Time of Attack by Marc Cameron Read Free Book Online Page B

dress. She snuggled next to Quinn, offering physical and moral support. He returned the gesture, arm around her waist, hand on the swell of her hip, to draw her even closer. Thibodaux raised the brow over his functional eye. Like a good partner, he said nothing, waiting instead for Quinn to fill them in about Kim’s condition on his own time.
    The African American agent extended his hand. He looked fresh out of the OSI Basic in Glynco. “Mr. Quinn,” he said, shaking Jericho’s hand. The formal title of Mister when addressing an agent who was an officer allowed OSI personnel, whether they were enlisted, officers, or civilian, to leave everyone’s rank a mystery in the event their investigation led them to question a superior. “I’m Special Agent Torrance, Field Investigations Squadron here at the Academy. This is—”
    “Mike DeKirk, FBI,” the agent in the sport coat said, cutting him off. He had a strong Texas accent, which put a frown on Thibodaux’s face as soon as he heard it. Texans had a way of ruffling the Cajun’s feathers.
    Jericho shook their hands. “Thanks for coming so fast.” He glanced up at Thibodaux, filling him in. “They’ve had her in surgery for a while now. I’m still not sure what’s going on. Is Camille still okay to watch Mattie?”
    “No worries, l’ami,” the Cajun said. “She can drop off the boys with the Bruns and bring Mattie over when you give the word.”
    Jericho nodded. “I’m sure Kim will want to see her as soon as she wakes up.” If she wakes up . . . He pushed the thought out of his mind.
    DeKirk cleared his throat. “I hate to interrupt, but as you know, time is of the essence in these cases. Is there anything you can tell us that might help find who did this?”
    Quinn took a deep breath, started to say something, then changed his mind. “I really wish I could.”
    “Nothing at all?” DeKirk pressed—as any good investigator would. “Does your wife have anyone that might want to hurt her?”
    Quinn shook his head.
    “I know it’s difficult,” DeKirk shrugged. “But I need you to think. Anyone at all, jealous boyfriends—maybe any of your old girlfriends—”
    Agent Torrance shook his head. “Might not be the best time to worry with that,” he said, nudging DeKirk.
    “And how about you, Mr. Quinn?” DeKirk said. For some reason, Mister sounded much less polite when it came from the FBI agent’s mouth. “You have any enemies?”
    “I’m sure I have a few,” Quinn said.
    “Care to go into any detail?” DeKirk shrugged. “This shooter was a professional. You need to tell me what you know.”
    “Listen,” Quinn said evenly, keeping his voice low so the young couple across the room couldn’t hear. “I know you’re just doing your job, DeKirk. Believe me, I want to catch whoever did this worse than you—”
    “Do you, Quinn?” DeKirk’s eyes narrowed. “Because it seems like you’re holding something back. It looks to me like you don’t give a shit if your ex-wife’s shooter gets away.”
    Quinn took a deep breath, held it, gritting his teeth. Ronnie touched his arm, surely feeling he was about to explode.
    “Come on.” Agent Torrance put up a hand again. “This isn’t the time or place.”
    DeKirk glared at the young agent. “Don’t tell me about time and place.”
    Thibodaux took a half step forward, closing on DeKirk with his intimidating height. “We all get the good cop bad cop thing,” he said, voice flat. “But you press this now, while it’s still touch and go with Kim’s surgery, and it’ll be good cop, flat-on-his-ass cop.”
    Quinn counted to ten before speaking.
    “I will tell you everything I know, but I’ll have to get you cleared first. Then I’ll need everything you have on this.”
    “Not the way it works, Quinn,” DeKirk said, dispensing with the Mister . “You know that. In situations of terrorism, the Bureau has the ball. Somebody shot your ex. I feel for you, I honestly do, but you’re way