The Devils Teardrop by Jeffery Deaver Read Free Book Online

coconspirator, Stephie. Word of visitors spreads fast in a household of children. They edged closer to the door, gazing out at Cage and the woman.
    Parker turned and bent down. “Don’t you two have something to do up in your rooms? Something very important?”
    “No,” Stephie said.
    “Uh-uh,” Robby confirmed.
    “Well, I think you do.”
    “What?”
    “How many Legos are on the floor? How many Micro Machines?”
    “A couple,” Robby tried.
    “A couple of hundred? ”
    “Well,” the boy said, grinning.
    “Upstairs now . . . Up, up, or the monster’ll take you up there himself. Do you want the monster? Do you?”
    “No!” Stephie shrieked.
    “Go on,” Parker said, laughing. “Let Daddy talk to his friend here.”
    As they started up the stairs Cage said, “Oh, not hardly a friend. Right, Parker?”
    He didn’t respond. He closed the door behind him and turned back, appraising the woman. She was in her thirties, with a narrow, smooth face. Pale, nothing like Joan’s relentless tan. She wasn’t looking at Parker but was watching Robby climb the stairs through the lace-curtained window beside the door. She then turned her attention to him and reached out a strong hand with long fingers. She shook his hand firmly. “I’m Margaret Lukas. ASAC at the Washington field office.”
    Parker recalled that within the Bureau assistant special agents in charge were referred to by the acronym, pronounced A-sack, while the heads of the offices were called S-A-C’s. An aspect of his former life he hadn’t thought about for years.
    She continued, “Could we come inside for a minute?”
    A parental warning alarm went off. He responded, “You mind if we stay out here? The children . . .”
    Her eyes flickered and he wondered if she considered this a snub. But that was just too bad; the kids’ exposure to the Bureau was limited to sneaking a look at Scully and Mulder on The X-Files when sleeping overat friends’ houses. He planned on keeping it that way.
    “Fine with us,” Cage said for both of them. “Hey, last time I saw you . . . man, it was a while ago. We were at Jimmy’s, you know, his thing on Ninth Street.”
    “That’s right.”
    It was in fact the last time Parker Kincaid had been at the Bureau headquarters. Standing in the large courtyard surrounded by the somber stone building. A hot July day two years ago. He still got occasional e-mails about what a fine speech he’d delivered at the memorial service for Jim Huang, who was one of Parker’s former assistants. He’d been gunned down on his first day as a field agent.
    Parker remained silent.
    Cage nodded after the kids. “They’re growing.”
    “They do that,” Parker answered. “What exactly is it, Cage?”
    The agent gave a shrug toward Lukas.
    “We need your help, Mr. Kincaid,” she said quickly, before the stream of breath accompanying Parker’s question evaporated.
    Parker tilted his head.
    “It’s nice out here,” Cage said, looking up. “Fresh air. Linda and I should move. Get some land. Maybe Loudon County. You watch the news, Parker?”
    “I listen.”
    “Huh?”
    “Radio. I don’t watch TV.”
    “That’s right. You never did.” Cage said to Lukas, “‘Wasteland,’ he’d call TV. He read a lot. Words’re Parker’s domain. His bailiwick, whatever the hell a bailiwick is. You told me your daughter reads like crazy. She still do that?”
    “The guy in the subway,” Parker said. “That’s what you’re here about.”
    “METSHOOT,” Lukas said. “That’s what we’ve acronymed it. He killed twenty-three people. Wounded thirty-seven. Six children were badly injured. There was a—”
    “What is it you want?” he interrupted, worried that his own children might hear this.
    Lukas responded, “This’s important. We need your help.”
    “What on earth could you possibly want from me? I’m retired.”
    Cage said, “Uh-huh. Sure. Retired.”
    Lukas frowned, looked from one to the other.
    Was this