I woke up as my feet slid off the desk in front of me and I nearly fell out of my chair. I groaned, leaning to pick up the book I'd dropped. After putting the bookmark in the right place, I stood up and stretched. 

It had been almost a year since I moved to Denver and started living under my alias Robert Knuth. And as far as I knew, Wagner-Depaul still didn't have any leads on my location, which really wasn't all that surprising. I glanced down at my laptop, which showed an empty inbox. Working for a tech company at home was really fun. It allowed me to do my favorite things, fix computers remotely, take naps, and read, while also following the Seattle detective duo without them knowing. 

A notification popped up on my phone that reminded me of the meeting I was supposed to go to. Well, I guess not all of my work is from home, but most of it. I pulled black slacks and a blue button-down from my closet and put it on, followed by brown shoes. I really hate casual suits. You either go all the way and wear a vest and tie, or you don't wear one at all, but that would be really weird to wear to a meeting.

I put on a pot of coffee and put bread in the toaster, then stepped out to grab the paper. By habit, I glanced around and noticed my neighbor standing outside her apartment door. This wouldn't be a strange sight, but she was in a robe and knocking on her own door. "G-Good morning, Tracy?"

She looked over at me and turned red. "Good morning, Robert. I got locked out, and I really don't want to ask for another key like this...could you help me?"

I laughed, which I never really did often, but it was funny. "Of course. How'd you get locked out?"

"My boyfriend," She said, her face getting even redder. "I think he locked it on his way out when I was borrowing stuff from Jane,"

Jane was the fully recognized grandma in our apartment complex, and she lent everything to anybody. I nodded and walked to the stairs, grinning the whole way. Tracy Everett, 20, from California, studying medicine in Denver, was always losing her key and almost just as always came to me for help. I stepped into the office and Garrett McCowen, 39, Denver native, worked 15+ odd jobs his whole life, looked up at me from his chair.

"What can I do for you?"

"Tracy got locked out of her apartment again. Can I just grab a key real quick for her?"

He pushed his chair to reach the key and handed it to me. "Tell her to return that one when she's done. It's the last one I've got."

"Sure thing," I turned and pushed open the door before Garrett stopped me.

"Hey, kid, I forgot, but somebody was asking for you earlier. Did they come up?"

I thought back and shook my head. "No, they didn't. Who were they?"

"A lady. She said she knew you. She didn't give her name and I forgot to ask."

Knows me? I doubt it. "What did she look like?"

"Tall, light color of hair, blue eyes." He shrugged. "She seemed smart, I guess."

"Thanks," I stepped out the door and gave Tracy her key, then closed my door behind me. I knew I didn't recognize anyone by that description, especially not from my year in Denver. Who would come personally to my apartment at 8 AM anyway? And then just leave? I was suspicious, but I didn't have time to look deeper into it. I had to get to work. I decided to bring my computers with me so I could stay at a hotel until I figured out who she was. 

I loaded my three computers into the back of my Malibu and began driving down Highway 70, the creeping suspicion becoming stronger. There was literally no way she knew who I was. But if she had known, why was she waiting? Backup? That could be a problem, and sitting in one place for 2 hours wasn't ideal. I felt my old survival instincts kicking in and I sighed away the idea of living a normal life. I glanced behind me as I heard someone honk and clenched my jaw. 

Brace for impact.

The black SUV crunched into the back of my car, forcing me out of control. The back tires slid and I jerked the wheel, sliding off the road to prevent hitting someone else. It came to a painful stop, and the SUV pulled behind me. The doors opened and they turned on their megaphone. 

"Get out of the car with your hands where we can see them," Came a woman's voice. She sounded authoritative, so I guessed that she was the same woman who had been talking to Garrett. I unbuckled my seatbelt and reached for my ankle pistol, then paused. What was I doing? I couldn't just shoot government officials. Then I really would be a criminal. I quickly put the gun back and stepped out of the car, making sure my hands were in sight. 

"I told you that was him, Crane," One of the men wearing black SWAT-like gear said, jerking my arms in front of me and handcuffing me. 

The woman, presumably Crane, nodded. "And you were right. You're coming with us since we can't do this on the side of the road."

I chose to remain quiet and let myself be pushed to the SUV. They weren't regular law enforcement, and I didn't see any badges being flashed- typical of the FBI. They hadn't searched me, and they hadn't read my rights either. 

"I'm sure you're wondering how we found you, Mr. Gaetano," Crane said, once I was in the backseat, sitting next to another SWAT-like agent. "And you weren't easy to find."

"Actually, I was wondering if you could grab my computers from the back seat of my car,"

Crane turned around and looked at me.

"It's important," I explained.

She nodded. "Good enough. Grant?"

The man in the passenger seat looked at her and groaned. "Just a second," He came back with my three laptops and backpack, keeping them by his feet. 

"Anything else?" Crane asked, turning the key in the ignition.

"No," I said. "But yes, I am wondering how you found me so quickly."

"Quickly?" Agent Grant chuckled.

"It's been a little over a year. For planning on not being found forever, yes, that's quick."

"Good point."

