Free Far Gone by Laura Griffin Page A

old case with such fuzzy facts. “You know, I’ve been doing some investigating of my own these last few days,” she said. “I made a few calls about you.”
    He waited.
    “Nice job last year. I hear you helped nail those two guys who were plotting to blow up that bridge.”
    He didn’t say anything. Did he catch what she was driving at? This seemed like an odd assignment on the heels of such a big win. Almost as though he and Torres had been put out to pasture.
    She watched his eyes. He definitely got her meaning, but he wasn’t going to talk about it.
    She persisted anyway. She’d succeeded at interrogations because she didn’t give up. Subject didn’t want to talk? She kept hammering. She hit on a touchy subject? She didn’t let go.
    Other times, it was about finesse. During her patrol days, her stature hadn’t been much help when she needed to get drunks into her car. But as a detective, she used it to her advantage. A lot of men blew her off, didn’t take her seriously. They sat in the interview room shooting the breeze with her, waiting for the real detectives to show up. Meantime, she was getting the conversation flowing while listening to every word.
    “This isn’t just a cold case,” Jon said now.
    “No kidding.”
    “Hardin’s been on our radar.”
    “Our?”
    “Homeland Security.”
    Andrea had never liked the term. It sounded so ominous. It implied invaders, paratroopers, Red Dawn.
    “You want to explain that?”
    “His name keeps cropping up,” he said. “He’s a person of interest in the judge’s death, he’s in a white supremacist group.”
    “But he was in the military,” she said. “I think he even earned a medal or something.” She was being deliberately obtuse. He’d earned a Bronze Star in Operation Iraqi Freedom. He’d been a war hero. But then he’d dropped out. Why? She didn’t know. And as a city homicide cop, she had no easy way of finding out. But Jon probably knew.
    She sipped her beer and waited, hoping he’d answer the unasked question.
    “Someone like him can be a problem,” Jon said. “The military training, expert marksman. Great if he’s on your side. But what if he decides to switch teams?”
    “What are you saying, exactly?”
    “I’m saying, here’s a guy who goes from sending letters to the newspaper and intimidating a federal judge to quiet. Not earning any money—at least, not that he’s reporting. Living in the middle of nowhere. Even by West Texas standards, the place is remote.”
    “You think it’s a front? That he’s keeping a low profile?”
    It seemed like a reach to her, but he wasn’t sharing everything he knew.
    He watched her, and she felt her skin heat as she imagined being alone with him—far away from a crowded bar. The look in his eyes shifted, and she knew he’d read her mind.
    “Come on.” He plunked his beer on the table and stood up.
    “Come where?”
    “Let’s play some pool.”
    “How do you know I play?”
    “Because you do.” His look pinned her. Resisting would only make her seem insecure.
    “Fine.” She shrugged, making it no big deal. She grabbed her jacket and her beer and followed him.
    The previous players were filing out as Jon walked over to the rack of cues on the wall.
    “This one looks about your size.” He handed it to her.
    “It’s been a while for me.” She tested the cue’s weight in her hand as Jon flipped back the cuffs of his shirt.
    “Same here.”
    She smiled. “Why don’t I believe that?”
    He racked the balls with the snap of his wrist. “Eight ball. Loser buys the other one dinner.”
    She lifted an eyebrow. She’d expected him to bet cash or maybe a round of drinks. No matter the outcome, he was locking in a date with her.
    Was this part of his information-gathering mission, or did he really want to take her out? She still didn’t trust his motives.
    “Ladies first.” He handed her the cue ball.
    “That’s your first mistake. Making assumptions.” She lined up