Chapter 13 #3
“The hero of the day isn’t going to have to get a grille, is he?” Kincaid inquired from behind Cloister.
The sound of his voice made Cloister’s shoulders stiffen with the leftover resentment from the earlier interrogation. He knew better. Bourneville picked up his tension and growled, the sound bubbling blood between her teeth.
“No,” he told her. She stopped, but kept her eyes on Kincaid.
“He doesn’t like me.”
Cloister took his attention off Bon long enough to look up at Kincaid. “That’s not true,” he said. “I don’t like you, she can just tell. I would step back, though.”
Kincaid smiled and took one small pace backward. “Sorry, ‘she.’ I didn’t mean to get that wrong.”
“You did,” Cloister corrected him. “Not sure why. She doesn’t care. Lemme see, Bon.”
She gave him an aggrieved look but let him coax her jaws apart. Teeth still looked fine. She’d just managed to take a chunk out of her own tongue during the fight.
That would heal. Cloister let her close her mouth and gave her a scratch under her chin for her trouble.
“It was worth a shot,” Kincaid said. Out of the corner of his eye, Cloister saw the man shrug.
His jacket shifted with the gesture enough to show the gun holstered under his arm, black strapping stark against his light-colored shirt.
“That’s the thing about finding weak spots, Deputy Witte.
People protect the ones they know about, the obvious ones, so sometimes you have to take a stab at the more…
unexpected…vulnerabilities. Like an old truck.
I mean, that wasn’t the photo I was expecting to get your goat.
Don’t suppose you’ll tell me why that one worked? ”
Cloister snorted his opinion of that as he finished his methodical post-takedown check of Bourneville with a quick paw check. She had a few lumps coming up and a patch of hair missing from her neck, but nothing that would slow her down. She was going to need a good wash, though.
“That’s OK,” Kincaid said. “I’ll work it out.”
Cloister unfolded himself from the ground and stood up. He rubbed his thumb along the edge of his jaw, the tight line of dried blood itchy as he picked it off his skin.
“What do you want?” he asked.
Kincaid looked amused. “Straight to the point,” he said. “I could get used to that.”
He nodded toward the ambulance, where a handful of his neatly-suited agents were in a standoff with the uniformed deputies.
“This is a federal investigation, and that man has material information in an ongoing investigation,” Kincaid said. “I’m taking him.”
It wasn’t a question. Even if it was, Cloister didn’t have the standing to argue with the Feds. That would be Frome’s problem to deal with. He waited. So did Kincaid for a second; then he sighed and rolled his eyes.
“Obviously you know better than to think you get a say,” he said.
“But someone will. Eventually. I’ll fight that out in the courts, I have before, but I don’t want my investigation tarnished because of a Fourth Amendment violation.
So…it turns out that I didn’t have grounds for my investigation.
You were officially unsuspended about an hour ago.
Sorry, I didn’t write you in on that. But good news for your lawyer. Bad news for his. Congratulations.”
It should have been good news.
It was good news.
Cloister just wished it had come from a different source.
“I take it you’re holding onto the right to reopen it at any time you feel the need?” he said.
“Don’t get in my way,” Kincaid said, “I won’t feel the need.”
He turned to head toward the ambulance. Cloister hesitated. The reluctance to ask surprised him. Usually he didn’t let what he wanted get in the way of a case, but the thought of asking Kincaid for anything caught in his throat. He got over it.
“Wait,” he said. “Can I talk to him before you take him in?”
Kincaid turned. He kept walking, backwards now. He raised an eyebrow. “You had plenty of time to say whatever you needed to him. He’s mine now.”
“You found Joel,” Cloister said. He took a step after Kincaid. “But there’s still someone missing, and I think he’s involved with what happened to Joel. I think he’s why she went dark.”
Something flashed over Kincaid’s face. Cloister wasn’t sure what it was, but it took Kincaid’s facade of light mockery with it. He stopped dead and took back one of the steps between him and Cloister, one finger up to jab at Cloister.
Without thinking, Cloister reached down and grabbed Bourneville before she could get past him. He could feel her grumbled growl against his hand as he dug his fingers into her scruff, but she didn’t fight him when he pulled her back. To his credit, Kincaid didn’t back down.
“I just gave you an olive branch, Deputy Witte,” he said. “That’s not something I do often, or happily. I know you’re smarter than you look. It’s time to prove it. Take the olive branch. Stay out of my way.”
“Or what?”
Kincaid smiled. “I like you, Deputy Witte,” he said. “I really do. Stay in your lane.”
He turned on his heel and stalked away. Cloister watched him go.
“This is my lane.”