"Robbie's out by the garage," Marcy said. "Why don't you go find him, and I'll brew the coffee and catch up with my favorite girl?"
"Sounds like a plan, ma'am," Doug said. He gave Maureen a quick kiss and headed for the back door.
"For how long?" Robbie asked as he flipped the steaks on the grill.
"We're not sure," Doug said. "We're assuming he's in danger until we catch D Street, so think of it like witness protection." The steaks smelled fantastic, but Robbie always overcooked them.
"And this guy is how old?"
"Sixties. Retired. Wants to get back to his grandchildren. Wants to not get murdered even more."
"Good plan," Robbie said. "It'd probably ruin his year."
"Yeah. Can you do it?"
"Yeah," Robbie said. "We've got a couple of apartments we use as safe houses. There's no reason we couldn't put him up for the foreseeable future. I'll make it happen."
"Great," Doug said. "I'll let Gene know."
"Speaking of Gene, how did he take the news?"
Doug froze. "I haven't said anything yet."
Robbie held up a finger. "Wait a minute. You haven't said anything to him about leaving the team, or you haven't told Mo you aren't?"
Doug looked uncomfortable. "I haven't decided yet." He turned to face Robbie directly. "I'm kind of hoping I can talk her out of it. I can't imagine doing anything else."
Robbie let out a low whistle. "I'll pretend we didn't have this conversation then. Let you deal with Big Sis."
"Good idea," Doug said. "Because if I have to hear it from her that she heard something from you, I'll have to kill you. And then Marcy will kill me. And then Mo will kill her."
Robbie smiled. "So are you excited?"
"Thrilled," Doug said, taking a sip of beer. "Terrified. She's an amazing woman. I can't imagine the forces of nature her kids will be."
Robbie rolled his eyes. "With your luck they'll have her temperament and your size."
* * *
November 16th, 9:55 AM CST; Glenview Manor Apartments; St. Louis, Missouri.
Robbie Barnhoorn parked the car in the back lot of a gargantuan white building, one of ten just like it scattered across the landscape. He killed the engine and looked at his passenger. Larry Johnson was bald, heavily wrinkled, and grotesquely tan. He looked like a shriveled apple in a heavy sweater. "Well, Larry, we're 'home.' Apartment 4B is yours. We've got guys in 4A, and the rest of the floor we keep empty in case we need them."
Larry looked out the window and sighed.
Robbie patted him on the shoulder. "It's just until they catch this guy."
He sighed again. "I know. Let's take a look."
Upstairs, Robbie knocked on the door to 4A. After a few seconds it opened, revealing a stocky man with a bristly gray beard, wearing nothing but green boxer shorts. The man's eyes widened, and he stepped back. "Sorry, Robbie, I didn't realize we had company."
Smirking, Robbie stepped into the apartment, revealing a kitchen to the left and a small living area straight ahead. "Larry, this disgrace to the Bureau is Josh Santee. Josh is an undercover who needs to lay low for a while. If you need anything, just ask. He looks like a wild boar even with clothes on, but he's a pushover. Josh Santee, Larry Johnson. Larry is staying across the hall for a while."
Josh stuck out his hand. "Pleased to meet you."
Larry shook his hand. "Likewise."
"Put some pants on," Robbie said. "It's almost ten in the morning." As Josh ducked into a bedroom, Robbie called out, "Hey, where's Nick?"
"Shopping. He'll be back in a while."
"Nick Faughn is Josh's roommate," Robbie said to Larry. "He's a VICAP guy in town to help us with a case." Larry raised his eyebrows questioningly. "Violent Criminal Apprehension Program, similar job description as Palomini's team, but he does kidnapping, not mass killers." Robbie helped himself to a cup of coffee. "Coffee?"
"Herbal tea if you've got it," Larry said. "Or just water."
Robbie rummaged through the cupboard and emerged victorious with a box of Chamomile. He put a cup of water in the microwave and started it.
Josh emerged from the bedroom in jeans and an Arizona Cardinals T-shirt. "Better?"
"Much," Robbie said.
Josh raised his chin at Larry. "You from Jersey?"
Larry smiled. "Orange. Way back. How'd you know?"
"Newark." He thumbed his chest. "I could hear it in your voice. Not much, but there's a little in there, hiding under all that Southwest."
"Huh," Larry said. "You'd think a couple decades in Utah'd take care of that." He shrugged. "You're good."