CHAPTER NINE

"What's the hardest part about being an agent?"

Faith considered the question before she considered the question. Dr. Franklin West, at first glance, looked like the stereotype of a psychologist. He was warm, kindly, pleasant, good-looking but not particularly attractive. He projected exactly the kind of caring, fatherly demeanor that a medical professional should.

That didn't necessarily mean she couldn't trust him, but it didn't tell her much about who he was behind the soft smile and gentle eyes. She decided to try a probing question of her own first.

"What's the hardest part about being a therapist?" she asked.

His smile widened slightly. "Establishing trust. Patients tend to be very wary and closed-off when they first meet me. Unfortunately, that makes my job very difficult if not impossible to do. The problem is that trust is not something that can occur immediately, not at least to the degree necessary to address one's mental health. So, I find that I spend more time getting to the point where my patients feel they can trust me than I spend getting to the root of the problem."

"So you're saying you can't help me if I don't talk to you," she summarized.

"I'm saying that, and I'm also saying that I understand if it takes a while before we reach that point. I am a complete stranger to you, and I'm asking you to share vulnerable secrets."

"So if I don't tell you what the hardest part of my job is, you won't hold it against me?"

"I won't hold anything you tell me against you," he replied. "That's not my job. I'm not a judge or a jury. I'm most certainly not an executioner. I'm a medical professional here to determine if you need help with your mental health, diagnose the problem or problems if they exist, and work with you on a plan to solve those problems. However, as I said before, to do that effectively, we need to trust each other. I need you to answer my questions completely and honestly, and you need to believe that the advice I provide is intended only to help you. Otherwise, we risk completely missing the point, as it were."

"So we should work on establishing that trust, then," she said, "before we get into the ‘point.'"

"Of course," he said. "So what will it take for you to trust me?"

She smiled wryly. "If I answer that, then you'll just alter your behavior to meet my expectations."

His smile widened again. "So what it will take for you to trust me is for me to reveal myself as trustworthy without needing input from you."

"Essentially, yes."

"Well," he said, "that leaves us little room for anything other than pleasant small talk. Which I am perfectly willing to engage in. However, in order for me to trust you , I need to know that you'll reciprocate."

"Meaning that since you answered my question, I need to answer yours."

"Essentially, yes," he replied.

She chuckled and leaned back on the couch. She thought a moment longer, then said, "Projecting confidence is the hardest part."

"And why is that hard?"

"That's technically a second question," Faith replied, "but since you answered that question as well, I'll return the favor. Projecting confidence is difficult because the overwhelming majority of an investigation is spent not knowing the answers. You can't know the answers until you know the right questions, and those questions take time to determine. But I can't tell a grieving family member or an irritated police officer that I'm still trying to figure out the questions and don't even know where to look for answers. I have to act as though I am completely certain where to go next, even when I'm as lost as they are."

"That must place a lot of pressure on you, especially when the murderer you are chasing is still actively killing people."

Faith's smile faded slightly. "I think we'll move on to casual small talk now. If that's okay."

"Of course," Dr. West replied. "So tell me about yourself. The parts of yourself you'd feel comfortable sharing with a relative stranger during casual small talk, of course."

***

Michael tapped Faith on the shoulder, pulling her from her thoughts. She turned to him, and he handed her a cup of coffee. She took it and sipped gratefully. The arrival of morning had brought a wave of exhaustion to Faith. She regretted not taking advantage of the opportunity to sleep last night when Michael took over the watch.

Turk seemed completely unaffected by his own all-nighter and continued to listen intently, pausing every few moments to sniff the ground and the air. He looked as though he had found something, but each time Faith asked if he smelled something, he snorted and dipped his head in the negative again.

She allowed the brew to settle and revitalize her, then asked, "Have you heard anything from Kinzel or Jones?"

He shook his head. "Nothing yet. Jones is pretty sure that Tooley pulled a runner."

She nodded. "I hate to say it, but that seems most likely. Either he ran into the caves and got lost just like Tyler and Clara, or he's somewhere in Canada right now. I'm leaning toward the latter. That being said, when do the police plan to start looking through the caves?"

"Jones is sending a team after breakfast. They should be here in two hours or so."

"Wonderful," Faith said. "Fingers crossed we can put this behind us and go home soon."

