Blood Ties by Kay Hooper Page A

we’ll see you in the morning.”
    Duncan escorted the agents as far as his small bullpen, where one of his part-time deputies, without the sense to even try to look professional, was leaned back in his chair, feet up on his desk, reading a magazine. A second part-timer was staring intently at her computer monitor.
    The two full-time deputies for this shift were out on patrol.
    Without bothering to remove his feet or put down his magazine, Dale McMurry said, “Somebody delivered rental SUVs for the agents, Sheriff. I was told to say they’re parked out front, keys under the mats.”
    Before Duncan could think too much about “rental” vehicles in a town that didn’t boast a rental company or ask any questions about who had delivered said vehicles, Miranda said pleasantly, “We’ll just leave them out front tonight, if they won’t be a bother parked there.”
    “No, no bother. Lock ‘em up, but they shouldn’t be disturbed here overnight. See you folks in the morning.”
    As the doors closed behind the agents, McMurry said plaintively, “I thought feds always wore them jackets with FBI written in huge letters on the back.”
    Bobbie Silvers said, “You watch too much TV. This is a small town, and they don’t want to stand out any more than they have to.”
    I’m going to lose her to some outfit in a much larger town . Duncan sighed and said to her, “Any luck?”
    “No, sorry, Sheriff. I’ve been through all the calls we’ve gotten in the last month—four times now, just to be sure I didn’t miss anything—and not a single still-missing person is in here.”
    “Okay. Reach out to the surrounding counties, at least a hundred-mile-radius. Sheriff’s departments, police departments, highway patrol. And the state bureau too. Find out who’s on their missing-persons list and whether any of the names might even possibly match up with our victims.”
    “Will do, Sheriff.”
    “Neil, you go on home and get some rest,” Duncan told his chief deputy. “I’ll need you back here first thing tomorrow.”
    “Right.”
    McMurry said, “What about me?”
    Duncan stared at him. “You get your feet off the desk, Dale. And then I want you to find some WD-40 and go into the conference room and oil every one of those goddamn chairs.”
    BJ watched.
    The building was old, its bricks musty and, on this northern side that would be shadowed even in daylight, smelling faintly of damp. But in the little-used alleyway between it and the building beside it, he was surrounded by darkness and felt sheltered.
    Protected.
    He watched them as he’d learned long ago to watch a dog whose temperament he was uncertain of, almost from the corner of his eye rather than directly. He glanced at them and then away, allowed his gaze to roam among them without lingering, avoiding a stare that one or more of them would likely sense.
    They were special, and he had to be careful; he had learned that much today.
    But it was surprising how much one could see only in glances.
    Five of them, wearing casual clothing designed to help them blend in or, at the very least, not stand out as feds. Two men, three women. Mostly, he judged, in their thirties, people who moved with the ease of those comfortable inside their trained and active bodies. Strolling along the sidewalk, moving slowly up the hill toward the B&B where he knew they would be staying, at least for tonight.
    They had stopped at one of the two restaurants along the way from the sheriff’s department, sitting at one table near the front window as they ate and talked among themselves. He had seen a few smiles but judged that they had not engaged in a great deal of meaningless social conversation.
    He wondered if, in another place or time, they would be friends.
    Still, there was a look about them he recognized. Like soldiers in the same battle unit or cops walking the same beat, they were all focused on the same things, the same tasks and information. And they carried that air about