Page 28 of Wayward

I didn’t know about that, and Lewis had pressed her lips together really tight so she wouldn’t laugh. And so it was decided—I was going to the Pacific Northwest.

“I’ll be in touch as different cases progress, but I probably won’t see you in person again,” Lewis said before she hugged me, surprising the hell out of me.

“Awfully touchy-feely for an FBI agent,” I told her as I walked away.

“That’s special agent,” she reminded me just so we were clear.

Now, in Portland, I had to wonder if the air was always going to be this damp.

“You smell that?” Kendall asked me as we got on the freeway. “That’s trees and rain, Maks. Get used to it.”

“Stop,” Woods ordered him and then smiled as she turned around in the front passenger seat to look at me. “I think it’s beautiful here.”

I squinted at her.

“And I’m sure there’s decent pizza somewhere.”

Kendall thought that was hysterical, if his laughter was any indication.

Unlike in Illinois or New York, there was only one judicial district in Portland, and their US Marshal field office was a bit smaller than the one in Manhattan. In fact, New York state had four districts, so it was safe to say that it was a far cry from what Woods and Kendall were used to.

Their faces, when we reached the office, fluctuated between amazement and uncertainty.

“You two all right?” I asked them.

“Holy shit,” Woods murmured, glancing around.

“What a dump,” Kendall said under his breath, bumping me with his shoulder. “You know, Maks, at least if you went to Phoenix, I think they’d have Wi-Fi.”

“You see,” Woods said, “this is why we have the rule to stop for coffee because Jesus, this place.” She was clearly horrified from the look on her face, the upturned nose, and the small indrawn breaths. “Can you imagine what kind of monkey piss they’re drinking?”

“Look, look, look,” Kendall rushed out, tipping his head at the desk. “That computer is older than me.”

Truly, it was a very small office. Compared to the one in Manhattan, there were definitely missing bells and whistles. But Byers and Alvarez, who took custody of me from Woods and Kendall, both seemed competent and even explained up front that there was no espresso machine in the office.

“But there are lots of good coffee places in town,” Alvarez informed us.

“Oh, we know,” Woods said snidely. “That’s why we’re late. We had to make sure to stop first in case your office was small.”

Kendall’s smirk just rubbed it in.

They were definitely not all going to be sitting around having drinks together, but as soon as the New York marshals left me, shaking my hand, wishing me the best, and I was alone with the Portland ones, they both warmed up. We sat together in their conference room, and again went over what the supervisory deputy in New York had told me: my new bank account, my driver’s license, passport, social security card, and so on. And then Byers explained that because the town of Rune, where I was headed, had no available apartments, they had rented a house for me. Once that was done, they told me yet again what I could and couldn’t do or have. As in any contact with anyone from my old life. New friends were just fine.

“Got it,” I assured Martina Alvarez.

Byers took me down to the garage then and showed me all the vehicles I had to choose from. I was surprised by how old they were.

“You’re giving me a car?”

“You get a car,” Byers corrected me. “It’s part of the living expenses you receive as a witness, especially as you won’t be living here in the city and will need reliable transportation to get to and from our office.”

It made sense.

“The car, however, cannot stick out in any way.”

Meaning, the more it looked like everything else on the road, the better. “Great,” I said, trying to sound cheerful, glancing over at the Jeep Wagoneer.

“Oh, that’s a good one,” Byers assured me. “It’s a 2003, and it runs great.”