Acoustic Shadows by Patrick Kendrick

was taken care of, if they didn’t get off scene quickly, more and more motorists would come up and say they were hurt. It was as if these people would convince themselves that they must be hurt, too, if they were just
near
such an accident. Most of them were opportunists looking to get their name on an accident report so they could sue somebody. People want to blame somebody for something, then lawyer up and make money off it.’
    They were at the limo now, the governor’s driver holding the back door open for him. Thiery didn’t know quite what to make of the governor’s soliloquy, but he refused to play into his hands. He pulled back his jacket sleeve and looked at his watch. Almost ten o’clock. He felt his neck stiffen from fatigue and not a little bit of anger.
This governor is an asshole
, he reminded himself.
Just let it be
.
    ‘By the way, Agent Thiery, I talked to the President today. He’s going to come down here, talk to the families of the deceased. He’s fascinated with this woman; the teacher who shot the intruders. He’s going to want to talk to her, in particular. Better get to her quickly, before she lawyers up, too.’
    ‘I’m doing my job, sir,’ said Thiery, dryly.
    ‘Good,’ said Croll, regaining his shit-eating grin. ‘Keep it moving. Let’s clear the scene,
capiche?
’
    Thiery was looking around for his innocuous sedan when he saw Sara Logan standing among the parked cars, watching him, tapping her lower lip with her cell phone. He hadn’t seen her in three years. She looked the same. Blonde, short-cropped, spiky hair, green eyes that slanted up at the corners, a nose that looked fragile, mocha skin. She had a scar on her chin from running through a glass door when she was a teenager. She’d been banging the neighbour’s son when her father came looking for her. She ran through the glass like Bruce Willis in an action film. Still, the scar didn’t detract from her exotic looks. Gorgeous, but the word
carnivorous
came to Thiery’s mind. His stomach filled with crawling things and he drew in a breath.
    He’d weaned himself off her after she’d dumped him, let her come back to his bed from time to time, until it was more painful to see her than get laid, then swore off her. She took it with a shrug of her shoulders. She’d made it clear she wasn’t looking for a relationship. She was looking for a hard, sweaty lay, and that’s what she used Thiery for. She and her much older husband, a contractor who built bridges, had made the choice not to have children. He had grown-up kids from a previous marriage. He wanted to travel, eat out every night, and have an attractive young lady on his arm. She could fulfil that obligation and still maintain her career, which she loved because it validated her professionalism and allowed her certain freedoms.
    Thiery had just been a glorified dildo for her.
    ‘Hi, Sara,’ said Thiery, trying to find his voice.
    She used that smile that was warm, welcoming, and as disingenuous as a Coach purse sold on the streets of Bangladesh. She stepped closer, placing her hand on his shoulder and pushed herself against his chest. A light kiss on his cheek – very, very near his mouth – then she pulled away, leaving a cloud of musky scent that made him want to throw her in the back seat of the nearest car.
    He hated himself for that.
    ‘Hi, Justin,’ she said, completely aware of what she did to him, to most men. ‘Bad day, huh?’
    He cleared his throat, attempting to regain some semblance of professionalism. She was looking him over again, assessing him.
    ‘What’s your role here, exactly?’ he asked.
    She let her eyes roam over him without hurry, or embarrassment. Her pupils were dilated. ‘Whatever you need,’ she said, the double entendre dripping off her words. That smile again. ‘I’m here for federal presence in case there’s something beyond what it looks like.’
    ‘Well,’ said Thiery, ‘on the surface, it seems like most school