“I’m trying,” Paul had answered. “We’re shorthanded right now. I’ve had to make some difficult staffing decisions of where to assign people. Besand hasn’t been as high a priority as some of our other transports.”

Paul had waved him off but had seen the suspicion in Kinton’s eyes as he stomped out of his office and slammed the door. It was SOP to put at least two agents with a transported prisoner and extra agents on the prisoners considered dangerous. Now Kinton had started to wonder why Paul always transported Darrin Besand with just one agent. Usually one of the newer agents, the smaller ones.

Damn you, Darrin.

Paul hadn’t dreamed the situation could blow up until Kinton had stabbed him with his own letter opener.

That sucker had been sharp.

To give Kinton credit, Paul didn’t believe he’d meant to stab him. Just intimidate him. Use the opener as an exclamation mark on his tirade.

Two days after the last rant, Kinton had shoved Paul’s office door open with his shoulder and raged into the room, primed for a new confrontation. “You fucking asshole.”

Paul had jumped up from his computer, where he’d been playing Angry Birds; he’d had enough wits about him to exit out of the computer screen. With the blinds closed and the office door shut, he hadn’t seen Kinton coming. Jesus Christ. Everyone knew to knock and wait when his door was shut. Only Kinton had the habit of knocking then walking in without a pause. This time he hadn’t even knocked.

“Why is Fitzpatrick the only agent on Besand today? First you move him with just Berry and nearly get the marshal killed, and then you moved him with just Danielson. At least Danielson kept Besand under control when he tried to grab at his gun.” Kinton’s shoulders were twitching in anger. “You need at least two people on this guy. Are you fucking stupid?”

“Watch your mouth.” Paul had shot a nervous look over Kinton’s shoulder. Two female office workers with dropped jaws were watching the scene through the open door. Why don’t they call security? Paul had reached for his phone.

“Don’t move!” Kinton had pounded a fist on the desk. “Answer my question! Why do you insist on transporting one of the deadliest serial killers we’ve ever had with a minimum amount of security? Even that idiot bank robber had three guards last time we moved him.”

“Steele shot four people during holdups. And I didn’t have the manpower to put another guy with Besand today.” Paul had pulled his hand back from his phone.

“Steele was stupid! He got lucky waving his gun around. Besand’s sharp! He can disarm someone as fast as lightning and have their throat cut before they can say ‘uncle.’” Kinton had leaned both hands on Whittenhall’s desk. Paul’s heart had stuttered for two beats and then started to race, his tongue drying up.

One of Kinton’s fists had tightened around the letter opener as he leaned. Paul eyes had widened and blinked fast as he caught the movement, but Kinton hadn’t seemed to notice what was in his hand. He’d raved on about Besand and numbers and death, but Paul no longer followed his words. He’d never seen Kinton so angry. Paul had always known a temper simmered under Kinton’s surface, but this was his first real look at it. Apparently, Kinton had a long fuse before his temper lit. That day it’d been on fire.

Paul had touched the button under the lip of his desk. He’d never used it before and hoped it worked. Kinton had continued to rage, pacing back and forth with the letter opener in his hand, slapping it from palm to palm, never looking at it.

Over Kinton’s shoulder, Paul had spotted two armed security guards step out of the elevator and scan the floor. The two office women had vanished and been replaced with a small group of staring marshals. Linus Carlson had stepped in the office behind Kinton.

“Alex. What the fuck…” Carlson had been the closest thing Kinton had to a friend left in the office. Since the death of his brother a year earlier, Kinton had successfully ostracized himself from the other agents.

“Stay out of this, Linus. Whittenhall has got some explaining to do and I’m not leaving until he says why Besand’s getting sloppy details. He’s doing it on purpose, and I want to know why.” Kinton hadn’t even turned around when Linus spoke.

Paul had pointed at Kinton. “He’s a raving lunatic, and I don’t know what the fuck he’s talking about. Linus, get out of the way before he stabs somebody with that thing.”

At Paul’s words, Kinton had stared at the letter opener in his hands, seeing it for the first time. His eyes had rolled in disgust.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake…” Kinton had started to say.

Over the past year, Paul had relived the next three seconds a hundred times. He still wasn’t certain what had happened. But Kinton had made a move as if to throw the opener back on the desk at the same time that Linus put out a hand to stop his arm. Paul had lunged to the right, believing Kinton was aiming for him and Linus’s arm had guided Kinton’s hand directly into Paul’s right side. He’d felt the blade skitter off his ribs and sink deep.

The three men had stared at the blood on Paul’s white shirt as the security guards pushed through the doorway and tackled Kinton from behind. The little office had turned into a melee of shouting men and blood. Paul had passed out.

Kinton hadn’t defended his actions at his behavior hearing and was fired a week later. He hadn’t apologized either.

Paul hadn’t pressed charges. He’d wanted the entire matter dropped as quickly as possible. No telling where an investigation might have led. Thank God, no one else had the balls to ask questions about Besand’s details except Kinton. If the other agents noticed, they’d kept it to themselves. What he didn’t need was an internal investigation into what had set Kinton off. Luckily, Kinton never showed his face around the office again. Paul managed to keep single men on Besand’s details, knowing the right opportunity would eventually present itself to take care of Besand’s private demand.