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yet Amanda had managed to call Will back three more times before the sun came up. He could tell she was worried by the calmness of her tone, the way she spoke to him as if he’d gotten a flat tire on the side of the highway instead of walked into a bloodbath. Usually, Amanda took a certain joy in making Will miserable, but last night was different.
    It was also fleeting.
    “So.” She finished the email and moved on to another. “Quite a mess you’ve gotten yourself into, Wilbur.”
    He wasn’t sure which mess she was talking about.
    “I don’t have to tell you that we’re not out on the limb anymore; we’re on the thin part of the branch. The twig.”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “Whoever these men are, they don’t mind going after cops.”Amanda glanced up at him. “Try not to get yourself killed, won’t you? I don’t have the patience to break in someone new.”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    She turned her attention back to her email. “Where’s Faith?”
    Faith Mitchell, Will’s partner. “You said meet at seven-thirty.” He checked his watch. “She’s got six minutes.”
    “How wonderful. You’ve learned to tell time.” Amanda continued reading as she went to her desk, sat in her chair. The old cushion made a sound like a pig snort. “I looped the director in on your midnight escapades. He’s keeping a close eye on this.”
    Will didn’t know how he was expected to respond to this information, so he took his seat, waiting for the next shoe to drop. Just recently, Will had come to accept that Amanda Wagner was the closest thing he would ever have to a mother—that is, if your mother was the type to lock you in a refrigerator or strap you into the back seat of her car and roll you into a lake.
    She put down her BlackBerry and took off her reading glasses. “Anything you need to tell me?”
    “No, ma’am.”
    Uncharacteristically, Amanda didn’t press. She turned on her computer, waited for it to boot. Will guessed Amanda was in her mid to late sixties, but there really was no way of knowing her exact age. She was still in good shape, still capable of running circles around men half her age—or Will’s age, to be exact. And yet watching her try to work a computer mouse was like watching a cat try to pick up a pebble.
    She slapped the mouse against the desk, mumbling, “What is wrong with this thing?”
    Will knew better than to offer his help. He brushed a speck of dirt off the knee of his trousers. It made him think about Sara. She was probably in her car by now, heading down to Macon. The drive was about an hour and a half. Will should’ve offered to take her. He could’ve confessed the whole sordid truth along the way.
    And then Sara would’ve given him a choice: walk back to Atlanta or walk the rest of the way to Macon.
    Amanda said, “You’re brooding.”
    Will considered the description. “Don’t you need the moors for that?”
    “Clever.” Amanda sat back in her chair, giving Will her full attention. “You investigated Lena Adams last year?”
    “A year and a half ago,” Will corrected. “Faith helped me. Lena’s partner was stabbed. He practically bled out in the street. And then she arrested the suspect and he died in her custody.”
    “Reckless endangerment, negligence?”
    “Yes,” Will answered. “She was formally reprimanded, but she left Grant County a week later and joined the Macon force. They didn’t seem to mind the taint.”
    Amanda picked at the stem of her glasses. Her voice got softer. “She was Jeffrey Tolliver’s partner when he was murdered—what?—five, six years ago?”
    Will stared out the window. He could feel her eyes lasering the side of his face.
    She said, “There’s an Eric Clapton song about telling the truth. Something about how the whole show is passing you by. Look into your heart. Et cetera.”
    Will cleared his throat. “It makes me very uncomfortable to think about you listening to Eric Clapton.”
    Amanda’s sigh held a tinge of sadness