Page 91 of The Burning

“My pleasure.” I can practically hear her smiling. “Anything else?”

“You might want to wear your flak jacket.”

“Hell yeah.” She lets out a whoop! as I disconnect.

CHAPTER 24

Mike Rasmussen calls twice on the short drive to the station. I let both go to voicemail. Evidently, he wants to know what I’m up to. I wish I had a definitive answer. Best-case scenario, this briefing will give me the opportunity to pass along everything I’ve learned about the Schwertler Anabaptists and add Isaiah Hofer’s name to our persons-of-interest list. With me still relegated to limited duty, the rest is up to them.

As I pull into my parking slot, I send a silent thank-you to Mona; the majority of my officers are already here. No sign of the sheriff’s SUV or Tomasetti’s Tahoe. Trepidation churns in my gut as I enter the building. I’ve barely set foot inside when someone calls out to me.

“Chief!”

I glance toward dispatch to see Margaret standing, the headset clamped over her ears, mouthpiece shoved to one side. She’s waving a tome-size stack of message slips. Her expression tells me the aforementioned messages are secondary to whatever else she has to say.

“Thank God you’re back,” she mutters.

I stride to her. “I appreciate you and Mona getting everyone here so quickly,” I say as I pluck the slips from her hand.

“Tomasetti helped.”

Inwardly, I smile. Margaret wasn’t born yesterday. “Glad to hear it,” I say.

“Your officers have their heads on straight, Chief. Just about everyone else around here has their head up their ass.” Her mouth twitches. “No offense.”

“None taken.”

Eyes flicking toward the door, she lowers her voice. “Rasmussen, Chambers, and Tomasetti are five minutes out.”

“Auggie?”

“Just talked to him. He’s parking.” She grimaces, lowers her voice. “I hear Chambers is on the warpath. There’s something going on.”

“Any idea what?” I ask.

“No clue, but I don’t like it.”

“You and me both.” I start toward my office. “Call that meeting to order.”

She grins.

A few feet away, Glock’s head pops up over the top of his cubicle. “Want me to round everyone up, Chief?”

“I’m glad your hearing is good,” I say over my shoulder as I unlock the door and snatch the file and notes from my desk. Then I’m back in the hall in time to see Skid and Pickles come around the corner.

“Just talked to Mona,” T.J. tells me. “She’s a minute out.”

“Evidently, Tomasetti picked up Chambers earlier,” Skid says beneath his breath.

Pickles’s mouth twitches. “Last I heard, Tomasetti was going to swing by Mocha Joe’s for coffee.”

“Always a line at Mocha Joe’s.” Glock comes up behind us. “That’ll slow them down.”

“Coffee’s worth the wait.” T.J. feigns sympathy. “But I bet Chambers wasn’t too happy about the holdup.”

“Son of a bitch’ll be good and primed by the time Tomasetti gets finished with him,” Pickles grumbles.

I enter the meeting room and stride directly to the half podium set up at the head of the table. The men shuffle into chairs. I glance down at my notes, aware that my pulse is up. That I’m nervous and running hot and neither of those things is going to serve me well in the coming minutes.