Page 13 of Dozer

"You'll have a civilian consultant," Hunter says. That fact I don’t like. I prefer working alone. If I must work with another person, I prefer it to be one of our team, all former special forces. Give me Ghost or Ruby. I can work with them. A stranger? Too many unknown details.

He slides a folder across the table. It stops directly in front of me. I look at the folder, then at him, then back at the folder. That isn't the part I like. I don't open it.

"Define civilian."

"Forensic specialist. Digital and physical."

“We have a digital specialist. Ruby.” I counter.

“Ruby doesn’t perform autopsies; her specialty is technology. We needed someone with experience with physical evidence. She has a background in criminal and government forensic investigations.” Hunter taps the folder once. "She used to do this for DOD. Got cut in the last round of budget trims. Freelances now."

He says it flat, like he’s giving me her résumé. Like it's nothing. But, Hunter isn't fooling me. There's something underneath his voice. I know Hunter doesn't say things without reason, and Hunter not saying something is its own kind of information.

"She."

"Yes."

"Female civilian."

"Yes."

I lean back, that changes nothing. Except it changes everything. "What's her name?"

"Kenzi Sullivan."

The name lands somewhere familiar. I search my memory. Nothing. No known threats, previous operations or reason for concern that comes to mind. I file the name away; I’ll research it later. Consultants mean liability. Liability means moving slower. Slower, on a job like this, means somebody's funeral.

Possibly mine. Possibly hers. Possibly someone else. I don’t do collateral damage. I have a very strict moral code. No civilians die. No children and no women. "I don't babysit."

Hunter's expression doesn't change. "You're not babysitting."

"That's what people say right before I end up babysitting."

"You're escorting a body and protecting an asset."

"Same difference."

"No." His voice sharpens. "Not this time."

I wait for him to say more, knowing Hunter isn’t telling me everything. There’s something missing here and he’ll tell me before I accept the job. Instead of filling in the details, Hunter pushes another photograph across the table.

A dead man in his mid-fifties stares up at me from glossy paper. He’s well dressed with no visible trauma.

"This is the dead man," Hunter says.

"I gathered that."

"His death isn't public; no one knows he’s passed."

That gets my attention. "Why?"

"Because if certain people learn he's dead before the autopsy, they'll know what we have."

I look at the photograph again. "What do we have?"

"We don't know yet."

I glance up. Hunter's eyes are hard.