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The day seemed to last forever. Laura awoke briefly, but mostly slept. We all elected to stay at the hospital that night, at the urging of the six police officers there to protect us.

The next morning we were seated in Laura’s room, speaking quietly since she was sleeping. I heard a man’s voice but didn’t look up. Then the hospital room door opened and Savich roared to his feet. “Good God, sir, am I glad to see you!”

Assistant Director Jimmy Maitland, Savich’s boss, came into the hospital room like a tackle bursting through the line, grinning from ear to ear when he saw Sherlock and Savich.

“S and S, good to see you guys on your feet! I don’t mind telling you though that I’m glad this sort of thing is mostly behind me.” He hugged Sherlock tightly and shook hands with Savich.

Behind him was my own boss, Big Carl Bardolino. He was a man I’d walk over coals to work for, a man who was ferocious in his loyalty to his people, just as Jimmy Maitland was to his. Big Carl came in at just under six feet five inches and weighed a lithe two hundred pounds. I’d never yet seen an agent who could take him in the gym. “Sir,” I said. “Welcome to Costa Rica.”

“Good to see you in one piece this time, Mac.”

Another man I’d never seen before walked over to Laura’s bed. I knew he wasn’t FBI. Funny, but I knew that immediately. I also knew that I wasn’t going to like him.

“We met this fellow at the airport,” Jimmy Maitland said. “He’s DEA. We let him come with us because he’s Laura Bellamy’s boss, at least that’s what he says. His name’s Richard Atherton.”

I looked him over. He was tall, thin, too well dressed for a Fed, very blond, and looked supercilious. He was wearing loafers with little tassels on them. I said to him, “I was not in Edgerton on assignment for the FBI. I was there on a personal matter, to help my sister. You were dead wrong.”

“That’s what you told me on the phone,” Atherton said, looking at Big Carl. He ignored all of us and looked down at Laura a moment, then said to Savich, “I suppose you were there just to visit with him.” He nodded in my direction.

“That’s right. As I’m sure he told you, someone tried to kill him. Sherlock and I don’t like it when folks try to kill our friends.”

A too-blond brow arched up. “You’re Sherlock? You’re the agent who took down the String Killer?” There was stark admiration in his voice, and Savich frowned.

Sherlock flinched and I knew she was remembering the drug-induced nightmares filled with Marlin Jones. Ignoring him, she addressed Big Carl and Maitland. “The local cops want to take out that compound as much as we do. Shall I tell them that you’re here and ready to go?”

“It’s okay, Sherlock,” Maitland said. “We’ve already set things up.”

“This is DEA business,” Atherton said. “It’s not in FBI jurisdiction. Anything you have to say, you say it to me first, not these guys.”

“Are you always an asshole?” I asked him.

Atherton took a step toward me, looked uncertain, then stopped. I wanted him to take a shot at me, I really did, and so I added, “Laura said you were ambitious, but she didn’t say you were an asshole. Surely that isn’t a requirement for supervisors in the DEA?”

I heard Maitland cough behind his hand. Atherton took a step toward me.

Savich took his forearm. “Don’t do it,” he said to him quietly, very close to his left ear. “Trust me on this, Atherton. It wouldn’t be smart. We’re both pretty pissed at your attitude. I suggest if you want to keep your nice capped teeth intact, you sit yourself down and listen. It’s time for full cooperation. This isn’t some sort of game. Look at Laura. She nearly died.”

“Yeah, because she disobeyed my direct orders.”

And that, I knew, was the truth. I said, “Yes, she did. As a matter of fact, we were all hot dogs, but believe me, we paid for it.”

“You wrecked my operation.”

“That remains to be seen,” Maitland said. “We’ve got about a dozen FBI agents in Edgerton as we speak, turning over every rock.”

“We were about to holler for help,” Sherlock said. “We just didn’t have time. They got us that very first night.”

Maitland said,