Chapter 56
Two weeks later, Jane sat at her desk, moving through a list of subpoenas she needed to file.
Her days had been getting better, full of paperwork and investigations, though her nights had become torture, with sleep next to impossible.
At least the shooting had been justified, as the mandatory investigation had concluded.
Yet instead of feeling bothered that she’d taken a life, she felt nothing.
She’d been forced to talk to a counselor about the shooting. She’d seen the woman once more after her initial interview and secretly admitted the session had helped.
Jane wasn’t the only one in the office having trouble getting over ASAC Matthew Scott’s death, though. Sandy had been hit pretty hard. She’d wept in the middle of the day a few times, apologizing as she admitted she couldn’t get over Matthew.
No one mentioned it.
For her part, Jane had doubled down on her exercise regimen, spending any spare time in Bainbridge at the ranch’s shooting range. She shouldn’t have been so affected by Matthew’s death, she kept telling herself. People in dangerous lines of work died. Period.
But she couldn’t let it go.
Her uncle had called to tell her she’d done good work, as had Hal.
Diego, like Gunther, had vanished. Having been warned not to question it, Jane didn’t try to track either one of them down.
Lionel Gambol showed up the past Friday afternoon in Haversham’s office to let her know they didn’t need to have words after all. A simple thank you, then he left.
Haversham had given her a questioning look, to which she’d shrugged. Then he, too, had thanked her. He seemed tired, and she wondered if he also had trouble sleeping. Maybe it was the season. Fall was a time of dying, after all.
No matter how hard she worked or how long she trained, Jane couldn’t let her dissatisfaction with the home invasion case go.
They’d caught the killers. Everyone involved was dead.
Right?
Why didn’t she feel settled?
And why had she broken down in tears at home yesterday while washing her kitchen counter? Did she now find dirt sad?
Annoyed with herself, she buckled down even harder, working several cases and updating reports that didn’t need the updates yet. She’d just end up redoing them later.
But she didn’t stop working.
SSA Grimshaw stopped by her desk, and Jane realized nearly everyone else had gone. “Go home, Jane. I don’t want to see you in here until Wednesday.”
Jane frowned. “Today’s Monday.”
“Exactly.” Grimshaw pointed at her with a manicured finger. “If I hear you’re coming in on weekends again without an active case, I’ll go to Haversham and bench you for a while.”
“You can’t do that.” At her boss’s expression, Jane sighed. “You can. I know. Fine. I’ll get more rest and talk to Dr. Feel Good again.”
Grimshaw nodded. “Excellent. Now go home.” She tossed a letter on Jane’s desk. “Oh, and this came for you. Someone left it on my desk by mistake. Now get out of here.” Grimshaw departed.
“Fine, fine.” Jane tucked her service weapon in her waist holster and grabbed her purse. But before she left, she studied the large Kraft envelope. Just her name on the outside.
Inside it, she saw a smaller, card-size white envelope decorated with a foiled purple crown.
“What is this? A personalized invitation to a party?”
She opened it and read, The rook is dead. The board is open. The king is vulnerable. It’s your move, Agent Cannon.
Jane studied the note.
And smiled.
She tucked it into her purse and left for the night, determined to do as her boss had said. She didn’t want anything in her way when she got back to work Wednesday.
Jane had a job to do, and nothing would keep her from taking out the king this time.
Long live the queen.
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