet?'

'Shit,' Nick mumbled, standing from the desk. 'He's doing nothin' but talking. That jackass thinks he can squirm his way out of anything. Claims Lena must've been high from the chemicals, that she's remembering it all wrong. His lawyer says Bart will tell us everything he knows about Valentine if the charges are reduced to reckless endangerment.'

Jeffrey laughed for the first time in days. 'He really thinks he's gonna walk away from this?'

'His lawyer indicated he'd be open to probation with time served.'