OBIE PULLED TO the curb and watched Vance finish up with the local cops and some of her people. Ambulances were everywhere and people were being loaded into the back of the rescue vehicles that would take them to local hospitals to treat their injuries.

They were the lucky ones. They were still alive. The dead stayed right where they had dropped, as people investigated their murders. The only act of privacy and respect was to drape a white sheet over the body. Other than that, people who an hour before were alive and enjoying a beer were now nothing more than pieces in a criminal investigation puzzle.

As Vance finished with the last cop, Robie honked the horn and she looked at him. She walked to the Beemer and checked it over as he rolled down the passenger window.

“If there’s even one ding on this car your ass is mine,” she declared but her expression showed she wasn’t being serious.

“You want me to drive?” he asked. “Or you want the wheel?”

She answered by getting into the passenger seat. “I’m having your ride towed to the FBI garage. It’s officially evidence.”

“Great, then I don’t have a car.”

“DCIS has a motor pool. Get one from there.”

“They probably have some Ford Pintos sitting around. I preferred my Audi.”

“Ain’t life a bitch?”

“What was the final count?” he asked quietly.

She exhaled a long breath. “Four dead. Seven wounded, three of them critically, so the death count could go higher.”

“The black SUV?”

“Disappeared without the proverbial trace.” She sat back against the seat and closed her eyes. “Where did you go that was so important?”

“I needed to check on something.”

“What? Or who?”

“Just something.”

“Need to know and I don’t?” She opened her eyes and stared at him. He didn’t answer. She looked down at the box under the steering column.

“I take it you found my grille light add-on.”

“It came in handy.”

“Who are you really?”

“Will Robie. DCIS. Just like the badge and ID card says.”

“You handled yourself well back there. I was still fumbling for my gun while you emptied your mag at the shooters. Cool and collected with bullets flying past.”

He said nothing, just kept driving. The sky was clear. Some stars were visible. Robie wasn’t looking at them. He stared ahead.

She said, “That was basically a war zone back there and it didn’t seem to have any effect on you. I’ve been in the FBI for fifteen years, right out of college. I’ve been in exactly one shootout during that time. I’ve seen my share of dead bodies after the fact. Caught my share of bad guys. Filled out my share of paperwork. Worn out witness chairs in courthouses.”

He made a left. He had no idea where he was going. He just kept driving.

“And where exactly is this trip down memory lane going, Agent Vance?”

“After you left I threw up. Couldn’t help it. Just upchucked into a trash can.”

“Nothing unusual about that. It was pretty bad.”

“You saw what I saw. And you didn’t throw up.”

He looked at her again. “You said it didn’t affect me. You don’t know that. You can’t see inside my head.”

“I wish I could. I’m pretty sure I’d find it fascinating.”

“Doubtful.”

“You triaged those people really effectively. Where did you learn to do that?”

“I just picked up some tricks over the years.”

She glanced down at his arm. “Damn, Robie, you didn’t even clean your own wound. You’re going to get gangrene.”

“Where are we going?”

“First stop, WFO,” she said, referring to the Washington Field Office.

“After that?”

“Hospital for you.”

“No.”

“Robie!”

“No.”

“Okay, we can drive to your place. But I insist on getting your wound cleaned up there. I can grab some stuff from WFO. Then I can head home and try to get a couple hours’ sleep. Where do you live?”

He said nothing, but he hung a right and then another right and headed to the WFO.

“So you know the way to the Field Office?”

“No, I’m just making an educated guess.”

“Where do you live? Or is that classified too?”

“We can part company at the WFO. I’ll cab it from there.”

“Do you have a place to live?” she asked.

“I’ll find one.”

“For Godsakes, what is going on with you?”

“I’m just trying to do my job.”

The emphasis on the last word made her visibly react. “Okay,” she said quietly. “Okay. Look, after WFO we can go to my place. I live in Virginia. Condo in Alexandria. You can get cleaned up there. And if you want you’re welcome to the couch.”

“I appreciate the offer but—”

“Careful. I’m not usually this nice to people, Robie. Don’t blow it.”

He glanced at her. She was smiling weakly at him.

He was about to decline again, but he didn’t. For three reasons. His arm was aching like hell. And he was tired. Really tired. And he really had no place to go.

“Okay,” he said. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”