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member…”
    “Katie Edgars,” Frank provided, wondering where the man was going with this line of questioning.
    “The one who blew her cover—”
    “Actually, it was blown on our end, sir.” And, his former partner, Pete, a good man and Deputy, lost his life trying not to give up the information.
    Robertson nodded. “True. And you continued her protection, albeit off protocol.”
    And they stopped a madman from killing Katie, not to mention possible hundreds with stolen SAMS from a decade earlier. Frank refrained from reminding Dan of those facts. He already knew them.
    “What I’m seeing here is a pattern. A pattern of you going rogue. Running cases without notifying me or anyone in this department.” Dan rested both his elbows on the desk, laced his fingers together, and stared over them at him for a few minutes.
    Frank fought the urge to adjust his seat like a little kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He’d learned a long time ago that silence on his part could get the other person to tell you more information—a kind of a game of chicken for interrogation.
    “Dammit, Castello, I can’t have my deputies, no matter how good or how experienced, running all over the country getting into cases run by other departments. Keeping me in the dark in the meantime. You work for me, not this Edgars family. Your first duty is to the Marshals. Had you not been playing undercover spy on your free time, you wouldn’t have been injured and I wouldn’t be down a man. Especially with all the protection of witnesses I need for this land fraud case.”
    The man had a point, although if Frank wanted to be a smartass he could always point out that he could’ve just as likely been in a car accident, or struck by lightning on his free time. That wouldn’t get him any brownie points with his boss, though.
    “Yes, sir,” he said, instead.
    Dan slammed his hand down on his desk. “Don’t give me that placating, yes, sir, shit, Frank. No more extra cases. Anything pops up on your radar that needs looking into by the Marshals, you better be feeding me into the loop first. Otherwise, I’m going to be rethinking whether or not you want to continue being a Deputy Marshal. You hear me?”
     
    * * * * *
     
    Dan Robertson’s hardly veiled threat still rang in Frank’s ears on Saturday afternoon as he stepped out of his car and pulled on his tuxedo jacket. Luke and Abigail’s wedding wasn’t for an hour, but he’d promised to be early to help with setting out the folding chairs and tables for the reception.
    The North Bank Park was located just west of downtown Columbus, below where the Olentangy and Scioto rivers merged to form the bigger Scioto River. The park itself was built on what used to be the pump house for the old Ohio Penitentiary.
    He’d happily pointed out to Luke how ironic it was that two federal agents were getting married where criminals were once housed. For some reason, the kid didn’t think it was funny at all.
    Locking his door, Frank left the reserved spots in the parking lot perpendicularly down the street from the park. A number of parking meters had been reserved on the street beside the park, but they should be for the Edgars’ immediate family and grandparents. Besides, his leg could use the exercise.
    Walking down Neil Avenue towards the Park’s glass-enclosed pavilion where the ceremony would be held, he enjoyed the crisp June air. He had to give it to Luke and Abigail, they’d picked the perfect day for the wedding. He wasn’t overly romantic, didn’t get gushy when people talked about weddings, but he did believe good things should happen to good people. Especially when one of them almost died.
    A little more than a year ago, Abigail had been in the hospital. She’d thrown herself between Luke and a knife. Nearly losing her had been the final wake-up call for the youngest Edgars brother. He’d dropped his playboy lifestyle to focus entirely on Abigail, even after she