Knocking Down Memories
The Ford Crown Victoria pulled to a stop in front of the house, the overcast and silence giving it a sort of foreboding appearance. Aaron slid the gear lever into park, killing the engine and taking a moment to take in the silence. After the last case in Boston, it was welcomed. No one had been happy with the outcome, with Foyet escaping, but the U.S. Marshal’s office insisted they were doing everything possible to locate him. Aaron doubted they could. Though they could try, he knew Foyet was an expert at disappearing, a skilled man in the art of living in the shadows. As he sat in silence, he heard the faint sound of a mallet striking wood. He knew the man he was looking for was inside. He took the cardboard cup holder, filled with two fresh cups of coffee, from the passenger seat, along with a bag of fresh croissants. He figured, if he was intruding, the least he could would be to bring breakfast. Aaron’s step echoed off the house as he mad his way up the front walk, finding the door partially open. The air was brisk but not cold, and his jeans and a t-shirt kept him comfortable. It often felt odd for him to not be wearing a suit and tie, but he enjoyed the rare moments of freedom he had by distancing himself from his work attire as much as he could.
The sound of the mallet hitting wood came from inside again. Aaron pushed the door open to reveal Derek Morgan swinging a large mallet at a piece of 2x4 that was part of a wall. “Good morning,” Aaron said, not wanting to startle his team member. “Looks like you could use some help.”
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