We continued driving in silence. It felt like an awkward drive with my parents, only with an extra SWAT breathing down my neck. I had plenty of questions, but I was still trying to figure out why they weren't accusing me of crimes or reading rights. After a few minutes, Crane pulled off onto a side road and drove for a long while, until we were in the middle of nowhere at a farm, consisting of a house and a large shed. They ordered me out of the car and I did so, following behind Crane and beside Grant and the other man. 

"Have a seat, Gaetano," Grant ordered once we entered the barn. It was a wide open area that smelled like my grandpa's garage in the summer. Against one side was a table and few chairs, next to a small fridge and sink. I sat down, setting my hands on the table. 

Crane sat in front of me. "We work with the Seattle PD."

"Really? Are you new? There wasn't a Crane or a Grant or a-" I leaned over to see the other man's name tag. "Foster last time I was there. Actually, Foster might have been there."

"Hey-"

She smiled, interrupting Foster. "We're consulting from the FBI. I'm agent Crane, these are agents Grant and Foster." 

I nodded, looking around. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the microwave glass and quickly put a hand over my mouth, wiping the blood off my lip. "Oh, so, you know Wagner-Depaul?"

Her smile became genuine. "Yes, we know 'Vog-nur' and Depaul. The only reason you're here is that Nelson is willing to make a deal with you."

I made a face. "Really? Nelson, of all people?" 

"Yes."

"You either accept now, or we turn you over to Denver PD," Grant said, still standing. 

"Can you tell me what it is?"

"Not until you accept."

"Well, then. I accept."

"Great!" Crane said. "The jet's waiting take us back to Seattle."

"The jet?" I asked.

"What do you think is usually in here?" Grant asked. "A huge-ass tractor?" 

I guess it made sense when I thought about it. "Maybe two?" I watched Crane stand up, then wait for me to do the same. "You said you would tell me after I accepted."

"When we get back. I'm sure Depaul would love to have the honors."

Grant snorted, then quickly gained composure. "Come on, Gaetano, let's go."

We stepped out of the SUV and I rubbed my wrists. Even after a several hour flight, Crane hadn't told me anything. Grant and Foster had been even less helpful, so I decided to wait until we arrived back at Seattle PD. I stared up at the building, a smile crossing my face. 

"Good to be back?" Grant asked, passing me and holding the door.

"A little," I admitted. "I grew up in Seattle. My dad was a cop,"

"We know that. It's in your file."

"Of course." 

Crane smoothed her skirt and thanked Grant, then went immediately toward Nelson's office. I followed closely behind her and we entered Nelson's office. He stood up and smirked, staring directly at me. 

"Hello, Gaetano. You look like shit."

"It's good to see you as well, Captain," I said, trying to keep my tone neutral and non-sarcastic. 

Crane sat down and glanced up at me. "Oh, yes, he does look like shit. We hit his car to get him to pull over."

Nelson nodded and leaned to see out the window that looked out on the rest of the department. "Once he gets here, we'll start."

I looked out the window to see who he was talking about, and I met Depaul's frowning gaze. He threw open the door and walked up to me, stopping inches from my face. 

A frown remained on his face, followed by a small grin. "You said you wouldn't see me again."

"I was wrong, Detective. But to be fair, you weren't the one to find me."

He sat down in the chair next to Crane. "Right, right. So, what happened to your face?"

"Irrelevant," I said, sitting next to him. "Why am I here, Nelson?"

Nelson folded his hands and rested them on his desk. "I'm willing to forget everything you've done if you'll just work with the Seattle PD on a certain case. I could really use you, and technically, from an outside perspective, the Minnesota Bombing can't be linked to you anyway. If the only witnesses dropped charges, you'd be a free man. And most of those witnesses are with the PD. You work for me, and I'll dismiss what you did."

I thought about this for a moment. Maybe he was finally seeing it from my side. "And if I said no, you would arrest me right now."

"Yes."

"Then, of course, I'll help you," I paused. I wanted a condition of my own, but I couldn't think of anything fast enough, so I just nodded stupidly. 

Nelson leaned back and ran a hand through his jet-black hair. "I knew you'd agree. So, there are quite a few limitations to go over. You're going to be under strict surveillance with Depaul, you'll have periodic check-ups with the tech team and Crane, and everything goes through me." 

I nodded. It made sense, but if I really wanted to bail, I could. It would be fun for them to go to so much trouble thinking that I'd run, and then I never even tried. 

"You can keep your gun, your computers, and your cards. We've also taken the liberty of changing your name back."

Well, that was thoughtful of them. "What about my car?"

"It's being retrieved, as well as your belongings from your apartment."

"Condo," Crane corrected, sitting forward in her seat. A woman entered the room and handed her a file. "So, let's run you through a quick summary of the case so far, shall we?" She splayed the file out on Nelson's desk and the woman took the seat that Depaul got up to let her have. 

Nelson gestured to the newcomer. "Gaetano, this is Kathryne Depaul-Park. She's our homicide consulting detective for this case."

I shook her hand. Depaul? I never knew he had a daughter. She was petite, pretty, and most likely Korean. Probably a step-daughter, if I had to guess. 

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Gaetano. I look forward to working with you. " She said, not looking at me, but at my black eye. She turned back to Nelson and tapped the file. "Here's everything, including two opinions from the forensics team."

"Thank you. Let's go over the case, then."