Chapter Seven

Ben slumps in his desk chair. He stretches a long, skinny leg out and kicks at one of the wheels of Reid's empty chair beside him, sending it rolling across the plastic mat and into Reid's dusty, paper-strewn desk. That's the most Ben's accomplished all day, despite having come in at 5 AM after lying awake most of the night. Janie had finally kicked him out of bed, sleepily mumbling that Ben flopping around like a fish wasn't getting Reid back to safety any sooner.

So he was the first one into the office and he's watched his co-workers - his new suspect pool - arrive, his eyes flicking to the door each time it opened. Jill, Gary, Maria, Cara, Jared, Adam... Ben didn't even know where to start. He'd known them all for years, had been to their birthday parties and weddings and kids' bar mitzvahs. He'd gotten drunk at the Christmas party when he'd first become a marshal and made out with Maria under the mistletoe for twenty minutes; he'd helped Gary xerox his butt in the backroom and wallpaper Andy's office with the copies for his thirtieth anniversary with the agency. Hell, Ben has thought of Jill as an honorary little sister since their college days together. Her mom runs a dive bar on the edge of town and the three of them used to go there at least twice a week, playing pool together so often that Ben still has a faint callous on his middle finger from the cue.

They're a family.

But now one of them is betraying their oath, betraying his partner, betraying the country. And it's all up to Ben to find out who.

He's completely, utterly frozen under the pressure.

Ben sighs, dropping his head until it thunks down onto his desk. The swirls in the wood grain look huge from that close, like twisting galaxies he can disappear into.

Jill calls his name a couple of times before sailing an expertly folded paper airplane across the sea of desks and dividers, the nose of it crumpling against the side of Ben's neck; he doesn't even move. He's too lost inside his own thoughts to even register it...or to hear the heavy footsteps approaching him.

"Ain't gonna get them back just from memorizing your desktop, you know."

Ben snaps upright in the chair. "Sorry, Andy." He reaches for his laptop, trying to pretend to work with the boss looking over his shoulder, but he's so lost that he doesn't even know how to fake it. He sighs, dropping his hands back into his lap. "I'm just having a hard time figuring out where to start."

Andy rolls Reid's chair back toward Ben, scratches absently at his beard when he flops down into it. His agency-mandated tie, hanging crookedly over his beer belly, has a faded mustard stain on it and the little tuft of brown hair - all that remains on the top of his otherwise shiny head - is sticking straight up. He's a mess, and the biggest redneck Ben has ever met, but Andy's sharp and compassionate and damn good at his job.

Which, in this case, is helping Ben figure out how to do his.

"It's a just another case, Ben. Work it like you would any other one. Where do you normally start?"

Ben blinks, presses his lips together as he thinks. "Well, I usually do the electronic research. We make a list of the major players in a case, and then I run them - background checks, dig into their financials, look for anything weird or new."

Andy nods. "You've already got your suspect list - you're surrounded by them. So start running 'em down."

Ben blows out a breath, twitches his lips up in a small smile.

"Yeah, you're right. I don't know why I didn't think of that. Thanks, Andy."

Andy stands, clapping one hand on Ben's shoulder and squeezing reassuringly.

"That's what I'm here for, boy."