Bone Rattle by Marc Cameron (best ereader for pdf .TXT) 📕

with it much after a shower. A healthy splash of freckles covered a smallish nose. She had the look of a pioneer woman who’d been sun kissed, but not yet sun damaged by a life under tough conditions. Cutter thought her attractive, but chose not to say so out loud since she was his boss. She’d gained a tiny bit of weight since her baby was born the year before. He didn’t mention that either.

Chief Phillips scanned the folders on her desk until she found the one she was looking for and then leaned back in her chair to peruse it. Her bourbon-smooth Kentucky accent came through loud and clear when she spoke. “I swear, Sean Blodgett is like a bumper on a pool table. He just lets the bandits bounce off him so you can arrest them.”

“He works hard,” Cutter said. “Gets a lot of bad guys off the street.”

Lola Teariki nodded in agreement.

Phillips eyed them both over the top of the folder and then pitched it on the desk. Her gaze settled on Lola.

“Well,” Phillips said, “you can blame Sean’s mishap for the rest of this.”

Lola sighed. “So I guess this isn’t about an ad hoc task force to find a serial killer.”

“What are you talking about?”

Cutter gave her a quick thumbnail.

“Afraid not,” Phillips said, almost parroting what Cutter had said not three minutes before. “They identify a suspect and we’ll help if they want us to. Until then, I’m sending you to work a trial in Juneau.”

“The Hernandez brothers…” Lola said, her voice glum. “Isn’t that trial already staffed up? Somebody get sick or something?”

“Nobody’s sick,” the chief said. “One of the jurors reported that she was followed home last night. Scott says the judge is leaning toward sequestering the jury.”

Scott Keen was the Judicial Security Inspector, the specialist who saw to it that judges were protected and security aspects of larger trials went smoothly.

“Sequestered?” Lola said, almost, but not quite, whining. “Do we even do that anymore? I mean, I’ve heard horror stories – babysitting jurors, censoring their media, listening in on their phone calls…” She looked over at Cutter. “Hey, what do we do about cell phones?”

Phillips rubbed her eyes and groaned. “The short answer is, we follow the judge’s order. The practical answer is that I have a call in to headquarters. I want to know what other districts are doing in this situation.”

“You’ll be fine,” Cutter said to Lola, knowing where the chief was going next before she even spoke the words.

“And so will you, Big Iron,” Phillips said. She was jealous of the fact that he carried his grandfather’s Colt Python and gave him grief about it every chance she got. “If Judge Forsberg does this, we’ll have to run two shifts just for the jury. Scott’s got his hands full with witnesses and looking after the judge’s safety.”

“A new threat?” Cutter asked.

“Not new,” Phillips said. “But the Hernandez brothers are gang bangers of the first order. Mid-level soldiers, to be sure, but they’re connected to some evil bastards further up the cartel chain. Kidnappings, trafficking, assassinations – their people are good for all kinds of bad behavior. Scott’s running a portal to portal on the judge, driving her to work, screening her mail, that sort of thing.”

“Are there even enough hotels in Juneau to hide a jury?” Lola asked.

“Not hiding,” Phillips said. “Sequestering. There’s a lot of groundwork to get done, so I want you on the early flight tomorrow.”

“Well, shit,” Lola said, hanging her head.

Phillips shot a quick glance at Cutter. “What?”

“Nothing,” Lola said. “I just… I mean, I was starting to mentor this girl out at My House this week. You know, that drop-in shelter for homeless youth in Wasilla. Poor kid’s got no family, no nothing. She was on the street until a couple of weeks ago. Now she’s working as a barista. We’re supposed to have dinner tomorrow night, talk about her future.”

“That is a laudable thing, Lola,” Phillips said. “And if I didn’t need my best people in Juneau, I’d send someone else.”

“Understood.” Lola brightened a shade at the compliment. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll go let her know I need a rain check.” She bounced a fist on Cutter’s shoulder. “I’ll set up the flights, boss.”

“Take your friend to dinner tonight,” he said.

Lola cocked her head, a wide smile blossoming across her face. “Good idea. That’s why you make the big money.”

“Pull the door to on your way out,” Phillips said.

Lola shot Cutter a you’re-in-trouble-now look and did as she was told.

“You are teaching her well,” Phillips said after her office door clicked shut.

Cutter snorted. “She teaches me, Chief. I know she can get on a body’s nerves, but she’s a bright kid. One of the brightest I’ve ever worked with.”

“I’m sure,” Phillips said. “But she’s usually such a ruthless self-promoter, always pushing for more training and assignments to further her career beyond her peers.”

“Somebody’s got to speak up for her in this outfit,” Cutter said. “I mean, no offense to you. You’re a hell of a mentor, but the Marshals Service tends to reward ruthless self-promoters.”

Phillips scoffed at that. “Big Iron, the world rewards ruthless self-promoters. The Service hasn’t got a corner on that market. But that doesn’t make it right. Let’s take you, for instance.”

“Let’s not,” Cutter said.

“I haven’t seen your paperwork for one of the GS 14 supervisor slots.”

The Marshals Service had just bumped all journeyman deputies up a pay grade, putting them on equal footing with criminal investigators from other federal agencies. As newly minted GS 13s, every journeyman deputy was now the same grade as inspectors and line supervisors. Former mid-level managers who had competed and won their respective promotions had to reapply for one of a limited number of GS 14 spots in each district if they wanted to remain in management.

Cutter cared little about being a boss. He’d only applied for his 13 to get the supervisor’s spot in Alaska and help his sister-in-law after his brother’s death.

“You