Michael frowned at her. "Even if that means we find them dead?"

Faith thought of reminding him that if they were dead, it wouldn't matter when they found the bodies, but he had a low enough opinion of her already, and it wouldn't help her case if she said she wanted this case over with quickly so she could convince Michael to help her hunt West. So, she said, "No. I hope we find them alive, of course, but I'm being realistic. The probable explanation is that they got lost, wandered around, and are either dead or trapped underground. I hope the latter is true, but at this point, it doesn't look likely. It also doesn't look all that likely that these are murders. We have no reason to believe that Tooley is responsible for these deaths other than the fact that he happens to be a convict. He was never convicted of murder, and neither Tyler nor Clara had money, so I can't see why he would kidnap them. I can definitely see why he would have run north as soon as possible."

Michael shrugged. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense."

"But?"

"No buts. I just don't trust anything that makes sense anymore because as soon as I start trusting it, it blows up in my face."

Faith lowered her eyes and nodded. "Yeah, I get that."

Michael didn't reply. He sipped his coffee, and after a moment, he said, "I'm thinking when the police get here, we start talking to the townspeople. It's a small enough town that they should know our victims. We can't rule out the possibility that someone in town is responsible for the killings."

"Maybe," Faith allowed, "but I don't think so."

"Why not? If he is using the caves, then that would require local knowledge to accomplish effectively."

"If he's using the caves," Faith reminded him. "If there's even a killer to begin with. But yes, I agree we should talk to the townspeople. I just don't want to make any assumptions going into it."

"Fair enough," Michael replied. "How are you feeling?"

Faith lifted an eyebrow in surprise. She hadn't expected Michael to show much interest in her feelings.

"I'm fine," she said, "hanging in there. You?"

"I've had better days," he admits, "but I'm learning to live with disappointment."

She lifted her coffee cup. "I'll drink to that."

Michael looked as though he had something else to say, so when Faith finished her drink, she said, "Okay, what is it? What else is on your mind?"

"I'm a little more worried about what else is on your mind," he said.

"Nothing but basketball, coach," she joked. "I just want to show those Kansas boys what's what."

"I'll pretend I understand what you're talking about if you answer my question honestly," he said.

"Well, if you were more specific with your question, I might be able to answer more directly."

Michael frowned slightly. "Is your mind on this case, or is your mind on West?"

Faith felt somewhat irritated by the question, considering only the day before, he had seemed checked out of this case himself. "My mind is on a lot of things," she said, "and West is one of them, just as I'm sure he is for you. He hurt me, captured Turk, threatened you and your wife, and killed our friend and colleague. So just like you, I think about him from time to time, and I hope he's caught sooner rather than later. To ask me not to think about him is as unfair as asking you not to think about him.

"My focus , however, is on this case. Screwing this case up isn't going to help anyone find West any faster. I've tried doing things my way, and believe me, I learned my lesson. I don't have a choice but to play by the rules now and hope for the best.

"And I do think we'll get him soon," she lied. "We have the Marshals on it, not to mention our best agents, not to mention every citizen in America who watches The FBI's Most Wanted. We'll find him, and he'll answer for what he did."

"So suddenly, you've gone from being impatient and desperate to be the one who makes the collar yourself to being nonchalant about it and willing to let whoever's running the case get there when they get there?"

Her lips thinned. "Not so suddenly, Michael. There were six weeks in the hospital, a missing dog, the least fun conversation with the Boss that I've ever had, the probable loss of my boyfriend and the alienation of my best friend's new wife and possibly my best friend in between being impatient and recognizing that I need to let this go."

"That's a great point, Faith," he replied, "and I wish I could just take you at your word on the subject, but you've suffered a lot before and still made the same mistakes."

"What do you want me to do, Michael?" she snapped. "Do you want to set up a spy camera that follows me everywhere I go? Do you want to hypnotize me and read my thoughts?"

"I don't mean to be a dick about it," he said, "but you don't get to be angry at me."

"So you get to be unfair and suspicious and catty and cruel, and I just have to grin and bear it?"

"Yes," he said, "Right now, yes. After everything that's happened, yes. But look, I'll take you at your word for it. You say you're focused? Fine. I believe you. Or, at the very least, I'll act like I do until you show me enough that I don't have to act. Deal?"

