Chapter Three

Shawn O'Hanlon was in the front yard when Don pulled in the next morning, tossing a baseball against a pitch back. He swore softly under his breath as the ball got past him, then blushed when Don scooped it up and handed it to him.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"It's all right," Don answered. "I've heard that one before, I promise."

Shawn offered him a small smile and tossed the ball into the air, catching it easily with his glove.

"How was practice yesterday?" Don asked.

Shawn shook his head. "I can't block the ball. It gets by me all the time, and everyone knows it, so they hit it right to me." He threw the ball at the pitch back, then bent, waiting for it to bounce to him. He missed it by three feet. "See?"

"You're not down far enough," Don said, as Shawn returned with the ball. He crouched. "You're bending over at your waist. Try bending your knees." Don swayed slightly back and forth. "And you're moving too late. Keep your eye on the ball. As soon as the batter makes contact, you spring in that direction." Don straightened up and held out his hand for the ball, motioning that Shawn should back up a few steps. "Try it."

Shawn did. He missed again, but only by a foot this time.

"See? Practice, that's all," Don said. "Don't give up because you made a mistake." Don't do what I did, he finished in his head, but he didn't elaborate for Shawn. "My brother's a mathematician; he'd tell you all about trajectory and bat speed and statistical probability, but honestly, just watch the ball."

"Thanks," Shawn said. "Did you play ball when you were a kid?"

"I played ball when I was an adult," Don said. "Couple of years with the Stockton Rangers." He grinned at the boy. "I have a baseball card and everything."

"Wow," Shawn said. "I'd like to see that sometime, Agent Eppes."

"I'll dig it out. And you can call me Don."

"Nah, Mom says I can't. Respect your elders and all that."

"I'm not that old," Don protested, wondering if he should be offended. He held out his hand. "Toss it over, we've got a few minutes."

Shawn threw wide and Don chased it, wincing when it banged against the house. He pulled the ball out of the garden, noticing the drainpipe was pulling away from the siding, and lobbed it back.

"Sorry!"

"No problem," Don said. "We can work on that, too."

In the house, Kerry was standing at the window, watching them, a small smile playing on her lips. Bridget came up beside her, munching on a piece of toast. "He's cute," she said.

"Your brother?"

"God, no," Bridget said. "I meant Agent Eppes."

"I suppose."

"And he likes you."

Kerry turned to her, blushing, somehow feeling she'd been caught doing something she wasn't supposed to be. "He doesn't like me – not like you're saying," she stammered. "He's doing us a favor, because he worked with your dad."

"Right," Bridget said, licking her fingers. "No offense, Mom, your coffee's not that good."

Don came in ten minutes later, handing Kerry the paper. Neither of them expected him to knock anymore. "Morning."

"Hi. Thanks for helping Shawn."

"Oh, no problem," Don said. "I like baseball." He poured himself a glass of juice from the pitcher on the table – neither of them expected he would ask anymore, either.

"I'm sorry we couldn't stay yesterday," Kerry said. "Your family seems very nice."

"Yeah, they are, thanks. You'll be invited again – my dad still likes to arrange play dates for us."

Kerry laughed and sat beside him, pouring a glass for herself as well. Don watched her and felt a twinge in the back of stomach, a small stirring of anticipation that was frightening and exhilarating all at the same time – something he had never felt before.

He stood up abruptly and went to the sink, rinsing his glass. "Hey, I have to ask you something."

"Sure."

"My brother thinks it's possible someone tipped off Adare three years ago – someone on the team," Don said, temporarily unable to meet her eyes. "He's a math genius – teaches at CalSci – and he wants to run an analysis to see if he's right. He'd need our files, including Brendan's."

Kerry was silent.

"He has a security clearance, and we've worked with him a lot," Don explained. "It's not like we're handing him this classified stuff because he's related to me."

"Why are you asking me this?" Kerry asked. "Do you need my permission?"

"No." Don finally met her eyes. "No, I can just hand them over, as the agent in charge. But it seemed appropriate to at least get your input."

"Do you think someone betrayed the team?" Kerry said.

"I don't," Don said firmly, then allowed, "but Charlie's often right about stuff like this."

"It's fine with me," Kerry said. "Take the file. Just promise me if one of your agents had something to do with Adare pulling that trigger, that you'll have them arrested."


Don took advantage of a two-hour recess to gather the files for Charlie and deliver them to CalSci. Charlie was scribbling furiously on the blackboard when Don came into his classroom.

"Here's what you asked for," he said, almost angrily. "Personnel records. Terry Lake, Brendan O'Hanlon, Mark Lovely, Carolyn Hofer, David and me. Michael McCollin's is there too – he was Brendan's superior from child endangerment and he knew about the whole thing."

"That's all? Just those seven?"

"No one else knew about the whole operation," Don said. "No one else had all the details."

"Okay, then, great," Charlie said.

"I left them completely intact, because I didn't know what you'd need to do your math accurately," Don said pointedly.

"Thanks," Charlie said absently, squinting at the blackboard. "It shouldn't take so long to go through them – I might even have something for you by tonight. Are you coming by for dinner? Dad was going to do meatloaf with that leftover hamburger from yesterday."

"Charlie." Don pulled his brother away from his equations. "Do you understand what I'm telling you? Everything is in there. Personal things. Things that people don't need to know."

Charlie stiffened, insulted. "I have a security clearance --"

"Yeah, yeah, from the NSA, I know," Don interrupted. "It's fairly easy not tell terrorists where we keep our response plans. It might not seem as important to keep it to yourself that Carolyn has a girlfriend, not a husband, but I'm sure she doesn't want that getting out. Are we clear?"

"I'm not a gossip," Charlie said indignantly. He turned his back on his brother, ending the conversation.

Don headed for the door and at the last minute, turned around and cleared his throat. When Charlie looked up impatiently, Don blurted, "I saw the company shrink when Mom was sick. I went four, maybe five times, and once after she died. That's in there. There's a reason I never mentioned it. I will not be discussing it with you, and you are not to tell Dad."

He left Charlie standing there, covered in chalk dust, with his mouth hanging open.

TBC ...