Free Fire Damage (A Jessie Flynn Investigation, Book 1) by Kate Medina Page A

wishing, not for the first time, that she had a sensible handbag with a compartment for everything, rather than this holdall leather rucksack that her mum had bought her for Christmas two years ago, that she only used out of a sense of duty. Her heart rate was raised and she was angry with herself for it.
    She breathed out slowly; her fingers had closed around the cold, heavy bunch of keys.
    ‘Doctor Flynn.’
    ‘Jesus!’ She spun around.
    He was right behind her. How the hell had he got so close without her realizing? He smiled, his gaze tracking down her body, lingering on her breasts. Not that he was getting much of a look, she figured, small as they were at the best of times, now camouflaged under a shirt, jumper and coat.
    ‘Is there anything that you want, Sergeant Starkey?’
    ‘Lots of things, but perhaps we shouldn’t go there now.’
    ‘If that’s a “no”, I’m leaving. I’ve got someone to see.’
    Clicking the lock, she tugged open the driver’s door. He leant his forearm on its top.
    ‘It will be interesting to see if you can break me. I’ve been Intelligence Corps for twelve years. If there’s a psychological game in town, I know how to play it.’
    ‘I’m not trying to break you.’ She was about to add,
I’m trying to help you,
but realized that would go down like a lead balloon with someone like Starkey. ‘What do you want?’
    He tilted towards her. ‘I think that the devil offered Jackson a deal and I think he took it,’ he hissed.
    ‘We’re off the record here, Starkey. No tape recorder. No witnesses. I looked into your eyes in that room and I know that you’re entirely sane. Why don’t you drop the act.’
    Starkey’s tongue moved around inside his mouth. ‘You’re a tough lady, Dr Flynn.’
    Jessie didn’t reply. She didn’t trust her voice not to betray her lack of confidence. She looked past him to the guardhouse: the guards still inside, playing poker or swapping dirty jokes.
    ‘Jackson and some other Int. Corps were working with an Afghan government official who runs the water board – don’t know his name,’ Starkey began. ‘Americans gave them a shitload of money to dam the Helmand river so they could manage their water supply, irrigate the land. Farmers not fighters. Make them richer and they’d have the independence to make their own decisions as to whom they supported. And then of course, they’d support the puppet government of Hamid Karzai, not those Taliban scumbags.’ He laughed softly to himself. ‘Problem with all this shit is that money never gets used for what it’s supposed to.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    He shrugged, grinned. ‘That’s the end of the fairy story, young lady.’
    ‘The truth will set you free, Starkey. Isn’t that what you said?’
    His gaze swung away from hers; she noticed a muscle above his eye twitch.
    ‘You think if I tell you what happened – everything – I’ll be free,’ he continued, suddenly nervous. He tapped a finger to his temple. ‘Free of a mental burden, at least. But I won’t.’
    ‘Explain. I don’t understand.’
    Shoving his hands inside his pockets, he shrugged, refusing to meet her eye. ‘There’s nothing more to tell. I don’t know shit.’ He almost spat out that last word. ‘I didn’t find out shit.’
    Jessie stared back at him. She was freezing cold and tired. She’d had enough of the word games. ‘I think we’re done here, Starkey.’
    Tossing her rucksack into the car, she slid into the driver’s seat, reached to pull the door closed. It wouldn’t budge; he was holding it open with his foot.
    ‘Excuse me,’ she said.
    He didn’t move. Swinging her leg out, she kicked his foot away, slammed the door shut. She was tempted to lock it, but didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing that he’d rattled her. As she started the engine and pulled away, she glanced in the rear-view mirror, and their gazes locked in reflection. He lifted his hand in a slow, regal wave,