Atonement

by Winter Austin

  “The two of you act like the bloody Brits and the Irish.”

  Cassy used some colorful words he was fairly certain were spoken in German.

  “Where’d you learn to speak like that?” he asked.

  “Pop and his world-traveling days as a marine. He met my mother in Germany.”

  “Is she German?”

  “No,” Cassy’s tone held a touch of nostalgia, “she’s a true-blue American. Nic’s mother, on the other hand, was French-Canadian.”

  Which explained why Nic’s first name was French. “Why are you telling me this, Cassy?”

  “I don’t know. If Nic knew I mentioned it, she’d probably strangle me. I better go. Tomorrow.”

  Dead air met his good-bye. Setting the phone on the counter, Con drummed his fingers next to it. When he called Cassy, he had every intention of letting her manage Nic’s problems. The “let Cassy be the bad guy to his good guy” ploy. But things with Nic weren’t turning out to be that simple.

  Shaking his head, he grabbed up his plate and glass of Guinness and then dropped into his recliner. He wasn’t worrying about Nic tonight. Unmuting the TV, he skipped the show back to the part he’d missed while talking to Cassy.

  Three bites in, the steak lost its appeal. Con glanced at Cadno sitting near the end of the footrest, staring at him with soulful eyes.

  “How’d I get pulled into this mess?”

  The dog’s eyebrows did a back and forth bob.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. I bloody offered to be the investigator in charge of officer-involved shootings. But when did I become so concerned with Nic?”

  Cadno shifted around to the armrest and set his muzzle on Con’s arm with a sigh.

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  He knew the moment he walked across the line from fellow officer to more: the instant Nic called him Con on the job and insisted he break a direct order. She’d offered a sliver of trust to him. When they’d worked together on the tractor joyriding incident, she’d always second-guessed him, never giving him an inch. Today had been a step in the right direction—he might get through to her after all.

  There had to be a way to get to the root of her PTSD. It didn’t just pop up; she had to have suffered some kind of trauma. And the most logical person to know—other than Cassy—was probably holed up in his office tonight trying to sort out what was going on in his town.

  Con gathered his dishes and headed for the kitchen. After putting everything away, he picked up his phone and mulled over whether or not to call Shane. The click of nails against the wood flooring and the thump of Cadno’s rump hitting the floor distracted Con. He peeked around the edge of the island and smiled at his dog.

  “Maybe I’m jumping the gun here. Best to wait and talk to Cassy first. What say you, boy?”

  The dog huffed as he lay down, closing his eyes. Life was so hard for a retired MWD.

  With a shake of his head, Con set the phone down and moved around the counter to sit on the floor next to Cadno. Once he was settled, the dog shifted to lay his muzzle on Con’s lap. Con stroked Cadno’s head, letting his own head rest against the cabinet wall.

  How far did he take this temporary partnership with Nic, knowing what he did? He would regret making the deal to let her stay on with the investigations for the time being. The police chief and sheriff chose Con to lead this thing because of his ability to stay impartial. His impartiality was in jeopardy, and he couldn’t find a way out.

  Somehow, someway, Con had to find a way to fix this, before someone else died. And he feared that person would be Nic.

  Chapter Twelve

  The moment the sun crested the horizon, Con was out of bed. He took care of Cadno, then hightailed it out of the house and headed into Eider. He’d spent the better part of the night trying to come up with a plan of action for dealing with Nic, but the woman was so unpredictable, it was hard to come up with anything definitive.

  When he pulled into the diner parking lot, he spotted Cassy’s car parked between a pair of dirty farm trucks. She was certainly up early. Con adjusted his belt to get the gun butt under his shirt tail. He liked being one of the few officers able to wear civvies when he was on duty. Satisfied with the adjustments, he closed the truck door and entered the diner.

  The place hummed with conversation and the clatter of dishes and metal on metal from the kitchen. The aroma of bacon, pancakes, and coffee hung heavy in the air. He scanned the diner, making eye contact with a few of the old men, until he spotted Cassy sitting on a stool at the counter. She had her boot heels hooked on the rung circling the bottom of the support post and was bent over a cup of coffee. Cassy was receiving furtive glances from the diner occupants. Ahh, small-town curiosity.