His phone buzzed, and he said, "Hold on. It's the Boss." He stepped away to answer the call.

He was probably checking in on her. It was don't trust Faith season, and the fact that from their perspectives, Faith knew she deserved it didn't make it easier to stomach.

Michael returned a moment later. He seemed upbeat, far more relaxed than before.

"Good news?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said. "They got a tip on West. Gas station attendant in North Dakota saw him gas up then head south. Good news, since north would mean Canada."

Faith felt a knife pierce her chest. So the Boss wouldn't even talk to Faith about West, but he was giving Michael up-to-the-minute information? Michael was calling her out on her focus when he was just as distracted as she was, and for the exact same reason.

And the tip was bullshit. There was no way West would run. Why would he? He had already hidden close to home, and in plain sight, twice, while running from multiple agencies. The only person who had found him was the person he had specifically led to find him, and he had beaten her badly both times. He had no reason to be anywhere other than close to wherever Faith was. That meant Philadelphia. Hell, it was more likely he was here in Idaho than in North Dakota heading south.

But she didn't air any of these thoughts. From Michael's perspective, she didn't have a right to, and right now, it was more important to her that she and Michael get along than that he admit she was right.

"That's good," she said. "I hope they get him."

"Yeah," he said, "Me too."

His shoulders tensed, and he wouldn't meet her eyes. Faith finished the coffee, clapped him on the shoulder and headed back to the car.

They weren't going to find West. Not until they let Faith run the case. He knew her better than anyone else, but she also knew him. She knew how he thought. He had taken advantage of her trauma, her arrogance, and her grief to manipulate her, but she really had learned the lesson about combating him emotionally. From now on, she would remove her emotions from the equation and treat him like any other suspect, and when she did that, it would take no time at all to predict his next moves and catch him.

He really was a simple creature after all. He was a bully, and Faith was his target. If she could make herself appear vulnerable without actually making herself vulnerable, he would rear his ugly head out of whatever lair he watched her from, and she would squash him like the bug he was.

Not personally, though. Hand to hand was, evidently, not her best option for taking him down. She would learn that lesson, too, and make sure she had backup when she caught him. He might be able to beat Faith on her own, but there wasn't a killer on Earth who could stop Faith Bold and Michael Prince together.

Just ask Jethro Trammell.

Turk barked eagerly, and Faith's mind snapped away from West once more. He barked again, and she and Michael jogged toward him from opposite directions. When Turk decided they were close enough to follow, he bolted down the mountain.

Faith and Michael glanced at each other and started after him. Turk had to stop several times to wait for them. The poor bipedal agents couldn't maintain nearly the same pace down the steep slope of loose dirt and rocks.

Faith looked around and saw nothing but rocky crags and steep slopes. "Where are you leading us, boy?" she asked.

Turk barked, and Faith swore she could detect a hint of exasperation in his call.

"We're moving as fast as we can, boy," she said.

After five minutes of running—well, of Turk running and Faith and Michael cautiously scrambling—they reached a ledge sheltered on one side by a massive boulder. A narrow walking trail led from the ledge downward, but Faith focused on what was on the ledge first.

Not much at first glance. Just a fragment of a candy bar wrapper. It was this that Turk barked at eagerly. Not much, but enough to show that someone had been on the mountains recently. Probably as recently as last night.

They had a lead.

She called Kinzel and told him the news.

"Can you send me the GPS coordinates?" he asked with barely controlled excitement.

"I can," she said, "but the only way up here is a narrow footpath, and I don't know where that footpath begins."

"Send me the coordinates anyway. Maybe Jones will recognize something. In the meantime, you three follow that footpath. If you find anything of note, call me. I have a feeling that Tooley is still in the area."

"I think you're right," Faith replied. Surprisingly.

"Good work, agents," Kinzel said. "Be careful. He's considered armed and dangerous."

"He's gonna have to be real dangerous," Michael said.

"I'm sure you'll be more than capable of handling yourself," Kinzel said with just a touch of sarcasm.

He hung up and Michael said, "Nice guy."

"Have you ever met a marshal who wasn't full of himself?" she asked.

"Sure. There are the meatheads who think they're Marines. No offense."

"None taken. We don't like poseurs either."

They started down the path, Turk in the lead, nose to the ground as he continued to track their thief.

And possibly their killer.