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Special Agent Brody Tan looks like he should be a cover model for Amazing FBI Monthly. He’s maybe six feet one of lean marathoner muscle. His thick brown hair has enough of a curl to advertise that if he wouldn’t cut it so professionally short it would become long, flowing locks. I suspect that little cheap sedan he’s driving comes with its own steam press, because despite the merciless sun baking decades of oil out of the gravel parking lot, the creases in his dark blue suit look machined. Black-lensed wireframe sunglasses above a chin you could mount on a ship and use to break Arctic ice complete the portrait.
I’d seen Tan a couple times before. The first time, I’d been thieving.
The second time, he’d recognized me from the first time.
His partner told me that after that encounter
