away from her. Strange, Dylan thought, peering at the others and wondering if his confusion was due to the pain meds or if the situation was so convoluted he couldn’t have made sense of it if he’d had his wits about him. Either way, their personal squabble was none of his concern. He had enough problems of his own at the moment.
McCall crossed to him and stopped, his arms folded in a stern, defensive manner. “McIntyre. Stand up,” he ordered. “Sorry, but I need to search you.”
“I don’t have that drive anymore and you know it,” Dylan said, dismayed to hear his words slurring as an effect of the medication.
“Well, I know I put it on my desk and it’s not there now, so you’re our best guess.”
“Why would I take it back? Think about that for a second.” Wincing, Dylan managed to stand although he was wobbly and had to use his good arm to steady himself on a nearby file cabinet.
“Yeah, I know,” McCall told him, sounding truly regretful. “This search is just so we can rule you out.”
“You should ask some of the people I saw milling around in here while you were fighting with your partner.”
“We weren’t fighting.” He started to methodically check Dylan’s pockets. “Who did you see near my desk?”
“Um, can’t say. Sorry.” Dylan rubbed his good hand over his face, trying to clear his mind of cobwebs. “Everybody was kind of blurred, like they were in a fog.”
“Did you see uniforms? Badges? Jackets with U.S. Marshal printed on the back?”
“I don’t think so. Everybody wore street clothes, like you and your partner.” He paused, taking a shaky breath and hoping to regain some of his equilibrium. “So, who’s Daniel and what happened to him?”
The ensuing pause was so long Dylan began to wonder if the man was going to explain.
McCall cleared his throat and continued with the search. “Daniel was one of us. Marshal Summers’ brother. He was killed in the line of duty. You probably read about it in the papers. The story was all over the news right after it happened.”
“If my mind was working normally tonight I’d probably remember,” Dylan said. “Sorry.”
“Yeah, so am I.” The marshal backed away. “You can sit down again. I’m done. You don’t have it on you.”
“That’s what I told you in the first place.” Sinking into the chair with an oomph, Dylan fought to catch his breath as the pain ebbed and flowed in time with his pounding pulse.
“I don’t suppose you made a backup copy.”
“Sure did,” Dylan said, shooting a disparaging look at the marshal. “And I gave it to you.”
“That’s what I was afraid of,” McCall conceded. “Okay, we may as well take you over to the safe house since there are no files for our techs to examine right now.”
“I can’t remember all the adoption cases,” Dylan warned. “Don’t even ask me to. That’s why I kept those records.”
“Understood. But whether or not we find other evidence, you’ll still be needed to testify.”
“You are determined to get me into more hot water, aren’t you?”
“You’re already in up to your neck and plenty close to a boil,” the marshal gibed, helping him to his feet. “Come on. Summers and I’ll take you to your family.”
Dylan was medicated just enough to loosen his tongue. “I haven’t got a family,” he slurred. “I lost ’em. Lost ’em all, just like that.” A feeble attempt to snap his fingers failed and he staggered, nearly falling until the marshal righted him.
“Easy, man. I know how you feel but it won’t do any good to lose sleep over it. Some things are beyond fixing.”
“You sound like you know all about that.”
McCall nodded as Summers joined them. Dylan saw him look straight at her as he quietly said, “Yeah, I do.”
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