Free Kill Fee by Owen Laukkanen Page A

her pajamas. “Just you wait and see.”

    AFTERWARD, Nancy Stevens smiled at her husband and sat up in bed. “Well, all right, James Bond. You got the girl, now go save the world.”
    He ran his hand along the curve of her body. “You in a hurry?”
    “As a matter of fact, yes,” she said, pushing the sheets aside and standing. “I’m due at the office in an hour. Got some paperwork to go through before the hearing.”
    “Cripes.”
    “No rest for the wicked. That counts you and me both. You planning on coming home for dinner?”
    “Not sure,” he said. “Got a long drive ahead of me.”
    Nancy circled the bed. Leaned down and kissed him. “Stay safe,” she said. Then she pulled back and grinned at him. “Don’t be afraid to ask for directions.”

    STEVENS DRESSED and ate a quick breakfast before piling his son in the Cherokee and dropping him at school. JJ barely waited until the Jeep had pulled to a stop before unbuckling his seat belt and dashing from the car, calling back a good-bye over his shoulder. Stevens watched his son untilhe’d disappeared amid a clump of friends. Then he shifted into gear and drove out to the highway.
    He spent the morning on Interstate 94, stopping for gas and a coffee in Sauk Centre before continuing northwest to Fergus Falls, sixty miles short of Fargo and the North Dakota border, nearly two hundred miles from home.
    Stevens pulled off the highway into town, drove up the main drag, and stopped and pulled out a map book to check his bearings. Then he drove east again, away from city hall to a lake just past the town limits, and a large home on the shore.
    It looked more like a hunting resort than a single home, Stevens thought as he pulled up the gravel driveway toward the front door. Certainly it was more mansion than rustic cabin in the woods.
    There was a black Range Rover parked at the head of the driveway, a red BMW roadster beside it. Stevens parked his Cherokee alongside the two cars and climbed out.
    It was quiet outside, and quite peaceful. Beyond the house, Stevens could see the lake, shimmering bright blue in the spring sunlight. The forest was alive with birds and insects, and the air itself smelled clean and fragrant. Stevens inhaled, stretching his arms high above his head, feeling the numbness in mind and body disappear. When he was limber again, he turned and walked across the driveway to the house.
    The front door opened after his second knock, almost like it had been waiting for him. It was a heavy wooden door, and it swung open slowly. On the other side was the woman from Eli Cody’s photographs.
    “Agent Stevens,” she said. “I’m Paige Pyatt. Please, come in.”

30
    W indermere and Mathers took the first flight to Chicago O’Hare Wednesday morning. An FBI agent waited for them in the arrivals terminal. Windermere recognized him instantly.
    “Wintergreen,” he said, flashing her a wide smile. “Didn’t we do this before, you and I?”
    “Good morning, Agent Davis,” she said, ignoring the way his hand seemed to linger on hers. “Back for another try, are you?”
    Davis snorted. “I could say the same for you. We going to find us a real bad guy this time?”
    “Probably not,” Windermere told him, “but we’re hopeful. This is Agent Mathers.”
    Davis gave Mathers an appraising look. His smile faded somewhat. “I’m outside,” he said, and led them through the terminal to an FBI-issue Yukon double-parked at the curb.
    Mathers stole a glance at Windermere as they walked. “You know this guy?”
    “Pender case,” Windermere told him.
    “He sounds like he missed you.”
    She rolled her eyes. “He offered to give me a tour of Chicago last time I was in town. I respectfully declined. He didn’t take it so well.”
    Mathers glanced at Davis. Then he grinned. “Respectfully, huh?”
    Windermere grinned back. They climbed into Davis’s SUV, and the Chicago agent drove away from the terminal. “Our suspect’s name is Alex Kent,”