Only the Hunted Run by Neely Tucker Page A

have a first name, Agent Gill?”
    â€œWe seem to be losing the thread,” she said.
    â€œYour thread,” Sully said, “and mine are not the same.”
    He got a glare this time, from the guy on her right. The guy’s pen had been twitching the whole time, taking notes, and now he raised his chin and leaned into the table, like you do when you have to pull up your socks. “Look, Carter,” he said. “This—”
    â€œSpecial Agent Alma T. Gill,” she said.
    â€œWell then, Special Agent Alma T. Gill,” Sully said, “the fuck business is it of yours?”
    â€œHey hey HEY,” Chin Man said, bolting upright, his partner doing the same on her left, R.J. and Lewis matching them, everybody pointing and raising voices, tempers flaring for the second or third time now.
    â€œI’d heard about you, Carter,” the man on her right started in again, “and I’m not going to—”
    â€œI wasn’t talking to you, champ,” Sully interrupted, not even glancing his way. “I’s talking to your boss.”
    â€œâ€”put up with, what did you say to me?”
    â€œYou heard. I’m not being deposed here. My boss calls to tell you we have likely contact with the nation’s Most Wanted and you guys show up twenty minutes later all ‘hunh who what,’ like we work for you. Which we don’t. So mind your fucking manners. Agent Gill here, she asked an odd question. You don’t like my answers, yonder’s your door.”
    Now he stood, pushing his chair back and taking three steps, no fooling around with this bullshit.
    â€œI was asking,” she said, her voice smooth as buttermilk, “because I wanted to know if you thought he was baiting you. Taunting you that your mother’s killer was never caught.”
    Sully stopped, the room heavy, the hum of the air-conditioning the only sound. He eyed her for a moment, then sat back down.
    â€œNo,” he said.
    There was nothing else, her just looking at him, waiting.
    â€œHe was commiserating. In my opinion.”
    â€œHow do you think he could have learned of your mother’s death?”
    â€œHe would have seen my byline then looked me up on the Internet. It’s not hard.”
    She nodded. No recognition in the eyes, though, that she knew what he was talking about.
    â€œLike you could have, before you showed up.”
    â€œSully,” R.J. whispered, thumping a knee against his.
    â€œWe’ve had a rather busy morning,” she said. “We came as soon as your editor alerted us to the contact. There wasn’t, isn’t, time for research. Apologies if you’re offended I don’t know who you are.”
    Sully gave her a half smile.
    â€œDon’t get it twisted, Special Agent Alma T. Gill. I know a misquote when I hear one. I said you could have found out who my
mother
was. I didn’t say shit about me. But I got blown up in Bosnia. This beingWashington and my employer being a fancy newspaper, it got reported. A couple of stories, some segments on the nightly news. My mother’s murder was mentioned as biography. Nothing huge but it’s on the Web. All I’s trying to tell you is that he didn’t have to be a genius, or take a lot of time, to get that intel.”
    â€œMay I ask how your mother was killed?”
    â€œShot to death. Tula, Louisiana. In her hair salon, such as it was. Cash left in the register. No apparent motive, no suspects. Three shots, two to the head.”
    â€œDid he say how his mother was killed?”
    â€œThanks for asking her name.”
    â€œWhat was your mother’s name?”
    â€œCyndy. Cynthia.”
    â€œI am sorry for your loss.”
    â€œYou’re so kind to say so.”
    â€œDid he say how his mother was killed?”
    â€œNo. I asked. He said he might could tell me later.”
    â€œDid he blame Representative Edmonds for her death?”
    â€œNo.