Unseen (Will Trent / Atlanta Series)

down the handle on the pod. He tried the weather thing. “I think it’s going to rain today.”
    Faith groaned. “You’re a dumbass, you know that?”
    He grimaced, mostly because he couldn’t contradict her.
    “It’s not the case that’s going to piss Sara off, it’s the cover-up.” Faith paused, but only for breath. “Actually, it won’t piss her off. It’ll hurt her. Devastate her. Which is a hell of a lot worse than her being mad. People get over being mad.”
    Will scooped up the three mugs in his hands. “Amanda’s waiting.”
    Faith trailed him out of the kitchen. Will hunched his shoulders against the disappointment radiating off her, but she was blissfully silent as she followed him to Amanda’s office. He knew better than to think this was over. Faith was probably itemizing in her head all the different ways she was right about this.
    Sadly, there was nothing Will could say, because Faith
was
right. Sara wouldn’t be angry. She would be hurt. She would be devastated. And then she would probably inventory the steaming load of crap Will had brought into her otherwise normal life and decide it wasn’t worth it. His Dickensian childhood. What had happened to his family. His ardent desire not to discuss either topic no matter how gently Sara pressed. There just wasn’t much to recommend him. Will had almost been kicked out of high school. He’d been homeless. He’d barely graduated from college. And this didn’t even touch on Will’s hateful wife, who had evaporated off the face of the earth the minute he’d filed divorce papers, yet still somehow managed to leave the occasional nasty message tucked under the windshield wiper of Sara’s car.
    Caroline was still at her desk. She helped Will move the mugs around, taking the one with cream. He realized he’d screwed up the orders at the same moment he realized he didn’t care.
    Unbelievably, the tension in Amanda’s office was thicker than when Will had left. Amanda’s jaw was set. Denise Branson’s bodywas rigid, her hands clenched into fists. The pissing contest was far from over.
    Amanda’s tone could’ve cut through steel. “Major Branson, this is Special Agent Mitchell.”
    Oddly, Denise Branson smiled warmly at Faith. “I worked with your mother when I was a rookie. I hope she’s enjoying her retirement?”
    “Yes.” Faith shook the woman’s hand. “I’ll tell Mama you asked after her.”
    Branson continued, “Evelyn was always the consummate professional.” She still didn’t look at Amanda, but they all took her meaning. “I’m sorry I don’t have time to look her up while I’m in town.”
    Faith’s perfunctory smile and lack of response made it clear she wasn’t going to be so easily charmed away from Amanda’s side.
    To break the awkward moment, Will passed out the coffees. Amanda held the mug to her lips, then recoiled when the smell hit her. Branson noted the gesture and placed her mug on the desk.
    Amanda said, “Let’s try to keep this brief. We all have work to do.”
    Will waited for the women to sit, then leaned against the windowsill, feeling—literally—like the odd man out. He was used to being surrounded by women, but there was something about this particular group that made him feel the need to cross his legs.
    Amanda began, “All right, let’s start with this officer-involved …” She searched for the appropriate word. “… hammering.” She smiled on this last bit, though Will had seen firsthand why the observation wasn’t funny. “Denise, any leads on why Adams and Long were targeted?”
    “We have some theories.”
    They all waited, but Branson didn’t share them.
    “All right,” Amanda said. “We’ll need to review all recent casefiles, talk to their partners and team members and see if they can come up with any—”
    “We’ve already done that,” Branson interrupted. “No one stood out. They’re police officers. They don’t get thank-you notes for arresting people.”
    Amanda did not demure. “And yet they were targeted for a reason.”
    “We’ve reviewed all of Adams’s cases going back twelve months. Same for Long. They’ve been doing mostly routine stuff. No dangerous work. Nothing that would draw this kind of attention.”
    Amanda smirked. “Fascinating you were able to reach that conclusion in less than six hours.”
    “We’re a crack team down in Macon.”
    Amanda analyzed the woman. So did Will. Branson obviously relished the game, but her lips