Adam didn’t have an answer. Not true. He did have an answer. He was the last person to judge someone like Bill. He hadn’t had a breakdown after the Conway case, but it had been close, and for a time he’d been popping Xanax like breath mints, and seeing the departmental counselor on a regular basis. So yes, he understood all about weakness and vulnerability.

But he couldn’t explain that to Rob, not when Rob was looking at him with that mix of dislike and disgust. Besides, this was clearly not just about Bill Constantine, and since he couldn’t tell Rob what he wanted to hear…maybe it was preferable to be thought a cold-hearted robot than someone terrified to take a chance on being wrong. On getting hurt.

Adam grimaced. “I apologize. I know I overstepped.”

“You did. Yeah. And the next interview I conduct will be without you.”

That hurt even more than the rest of it, and Adam didn’t have a response.

Rob must have felt that he’d won that round because without another word he threw the SUV into gear and they started back to town.

Adam had grown used to Rob’s usual chatty friendliness, and the silence made the drive feel twice as long. He almost apologized again. But it wasn’t really an apology Rob was looking for. Or maybe it was. Rob had made a point of how he never lacked for company, of how much he enjoyed playing the field. Maybe he was just looking for Adam to grovel. In which case, he could keep looking. Point taken. Move on.

They were still not speaking when they reached the sheriff’s office. Adam spotted his rental car parked in front, so Russell had returned from his mysterious trip to Medford. Great.

As they walked through the front doors, Aggie glanced up and said quietly, “Trouble.” She seemed to be speaking to Adam.

“It’s about time you two wandered home,” Frankie called. “Come and say hello. We’ve got company.”

Through the doorway to Frankie’s office, Adam could see part of Russell’s face. He was smiling at someone on the other side of the room, and Adam’s nerves wrenched still tighter.

What the hell was going on?

He mentally squared himself, strolled through the doorway, and found the small room crowded with blue and gold FBI jackets. Russell was seated in Rob’s usual chair in front of Frankie’s desk. A large, blond man, a stranger to Adam but instantly recognizable as the agent in charge, was taking up a good portion of wall real estate. And a woman—Jonnie—sat in the other chair facing Frankie.

Adam’s instinctive pleasure at seeing Jonnie was doused by the realization that something was very wrong—confirmed by Jonnie’s brief, troubled smile of greeting.

“Looky what I got,” Frankie said in that same tone of forced joviality. “I ask the FBI for a little help and before I know it, I’ve got half the profilers at Quantico taking up all the chairs in my office.” She pointed at Rob. “That’s my second in command, Robert Haskell. And I guess you already know Special Agent Darling.”

“No,” the blond man said. “I don’t know Agent Darling. I’ve heard of him though.” And clearly it was all bad. His smile was somehow more alarming than other people’s scowls.

Jonnie said, “Adam, this is Unit Chief Sam Kennedy.” She didn’t quite cough when she said Unit Chief, but the words did seem to stick in her throat.

And no wonder. Sam Kennedy was a legend. The kind of legend Special Agents in Charge told bad little subordinates who wouldn’t eat their vegetables. The Bureau’s very own Bogeyman.

He was also BAU, which was confusing. What was Jonnie doing with the BAU? What was Jonnie doing here at all?

Kennedy was dressed casually: a bulky sweater beneath the blue and gold FBI parka. It didn’t matter. He was one of the few people in the world you could try and try to picture stark naked and it still wouldn’t diffuse the threat.

“Sir,” Adam said.

“Agent,” Kennedy said. His blue eyes looked like ice chips. “I understand you’re attempting to single-handedly run a serial killer investigation.”

What the…?

Adam looked at Russell. Russell raised his eyebrows as though in polite inquiry.

“No. That’s not the case.” He could feel Rob’s stare, and his face flamed as he wondered suddenly if it was the case. If it was the general opinion of the Nearby Sheriff’s Office that he had overstepped the boundaries. It had certainly been Rob’s opinion half an hour ago—and nobody was speaking up on his behalf now.

Kennedy said, “Sheriff McLellan, do you have a spare office where I can speak to Agent Darling in private?”

Frankie’s eyes met Adam’s. She looked sorry for him. “You can use our interrogation room. Third one off the main room.”

Adam turned. He couldn’t look at Rob. He left Frankie’s office and walked down to the room where he and Rob had interrogated Gibbs that morning—was it only that morning?—listening to the measured tread of Kennedy’s feet behind him.

He felt…well, mostly he just felt numb. Hollow. He couldn’t believe this was happening. He knew with complete certainty that he was about to be fired, and while he could see that he had made a series of missteps—starting with his failure to realize that Russell was a serious enemy—he still couldn’t quite grasp how he’d gotten into this position.

His mouth was dry, there was a block of ice in his belly, and he was desperately afraid that he might look like he was going to cry. He was not going to cry. He was not going to show anything if he could help it.

The door to the interrogation room closed. Kennedy said, “If you’ve got something to say for yourself, Agent, now would be the time.”

Adam turned to face him. He forced himself to sound crisp and unemotional. “Agent Gould and I were here in October on morgue patrol for the Roadside Rip—”

“I already know all this from Gould.” Kennedy cut in. “I want to know what the hell you think you’re doing usurping the authority of a local sheriff’s office and taking over their murder investigation?”

“I’ve done no such thing. We’re here to assist Sheriff McLellan at her request.”

“You’re here,” Kennedy said. “Your partner has been trying unsuccessfully to get you to involve the regional office so that the two of you can return to your own jobs and responsibilities. And you have steadily refused. True?”

Adam swallowed. “Not…completely.”

Kennedy laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. “Out of curiosity, which part of it’s not true?”

“We’ve only been here ninety-six hours. It’s not as though—”

“And an action-packed ninety-six hours they’ve been. There’ve been several search and rescue efforts, a second murder, a shootout with a domestic terrorist, and now you’ve started interrogating suspects in homicide cold cases.”

“Sir—”

“Since you enjoy local policing so much, Agent Darling, I suggest you apply for a position with the Nearby Sheriff’s Office.”

Boom. Done. Quick, clean severing of head from body. He barely even felt it.

He stared at Kennedy. Kennedy stared back, hard-faced and unrelenting. He seemed to be waiting for something.

Oh. Right. Adam’s badge and gun. And probably his laptop too, come to think of it. He couldn’t seem to make himself reach for his ID. He was afraid his hand might shake. But it wasn’t just that. He had worked his entire life—the Bureau was his entire life—

Kennedy cocked an eyebrow. An ice cold bastard to the end. He spread his hands. “Nothing?” he asked. “That’s it? That’s the extent of what you have to say for yourself?”

Adam stared, noncomprehending. Wait. Was it not over?

He said, “I didn’t volunteer to come up here. Sheriff McLellan asked for our help, and that’s what I’ve been trying to provide. It’s a small office, they have limited resources, and yes, I’ve done everything I’ve been asked to do. I thought that was why I was here.”

“Really? Agent Russell believes you’re here because you’ve formed a particular…friendship with Deputy Haskell. In fact, his words were gone native.”