Second Honeymoon Part 24

"Are you?"

"You know what? I came out here to apologize, but f.u.c.k it, I'm not sorry."

"I can see that. I get it, Ted. Trust me, I do."

"I'm a guy, Sarah. A guy doesn't like having a girlfriend who-" He stopped.

"What? What were you going to say?" she asked. "Apparently, I can take it."

"How do you think it makes me feel to know that my FBI-trained girlfriend can kick my a.s.s?" he blurted out.

Sarah shook her head. "First of all, it's ex-girlfriend, if that's what I was to you. And second, as for how it feels...I don't know," she said. "But maybe it feels something like this."

She balled her fist and decked him with a roundhouse punch so hard that he crashed back against the wall, knocking a framed photo of him on his Harley-Davidson to the floor, the gla.s.s shattering into pieces.

Calmly, and without another word, Sarah turned and started to walk out of the apartment. Her work here was done.

But then Sarah couldn't resist. She turned back to Ted, who was still sitting on the floor, holding his jaw.

"So? How does it feel to have your a.s.s kicked by a girl? I'm not even that big, Ted."

Chapter 37

MAYBE IT WAS just a coincidence or maybe it was karma, but the song streaming through Sarah's iPod headphones the next afternoon as the plane began its descent into Salt Lake City was Sheryl Crow's "A Change Would Do You Good."

She could only hope. Fingers crossed. Toes, too. But you know what else? She hated the way it had ended with Ted. She just hated it. It was embarra.s.sing, just awful. And sad, too. She thought that she'd loved him.

The drive from the airport out to Park City was a good start. With nothing but wide-open road in front of her and soaring mountains on the horizon, it was like a forty-minute deep breath. Convertibles never looked good on expense reports, so Sarah made the most of the sunroof on her rented Chevy Camaro 2SS.

Sometimes it just feels d.a.m.n good to stick a hand up toward the sky at sixty-five miles an hour and feel the cool air whip past your fingertips.

Sooner than she thought possible, she was in Park City at the police department.

"Agent Brubaker, I'm Steven Hummel. Good to meet you," said the local chief of police.

He greeted her personally at the front entrance of the station instead of sending out his secretary or some a.s.sistant. That was always a good sign. A good rapport usually followed.

Sure enough, Chief Hummel was the down-to-earth sort, which made sense for a town that could have doubled as the western field office of L.L.Bean. Park City was a hiker's paradise in the summer and-the two-week invasion by soulless Hollywood types for the Sundance Film Festival every January notwithstanding-a skier's paradise in winter.

Hummel may have been b.u.t.toned up in his uniform, but as she looked at his tan, weathered face and tousled salt-and-pepper hair, Sarah could easily picture his off-duty look. Jeans, a plaid shirt, and probably a cold, locally brewed beer in his hand.

"Come," he said. "Let's head back to my office. We're ready for you."

Halfway there they were intercepted by a gum-chewing young buck of an officer who "just happened" to be in their path. Clearly, he was angling for an introduction.

"Agent Brubaker, this is Detective Nate Penzick," said Hummel, obliging.

Penzick stuck out his chest. His hand followed. "Welcome to Park City," he said.

Except there was nothing about his tone that made Sarah feel welcome. Right away she knew Penzick was the homicide detective a.s.signed to the O'Hara case.

This happened occasionally when she would show up in a town or city-an officer, or maybe two, who didn't want to be told how to do his job by some federal agent. Not that Sarah ever had any intention of doing that. Still, for the Detective Penzicks of the world, the preconceived notion stuck like glue. All FBI agents think they're hot s.h.i.t.

"Thanks," said Sarah with a smile, ignoring Penzick's tone as well as the G.I.-Joe-meets-kung-fu handshake he was giving her. "It's nice to meet you."

Kill 'em with kindness, she always believed. Although on this particular afternoon, after the night she'd had, it took a little extra willpower not to grab this guy by his starched lapels and explain that wannabe macho guys weren't exactly on her Christmas card list right now. So cool it with the att.i.tude, dude, okay?

Penzick squinted. "The chief has been pretty tight-lipped as to why you're here, but I'm guessing it has to do with the O'Hara murder," he said.

"That's right," said Sarah. There was no point lying to the guy.

Penzick was chomping so hard on his gum you could hear his jawbone cracking. If Chief Hummel was as laid-back as a Sunday afternoon, this guy was Monday morning rush hour.

"So what's up with the secrecy?" he asked. "I mean, we all play for the same team, don't we?"

Sarah glanced at a frowning Hummel, who was immediately regretting the introduction.

"No, seriously, what's the deal?" pressed Penzick. "What's the government hiding this time?"

Hummel finally stepped in. "I'm afraid you'll have to forgive Nate here," he said. "He hasn't been the same since The X-Files went off the air."

Oh, snap.

"Very funny, Chief," said Penzick. But he got the hint. Shut it down, cowboy. He turned to Sarah, adopting the most polite tone he could fake. "I look forward to working with you, Agent Brubaker."

"Don't worry, Nate," said Hummel, glancing at his watch. "I'd be surprised if Agent Brubaker is still in Park City an hour from now."

Sarah turned to him. This was news to her, straight from the left field bleachers. Huh? I just got here. Where do you think I'm going?

Hummel didn't let on, at least not in front of his young detective. "As I suggested before," he said, "let's go to my office."

Chapter 38

THE WAY HUMMEL acted after closing the door to his office, Sarah was thinking that maybe his comment about her leaving town within the hour was meant to be some kind of joke. Either that or the guy suffered from a serious case of short-term memory loss. She was definitely confused-but curious.

Hummel offered no explanation. Instead, he walked directly to a drawer behind his desk, opened it, and removed two disposable latex gloves and an evidence bag containing the paperback copy of Ulysses.