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staring at his clean desk, was his way of wasting time.
    When the family had teased him about being on extended leave the other day, he hadn’t told them he’d already been summoned by his boss to make an appearance. In fact, he had a sneaking suspicion he was about to get his ass chewed out. Something else he hated.
    A hard chore is best done quick .
    Another of his grandfather’s sayings. Funny, he hadn’t thought about him in months. Now the old man seemed to be taking up residence in his head.
    Inhaling deeply, he headed for his boss’ office. U.S. Marshal Dan Robertson was a by-the-book boss, and didn’t play politics. If he was pissed, Frank would know it the moment he walked in the door.
    “Glad to see you’re back in the office today, Deputy Marshal Castello.” Robertson didn’t look up from the paper he was writing on.
    Shit. He’d used his title. Not a first name. Not even just a last name. Not good .
    “Yes, sir.” Frank stood on the other side of the desk. Out of respect for the man and his office, he wouldn’t take the vacant chair until it was offered.
    Robertson finally set aside the pen and studied him from head to toe. “How’s the leg?”
    “Coming along, sir. Biweekly PT is going well, at least, according to my therapist.” Dan wanted formal, he’d give him formal.
    “Take a seat,” his boss said, waving a hand at the chair. “Any idea how long before you can return to active duty?”
    Sitting, he took the opportunity to stretch out the injured leg, but only slightly. He’d anticipated this question coming from his boss, and asked Mike for a ballpark figure earlier today. “Therapist says I’m ahead of the program. Probably another month.”
    “Good thing the bullets didn’t shatter your kneecap or bones, huh?” Tension edged the question, setting Frank’s nerves on alert.
    “Yes, sir. I was very lucky.”
    “You know, you have a very odd idea of fun. When most guys in the Midwest take a week’s vacation in January, they tend to go somewhere warm and relax. A warm island beach. Women in bikinis. They do not fly to the nation’s snowbound capital, go undercover for another agency, and get themselves all shot to hell.”
    Frank knew better than to open his mouth. Dan was nowhere near done.
    “The worst part was that I had no idea what you were up to. That is, until my boss, the Deputy Director called to say how pleased he and his boss, the Director, were that we’d been part of the team helping to bring down the Red Mantle group and save the president on her first day in office. Nothing like having my ass hanging out in the wind.”
    And there it was. His boss didn’t like looking like a fool any more than he did. His little excursion to do a favor for a friend had left a man he respected feeling like he’d been used and abused. Couldn’t blame him for being angry. He’d be just as mad. Probably more so, if someone had kept him in the dark about an operation that had this big an implication.
    “To be honest, sir, the operation I was helping my friends with was supposed to be a simple observe and plant a microchip listening device during the gala. We, and most of the other security in the building, were caught completely off guard when the cult started firing. In fact, we were lucky we didn’t lose more people.”
    “Heard that one of the people in your group helped to identify many of the terrorists trying to sneak out with the hostages.” Some of the edge had gone out of Robertson’s voice and Frank relaxed a little.
    “That would be Abigail Whitson. She has a very unique talent.”
    Robertson lifted a paper, glanced at it and then fixed his gaze on him. “This Luke Edgars. Same one you helped in the big takedown of Senator Klein’s sex slave ring last year? Another off-the-books excursion you got mixed up in.”
    Shit. Robertson was as relaxed as a tiger sizing up a heard of goats. “Yes, sir.”
    “And he’s the brother-in-law of your former WitSec