  But he hung back when he caught sight of Walker and Jennings coming in the side entrance closest to Cassy’s seat. Both men headed straight for the counter next to her. Con inched closer.

  “Hey, Betty, can we get two of those specials to go?” Walker asked.

  “Morning, Deputy Jennings,” Cassy said.

  Con smiled when the young deputy jerked.

  Jennings turned a bright shade of pink and nodded. “Uh, morning,” he said hesitantly.

  On the other side of Jennings, Walker frowned. “You know this gal, newbie?”

  “Um, yeah, I met her at Deputy Rivers’s house.”

  Bracing an arm on the counter, Walker gave Cassy the once-over. Con’s baser side had to admit, in a contest between the sisters, Cassy definitely was the prettier one, but he wasn’t an arsehole. Nic’s mysteriously hard life had worn her down a bit, and she was a looker in her own “I’d rather knock your block off than kiss ya” sort of way.

  “What’s your name, ma’am?”

  “Cassy,” Jennings interjected.

  Walker frowned. “Cassy what?”

  “That’s it.” Cassy set her mug on the counter. “Just Cassy.”

  Now was the time to make his presence known. If she wasn’t giving out her last name, then she was probably sensing that Walker wasn’t a friendly when it came to her sister.

  “Well, what brings you to our li’l town?” Walker asked.

  “Business.”

  “What kind?”

  “The kind that’s none of your damn business.” Cassy slid off the stool. “If you boys would excuse me, the reason I came into town is here.”

  Both deputies turned as she carried her mug over to Con. Walker scowled as he made eye contact. The bruise was darker today. That same thrill he got when he smacked Walker’s head into the bar went through Con. The deputy needed a serious attitude adjustment, and he wouldn’t mind being the one to impart it.

  With a tilt of his head, Con bid the two “good day” and followed Cassy to a recently vacated booth.

  “I see you’ve met McIntire County’s finest.” He slid into a seat, leaving Cassy with the option to have her back to the wall, facing the diner.

  She settled onto the bench. “If that’s what Nic’s forced to work with, no wonder she’s pissy. By the way, I took the opportunity to order food. Betty said she knew exactly what to get you.”

  “Much appreciated.” He pulled the bowl of half and half closer. “The kid isn’t bad. Walker on the other hand … ”

  “Walker’s the one with the bruise on his face?”

  He couldn’t stop the smirk. “Courtesy of me.”

  She frowned. “Granted, I know the guy probably deserved it, but really? You’re proud of what you did?”

  “It was either me giving him a face bashing or your sister putting a bullet in him. One Walker killed by Nic was enough.”

  “Since you brought it up, what’s going on? And don’t you sugarcoat it, either.”

  Con settled his body into a relaxed position and pulled the mug of Barry’s tea that Betty had just set on the table closer to him. Betty spoiled him rotten, special-ordering Barry’s from Ireland and serving it to him or Mam, when Mam managed to get out of the pub. “First, you tell me what you can of Nic’s t
ime in the marines.”

  “There’s not much for me to tell, since I was purposely left out of the loop. I know of three deployments, two to Iraq and one to Afghanistan, but not where she was stationed or what she did over there. My mom was the one who told me about those. The Afghanistan deployment was the last one she did, and whatever happened there forced her out of the Corps.”

  “How do you know she was forced out?”

  Cassy traced the rim of her mug, staring into the black liquid. Her eyes lost focus as she seemed to let her mind drift.

  More than a few times Con had wondered what Nic’s life was like before she moved to Eider. Hardy people lived and raised families here, and their difficult lives showed in the way they carried themselves and spoke to their fellow citizens. Nic’s words and actions spoke of cynicism and anger, especially toward men who demeaned everyone around them.

  “Pretty difficult to miss it when she’s screaming at our father for having a hand in her being kicked out,” Cassy said, eventually.

