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Glock.”
    Not bad.
Harry eyed her. She hadn’t taken the bait, hadn’t tried to belt him. He liked attitude, wanted to grin at her amused in-your-face, “you’re not worth my time
,
Agent Moron”
look. He’d seen Barbieri before and thought she was a real looker, but he’d never seen her up close. The close-up reality surprised him. With her long legs in black pants and her black boots that put her close to six feet tall, she nearly reached his eyebrows. They were really shiny black boots, too, maybe shinier than his. Nah, probably not. She wore a raw-looking red leather jacket over a black turtleneck, topping off the tough U.S. marshal look.
    But her face spoiled the effect. Despite the outfit, she looked like she should be serving ice cream and cake to kids at a birthday party, smiling and tending them, her blond ponytail bouncing. She was real pretty and sweet
-
looking and—wholesome was the word, like some former Ohio State cheerleader, like the girl next door voted beauty queen at the state fair. Until you looked at her eyes, dark blue stormy eyes that weren’t at all trusting, and the U.S. marshal showed through again. They were eyes that had seen a lot, though the good Lord knew she couldn’t have seen more than he had in his eight years with the Bureau.
    Harry stuck out his hand, wondering if she’d bite it, but she shook his hand, hers cool and dry, all business.
    “Why are you grinning?”
    “I was wondering if you would bite my hand.”
    She arched a dark blond eyebrow. “Only if you try to feed me.”
    Harry said, “So you think I’m a wild hair, do you? There’s a story around about you, too, Barbieri. Something about a fugitive in a shopping mall in Omaha last year who tried to take a hostage in a Macy’s women’s room? And you ended up sticking the woman’s head in the john and not letting her up until she dropped her gun?” He grinned at the visual. “Talk about the pot and the kettle.”
    Cheney laughed, couldn’t help it, watching the two of them. If they could manage to avoid bloodshed, they might work well together. Barbieri could stand up to anybody, and as for Harry, well, despite his reputation, he had gotten some remarkable results, and that’s why Cheney wanted him on Judge Hunt’s shooting.
    Cheney said to Eve, “Your boss told me you’ll be heading up Judge Hunt’s protection team.”
    Eve nodded.
    “Good. The media is gathered in the lobby. I don’t doubt they’ll try to sneak up.”
    “We’ve got that covered,” Eve said. “Just look at Mancusso’s face—show him a lurking reporter and he’ll stuff him into one of the laundry carts.”
    “We’ve also had Agent Dillon Savich, chief of the CAU back at the Hoover Building—that’s the Criminal Apprehension Unit—and his wife, Agent Sherlock, fly out to help us with the case. You’ll be working with them as well.”
    “Yes, I know,” she said. “I saw you with them earlier.” Eve had watched Cheney hug the woman with the rioting red hair and shake the big man’s hand, all chatty and full of bonhomie, best buds.
    Great,
Harry thought, he’d be working with Savich and Sherlock from Disneyland East, too, as if there weren’t already enough noses eager to poke under the tent.
    Cheney said, “Harry, do you think you can manage to work with Barbieri? Work
with
her, not make her want to knock your teeth down your throat? Given it’s Barbieri we’re talking about here, she probably wouldn’t hesitate.”
    “You’re recommending caution around Suzie Cheerleader? Not a problem. She’s only heading up the protection detail, so that’s not a lot of work we’ll need to do together.”
    Suzie Cheerleader?
Eve gave him the fish eye. “I’ll get the job done, whether you work with me or not,” and she shrugged as an eyebrow went up. “The question is, will you, Christoff?”
    “In the FBI, we have cases, not jobs.” He held up his hand and said to Cheney, “Like I said, there’s no problem here. I