Free Birds of a Feather by Don Easton

dressed. It’s almost lunchtime.”
    Half an hour later, Adams wandered into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Yolanda looked up from the table at the sound of a can of Budweiser being opened.
    â€œAfter last night I thought you would have had enough. What’s this? The hair of the dog?”
    Adams nodded and took three gulps out of the can before sitting down.
    â€œWant to talk about it?” asked Yolanda.
    â€œWhat’s more to say,” replied Adams, taking another gulp of beer, more as an excuse to avoid eye contact than to drink. “We got a gun tucked away in every room of the house. Don’t go out without taking the one in your purse. Always keep an eye in the rear-view and the doors locked.”
    â€œIt’s not that. I understand why we are on high alert, but …”
    â€œBut what?” snapped Adams, yanking a kitchen chair out to sit down. “What is it?”
    â€œThat’s what I’m asking you. These last two days you’ve hardly said a word to me. Even last night when I drank with you, I may as well have been drinking alone. I know you. There’s something going on you haven’t told me.”
    â€œCan you blame me for being a little upset over what happened to Greg?” said Adams angrily. “He was my partner for Christ’s sake!”
    â€œDon’t give me that,” she replied in annoyance. “There’s something else going on. I’ve watched you when you’ve been recalled to go out on special ops with the military. I’ve seen you when you and Greg were in the thick of things. Things I knew to be secret and things I’ve never asked about. But something has changed. These last couple of days you’ve hardly spoken.” Yolanda’s face softened and she leaned forward and put her hand on his and said, “I’m worried about you. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
    Adams lowered his voice, but his response was terse. “This is different. The bad guys crossed the line with Greg. They had to be sent a message.”
    â€œHad? What kind of message?” she asked, gripping his hand tight.
    Adams stared at the Budweiser and didn’t respond.
    â€œWhat have you done?” cried Yolanda.
    Adams looked at her and said solemnly, “Nothing I feel guilty about, so quit worrying.”
    Yolanda stood up and stared at Adams for a moment, before shaking her head in exasperation and walking out of the room.
    Adams stared after her. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her. That he would do anything to protect her.
    His cellphone rang. It was his boss.
    â€œGet in here immediately,” seethed Weber.
    â€œI thought you gave me a week off,” replied Adams.
    â€œNo time to be funny … you stupid, dumb fucker. You really did it this time. Davidson and a DA are going to interview you. They decided to leave me out of it to show impartiality because I know you. What a laugh that is. After what you did, I don’t know you at all and I don’t want to.”
    Adams hung up. He slowly finished the beer and left without saying goodbye to Yolanda. He was afraid to. He knew he would break down if he did.
    District Attorney Norman White waited in Davidson’s office for Adams to arrive.
    â€œHow long have you known John Adams?” asked White, grimacing as he took a sip of coffee. Not exactly Starbucks …
    Davidson leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands behind his head.
    â€œI was transferred in here five months ago to head the FBI contingent in the office. I met him then for the first time.”
    â€œWhat kind of officer is he?”
    â€œWell, he comes under the direct command of Weber, but this is a small enough office that we all know each other to some degree. I consider Adams to be a loose cannon. Not one to follow rules, particularly. Surprising for a guy trained with the Special Forces … they usually follow orders to a T. Adams