  “Yet she never revealed what it was about?”

  “From what I understand, she wasn’t allowed to talk about the why. I overheard Pop mention a gag order. Put two and two together, and we all know what that adds up to.”

  “Something very, very bad.”

  The natural lull in the conversation was the perfect time for Betty to plunk down their breakfast orders. “Eat up.” She pinched Con’s cheek. “You’re getting skinny, my boy.”

  He chuckled and picked up his fork. “Yes, ma’am.”

  The noise of the diner ebbed and flowed around them while Cassy drenched her French toast with maple syrup. Con dug into his mound of scrambled eggs, hash browns, peppers, and onions dripping with salsa and cheese.

  “I figured the Irish always ate porridge or something like that for breakfast.”

  He gulped down his mouthful and snorted. “I haven’t lived there in more than thirty years; why would I know what they typically eat?”

  “Because your mother does, and one would figure she wouldn’t lose her connection to her home or let her children.”

  “Except for a few choice things, my mam has done her damnedest to sever her connection with her home country, and for good reason. She doesn’t care what Farran and I do, as long as it doesn’t bring more troubles down on Mam’s head.” Con shoveled more food into his mouth.

  “Troubles? Like what?”

  “Long story best not discussed over a good meal. Or ever.”

  “And I thought my family cornered the market on keeping secrets.”

  Placing his fork on the plate, Con wiped his mouth with a napkin, then crossed his arms on the tabletop. “Cassy, is there any way you can find out what happened to Nic on her last deployment? It might help us figure out why these cases are setting her off.”

  “Doubt it. The only people who can tell us anything are the same two people who are at odds with each other: Nic and Pop—and he’s a retired brigadier general. Things like gag orders mean it was probably classified.”

  “You don’t have any connections with anyone in the marines?”

  Cassy shook her head. “Mom made sure I wasn’t sucked into the secluded life of a military kid. She saw what it did to Nic and refused to lose me.” She cut into the French toast stack. “Now you’re deflecting away from why we’re really here. What’s going on?”

  Surreptitiously glancing around the diner, he leaned forward. “Not here. Too many ears.”

  “Then why did you tell me to meet you here to talk about it?”

  He flashed a grin. “To see you face to face, for one.” He picked up his fork. “And to give your sister a break from you.”

  With a roll of her eyes, Cassy continued to eat. Until something caught her eye, and she stiffened.

  He stopped eating.

  “Shit,” she hissed.

  “What?”

  “Shit-shit-shit-shit.”

  “What?” Con insisted.

  Cassy stood suddenly and, bracing her hands on the tabletop, leaned forward. “Con, who called the FBI?”

  His head snapped left as a man with a steaming cup of coffee left the counter and came toward them. His casual attire of jeans, a dark gray jacket over a green shirt, and leather shoes would suggest an attempt to fit in, but the guy stood out like a sore thumb in this place full of farmers and small-town folks. It was the glint of metal at his waist that put Con on alert.

  The guy stopped next to their table and stared at Cassy a moment. His once-over made Con uncomfortable. There was a history between those two, and it didn’t appear to have been a good one.

  “Detective Rivers, what are you doing here?” His smooth Southern drawl was so out of place for southeast Iowa.

  “Visiting my sister.” For someone about to jump out of her skin, Cassy’s control impressed Con.

  A corner of the agent’s mouth lifted in a wry smile. “I didn’t realize you had a sister.” He took a sip of his coffee.

  “If you stuck around long enough, you might have found out,” she said in a low voice.

  The agent lowered his cup.

  “Well, bugger,” Con said, breaking the tension. “You mind making introductions, Cassy?”

  Rolling her shoulders, she tilted her chin. “Sorry, Con. This is Special Agent Boyce Hunt. He’s here to run roughshod over whatever cases you’ve got.”

  “There’s no call to be bitter, Detective Rivers. I thought we worked well together.”

  Cassy exited the booth. “Excuse me, I just lost my appetite.” She tossed a twenty on the table and moved to pass Agent Hunt.

