The Buried (The Apostles) Read Online Free PDF Page B

that, Alex had taken a swing at the deputy bringing him in.
    Hatch slapped shut the file folder. This kind of crisis he could handle. “Let’s sail.”
    The clerk, a twenty-something named Susie who had a sunny smile to match her bright yellow heels, led him down the hall toward the holding area. “Are you really one of Parker Lord’s guys?” When he nodded, she leaned toward him as if to tell a secret. “You know he’s one of ours, a Florida legend. Agent Lord first worked human trafficking in Miami, but I hear he’s become a real maverick, butts heads with FBI brass on a regular basis. Is it true he answers only to the president?”
    Hatch scrubbed the stubble at his chin. Parker Lord was called many things: maverick, mad man, God. And although his boss worked for the FBI, he served justice, which could never be fully embodied in a single institution or one man with presidential powers, both of which had proven sorely fallible over the years.
    “Parker Lord answers to his conscience,” Hatch said. So did the entire SCIU. It was what set them apart. And it ruffled a whole hell of a lot of feathers. Not that any of his team cared much about pillow ticking.
    Hatch followed the clerk through a keypad entry door when something crashed at the far end of the hall, followed by a shout. He ran down the hall, pulled up beside a holding room, and inched his head around the doorjamb to see a red-faced deputy standing in front of a kid with shaggy blond hair. The kid’s lip curled in a snarl, and the chip on his shoulder was so big it cast a shadow over the entire room. Definitely Hatch’s flesh and blood. And the kid apparently had the same teenage disposition Hatch once had.
    God had one cruel sense of humor.
    Alex’s hand jerked, and he poked a jagged chunk of wood at the deputy. From the looks of the broken chair in the corner, Hatch had a damn good idea where the kid had found his improvised weapon.
    The deputy, a bear of a man with two chins, pointed his index finger at the kid. “Put that down, boy, before someone gets hurt.”
    Alex’s fingers tightened around the splintered chair leg. “Don’t tell me what to do! I’m tired of everyone telling me what to do.”
    “Make a few good choices, and folks’ll talk a might different to you.” The deputy slid a club from his belt.
    Hatch ground his back teeth. Idiot . And he wasn’t talking about the boy.
    “Fuck you, dickhead!”
    The deputy tapped a club against his thigh. “I think someone needs to take soap to that mouth of yours or maybe a strap to your backside.”
    Wrong words. The whole thing was wrong. Hatch stepped into the center of the doorway. “Yea, fuck him, fuck the whole thing.”
    Alex looked up. The wood slipped from the boy’s hand, but he grabbed it before it hit the ground. “Shut up! I don’t need nothing from you .”
    Hatch needed coordinates. He needed to know exactly where this kid stood. “You know who I am, Alex?”
    Those eyes narrowed into slits, as if trying to block out as much of Hatch as possible. “Granny told me she was going to call the old man. Said that since you were some high and mighty FBI guy, you’d take care of everything. I told her don’t bother because you’re nothing.” He jabbed the splintered chair leg at Hatch. “You hear that? You’re fucking nothing to me!”
    The words crept past the badge and slammed into the center of Hatch’s chest. He took a step back as Alex’s anger, wave after wave of rippling heat, filled the room. The deputy lifted the club, and Hatch gave his head a shake. Words hurt, but they were also the most powerful weapon known to mankind.
    “You’re right.” Hatch leaned against the door frame. First listen. Then empathize and build rapport. Finally exert positive influence. Hostage Negotiating 101. The kid needed to be in control, or more precisely, Alex Milanos needed to think he was in control.
    Hatch tipped his head toward the deputy who wore a nametag that read W.