Chapter 2

So were Jarrett’s. With the exception of the hair, he could have been looking into a mirror.

Self-consciously, he rubbed his hand over his bald scalp. He didn’t regret shaving it off, not for a second, but whoever drew this was all too familiar with what he looked like otherwise. No wonder the Feds wanted to talk to him. If they considered this somehow pertinent to their case, it was a logical first step.

“As far as I can tell, it’s just routine follow-through,” Venice said. “Their main interest seems to be the guy who owns the site. Right now, they’re scrambling for anything that’s going to help them find who killed their hacker.”

“Okay.” He didn’t actually feel better about it, but he didn’t want Venice to feel guilty for warning him. “I know you can get in trouble for giving me the heads-up, so thanks. I appreciate it.”

“Someone’s got to look out for you,” she said. “You’re too busy looking out for everyone in Aurora City Hall.”

He smiled at her small attempt to lighten his mood. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that. Call me when you’re done. Unless you need bail, in which case, call one of your rich friends instead.”

“Right, right.” Laughing now, he disconnected and set the phone aside, his full attention back on the computer screen. If Venice wasn’t going to worry, he wouldn’t either, though he still wasn’t comfortable with someone using his face in their art. The site seemed comprehensive, too, with an archive, a blog, and a forum, as well as the current strip emblazoned across the first page.

Before he could delve deeper, the office door opened and a pair of matching suits stepped inside. Jarrett was too far away to hear them speaking to Tina, the intern who covered the phones after the receptionist left for the day, but he didn’t need to know what they were saying to recognize them as federal agents.

He glanced back at his screen. Denying any knowledge of the webcomic could backfire if they checked his history, and if he admitted the truth about Venice’s warning, he’d get her in trouble with her captain for interfering with an investigation, as well as cast more suspicion on himself. Who needed a warning if they were innocent?

Over the top of his cubicle wall, he saw Tina point in his direction, both Feds following her aim. Quickly, he clicked on the browser tools menu and cleared his history. He hoped it was enough. In fact, he hoped he was overreacting completely.

He was back at work on the press release about the Deputy Mayor’s upcoming involvement at this year’s Farmers Fair when the two agents stopped next to his desk.

“Jarrett Kessel?”

He looked up with a polite, but warm smile, one he’d perfected long before coming to work for City Hall. “Yes, can I help you?”

Though the suits were nearly identical, the men were not. The one who’d spoken was in his fifties, gray hair so closely cropped his bald spots were peeking through. His partner was closer to Jarrett’s age, a whippet-thin African American with a pencil moustache and an underbite. Both men wore matching frowns.

“I’m Agent Yager.” He flashed his ID. FBI. “This is Agent Baptiste. Is there somewhere we could speak privately?”

“Sure. Most of the conference rooms should be empty this time of night. Hang on.” He saved his document and closed the program, all the while keeping his features as unaffected as possible. Agents, reporters, they were all the same. Outsiders. Dealing with them was his specialty.

They hung back as he stood. He left his coat draped over the back of his chair, testimony to anybody who might be paying attention that he wasn’t worried about this impromptu meeting, and led the way past Silas’s curious stares. His neck itched, knowing they watched his every step, but he stayed straight and never looked back. Not until he reached Conference Room C and held the door open for them to enter first.

“I’d offer you coffee, but then you’d be forced to drink what I make,” he said with a rueful smile after they’d all taken seats. “I wouldn’t even wish that on the Republicans.”

Baptiste cracked a little at his small joke, though Yager didn’t even blink. He might’ve been a Republican, and thus not found it amusing, but odds were better he was simply more seasoned. Jarrett didn’t take it personally. He’d used the same joke with Democrats as the punch line during the previous administration. It was all about showing solidarity for his current employer.

“We’re in the process of investigating a murder in Chicago,” Yager said. “Anything we say here is to be kept completely confidential.”

“Okay.” His earlier questions surged back to the foreground, though he kept his fa?ade wary, like he had no idea what they were about to talk about. “It’s not someone from this office, is it?”

“No, the victim is someone we’ve had under surveillance for some time. As far as we know, he’s completely unrelated to Mayor Durney’s activities.” Yager glanced at Baptiste and nodded. The other agent opened the file he’d carried in with him, took out the top piece of paper, and slid it across the table. “Can you identify this man, Mr. Kessel?”

The paper was a black-and-white, eight-by-ten photograph of a young Asian man slumped at a corner table in some kind of coffee shop. A laptop was open on the table in front of him, his knobby fingers hovering on the keyboard. The kid was oblivious to whoever was taking the picture, and though a shank of straight black hair fell over one of his eyes, the hard set of his jaw conveyed intense concentration. He looked like any one of a hundred people Jarrett saw when he went out. Everyday. Average. Completely unremarkable.