  The man shifted just enough to block her. Cassy gave him a scowl, then bumped her shoulder into his, hard, and shoved past him.

  Con watched her disappear out the door before saying, “Ya know, at times, I wonder why men even bother to love prickly women. Then I remember, they’re just as soft and delicate as their less prickly counterparts—you just have to root around a little further until you expose it.”

  Agent Hunt tore his attention away from the empty doorway and focused on Con. “You’re Detective O’Hanlon, correct?”

  “That’d be me.”

  “Appears you’re the man I need to speak with before I see the sheriff.”

  Con swallowed. Oh, this couldn’t be good. What was Shane dive-bombing on all of them now?

  • • •

  Nic emerged from the break room with a fresh cup of coffee the instant the front door buzzed open and O’Hanlon walked through with another man hot on his heels. Her instincts went on alert at the way the newcomer carried himself as the two men headed for Sheriff Hamilton’s office.

  A federal agent.

  She went straight to her desk, set the mug down—ignoring Walker’s snide comment about another intruder in their office—and then joined the group without their consent.

  Hamilton scowled at her invasion. “Deputy Rivers—”

  “I’m not leaving, sheriff,” she snapped and barred the doorway.

  The agent eyed her, interest clearly plastered all over his face. “Rivers, huh?”

  “Don’t provoke her,” O’Hanlon said in a low voice.

  Nic had no idea what they were talking about, and she really didn’t care, but she wasn’t about to be ejected from this con-fab. “Whatever you have to discuss with a federal agent includes me.”

  “How do you know he’s a … ?” Hamilton slid his fingers through his curling hair—he needed a haircut soon—and sighed. “Just forget I asked. I don’t want to know. Shut the door, Deputy.”

  Fighting back the satisfied smirk, Nic shut the office door and leaned against it with her arms crossed.

  Hamilton sat in his chair and rotated it so he could look up at Con and the agent. “Since my deputy was kind enough to state that you’re a federal agent, mind telling me who you are?”

  “Special Agent Boyce Hunt. The Cedar Rapids office via Omaha asked me to come up.”

  “Come up from where?” Nic asked.

&
nbsp; “Memphis, Tennessee.”

  Obviously O’Hanlon and Hamilton were taken aback. Nic absorbed the information.

  “I asked for assistance from the FBI; I didn’t expect them to send me someone who wasn’t local,” Hamilton said. “No offense, Agent Hunt, but I don’t see how someone from Tennessee is going to be of any help to us.”

  Agent Hunt shrugged. “No offense taken, sheriff. I’m more familiar with your area than you think. I started out in the Cedar Rapids office before I landed a promotion. From what you told the Omaha SAC about what you’re dealing with here, it’s something I’m particularly familiar with.” He pointed at the folder on Hamilton’s desk. “Is that the case file?”

  Nic inched away from the doorway, studying the agent closer. Everything about him screamed for her to pay close attention. Her past experience with federal agents warned of a smoke screen. Hunt wasn’t here because he was familiar with the area; he had an ulterior motive. As if sensing her scrutiny, Hunt paused in his reading and looked up at her. Like she had, he seemed to study her. The stone mask he wore told her nothing, but she got the deep sense he was sizing her up for something.

  “On average, how many suicides does your county have annually?” Hunt was directing his question to the sheriff, but he didn’t break eye contact with Nic.

  “We don’t have that many. In the last twenty years we’ve had maybe five total,” Hamilton answered.

  The agent’s green eyes slid from Nic to O’Hanlon, who had shifted to stand closer to her. “How long have you lived here, Detective O’Hanlon?”

  “Almost twenty years.”

  Nic braced for the question to be asked of her.

  “You agree with the sheriff on his assessment, Detective?” Hunt asked.

  “Going off memory, sure.” Con crossed his arms. “Got a point to this?”

  Hunt ignored him and pinned Nic with his chilling gaze again. “What about you, Deputy Rivers? How long have you lived in Eider?”

  “Less than four years. And no, I don’t know much about the stats on suicides around here.”