My bosses keep telling me to color inside the lines.”
“A bit of a rogue?”
“Not exactly. I don’t do anything illegal. I just don’t fit too well in the box.”
A short sound of amusement escaped him. “The FBI seems like a strange place for someone who doesn’t fit in the box.”
And at last a laugh from her. “It’s interesting, all right. They give me my head sometimes, because I’m good. Was good?” The verb seemed to perplex her for a moment. “Oh, man, the fog and unicorns are here.”
“Try to rustle up a rainbow.”
Giving another laugh, she settled into the chair as if it felt more comfortable now. The sight relieved him. She picked up her coffee and drained half of it, probably trying to keep her head clear. “The pain seems a long way away right now.”
“Good.”
She dragged her gaze back to him. “So no wife?”
“An ex. Years ago.”
“Same here,” she admitted.
“But you said something about him stalking you.”
She lifted both eyebrows. “I did? When?”
“Your call from Fran,” he reminded her.
“Ah. Well, he calls from time to time. Wants to put it back together. But he’s not the kind of stalker I’d be worried about. Just a minor nuisance.”
“And this Tom guy?”
“My ASAC. Trying to mix business with pleasure. Never a good thing.”
“I suppose not.”
“Definitely not. One bad marriage was enough. Mixing it up with a career would be stupid. I’m not always stupid.”
He hid a smile. “Rarely, I would imagine. Maybe just since you were wounded.”
“Oh, I’ve been stupid before, like when I got married the first time. I still can’t remember why I thought that would ever work.”
“Love overrode reason?” he suggested. He was beginning to enjoy this softer side of Erin.
“I can’t even remember that. I just know I don’t punch a time clock—I’m a bit obsessive when I get on a case and he couldn’t handle the hours. So the complaining started, and the more he tried to squeeze me into his box of expectations, the more I rebelled.”
“A lot of boxes out there,” he remarked.
“Do you fit in any?”
He thought about it, deciding she deserved an honest answer. “I was happy with my marriage. She wasn’t. So whether that box fit, I can’t tell you. But I enjoy my work a whole lot, and piddling around this place taking care of things. So yeah, I guess I found a happy box.”
“Good for you.” Her eyelids had just started to look heavy when she snapped them open again. “Can I get some more coffee?”
“Sure. Want me to show you where?”
She got out of the rocker more easily, and walked with a more comfortable pace into the kitchen.
“Okay,” she said, “you were right about the pills. But I can’t keep taking them.”
“Got it. Just remember, you’re not alone. You’ve got a team again.”
“When are those guys coming by?”
“Tonight. You’ll like them. They have a very individual box of their own.”
Back to the living room with the coffee, but this time she didn’t settle. Now that she could move, she wanted to. He just hoped she didn’t overdo it. He watched her pace the small room and figured she’d probably love to get out for a walk. He wouldn’t trust her on the uneven ground out there, however. Not on those meds.
“I had a little house,” she remarked. “About the size of this. I planted all kinds of flowers around it. All gone now.”
“I’m sorry.”
She shook her head a little. “That’s the least of it.” All of a sudden she faced him, feet planted firmly. “Do you know what it does to you when a guy in a police uniform shoots you?”
He nodded slowly, waiting for her to continue.
“He isn’t really a cop, of course, but the fact that he could get a uniform and fool me for as long as it took? That’s probably how he was getting these other women. Officer Friendly.”
“Ugly,” he answered.
“I’ve worked on cases where cops used excessive force. I’ve seen the attempts to cover it up, and seen the results when we get called in. So you’ll excuse me if I don’t trust the uniform easily. But I wasn’t prepared for that, distrustful or not.”
Those pills were sure making her chatty, not that he minded. He was actually enjoying it. “I’ve known some dirty cops. Cops who push the line. I don’t like it.”
She nodded. “I hate it. Just a few bad apples make it harder for everyone. When you can’t trust the uniform...” She gave a little shrug. “How did I get off on this?”
“The guy who shot you.”
“Oh. Yeah. So we’ve got a really minimal profile. Useless profile, actually. How much of a profile is it that the guy likes to blow up women? But now we know he probably poses as a cop, which gets him places he couldn’t go otherwise, makes him fairly invisible and makes it easy for him to get women to cooperate.”
This was creating wrinkles. Already he could see the potential for disaster here. “I’m going to introduce you to four guys tonight. Those four will be utterly trustworthy. Don’t trust anyone else. Fair enough?”
“I didn’t really trust you at first when you pulled me over.”
His answer was dry. “I gathered.”
“Now you know why. Anybody could get a deputy’s uniform, and I don’t know your department.”
“But my whole department knows everyone. That’s important, Erin. I’m going to call Gage.” In fact, it was the first real useful information they’d got.
* * *
Erin settled back on the rocker and enjoyed the relative freedom from agony. The pills didn’t kill it all, but they made it duller, less inhibiting, further away. Which meant her mind wasn’t working at top speed, but evidently she’d just offered some useful information. Good. Leaning her head back, she let her eyes close. Lance was making the call from his kitchen, but she heard bits and pieces of it. Apparently he was telling the sheriff about the uniform thing, and she gathered all the deputies would now be on the lookout for a guy in uniform that they didn’t recognize.
That might be helpful, or it might not. Would the UNSUB even try that out here? Who knew. This wasn’t the kind of place where a uniform would provide sufficient protective coloration. But it was still good to know the deputies would be alert for someone trying to pass as one of them.
The pill not only softened the pain, it made her drowsy. Right now she feared drowsiness. It felt odd to her to be placing so much trust in a man she’d just met, and she wasn’t yet prepared to trust him by sleeping. Not that she had any reason to be suspicious of him at this point.
In fact, maybe she was being unreasonably suspicious. Maybe there was no reason to be fearful at all. If the bomber wanted her out of the picture, he’d already succeeded. She might still be breathing, but she was no longer involved with the task force.
When Lance returned to the room carrying the coffeepot to freshen her mug, she floated the idea by him.
He stopped, tilting his head, looking at her from slightly narrowed eyes. “They