by Norris, Kris
But she appeared to be the only one. Art. The ME. Everyone seemed satisfied with the report. Convinced that Deputy U.S. Marshal David Faraday had been killed in the line of duty. His involvement with the Macmillans, with Brown, nothing more than an unanswered question. One they were happy to let slide.
She got it. Not only did having a dirty marshal make the service look bad, it put every case he’d ever worked on in jeopardy. If they could prove he’d been on the take since he’d started… Who knew what the fallout would be. If some of the convictions could get overturned. Thankfully, they had often worked security or retrieval—nothing directly involved with the evidence. But there were instances—joint missions—that could be compromised. Probably better for everyone to just let it fade. Initiate a discreet internal investigation, just to satisfy any lingering doubts, but nothing to outwardly convict him. Treat him as a fallen warrior and move on.
Except where she couldn’t move on. Not without knowing the truth.
“Everything okay?”
She jumped when Colt appeared beside her, his head level with hers—his gaze fixed on the screen. Shit, the guy was quiet.
She glared at him. “Thought I warned you about scaring me.”
He simply shrugged. Old freaking habits, her ass. She suspected they all enjoyed sneaking up on her, the jerks.
Of course, her frustration level wasn’t helping the situation, any. “Guess that depends on your definition of okay. I’m fine.”
“But you haven’t found what you’re looking for. A way to prove your partner isn’t dead.” Colt pointed to one of the lines on the ME report. “Looks like what the others said was right. They were able to confirm his DNA as a match to the body in that car.”
“I know. It’s all pretty cut and dry. But…” How did she explain it when it was nothing more than ghostly echoes inside her head?
Colt sighed. “I didn’t say that to discourage you. What I meant was—if your suspicions are correct, but his DNA was a match, then he must have changed the samples, somehow. Which explains why he’d set an explosive charge. With all the damage to the body, the ME would have to rely on matching only his DNA. The fire, alone, would have destroyed any distinguishing marks. Could cause bones to crack. And, honestly, once they matched the samples, I doubt the Medical Examiner kept searching for anything else. Cause of death was fairly obvious.”
Colt glanced at her when she snorted. “What’s with the look?”
She forced her mouth to close. “Nothing, I just… I didn’t think anyone else believed me, other than Cannon.”
“Assumptions get you killed. I agree there’s a lot of convincing evidence against your theory, but you were there. If your gut’s telling you Dave was the one who hurt you. That he might still be alive, that means more to me than any report. And is definitely worth checking out. Which leads me to my next question—did he try to kill you as part of a cover story or because he was afraid you might be able to prove that body isn’t him? That there’s something in that report you’d recognize as being wrong?”
I knew you’d figure it out sooner or later...
Jericho palmed her head, wincing against the memory trying to take shape.
“Jericho. Are you all right?”
“Fine. I just remembered something Dave said. About me figuring it out. But I don’t know what it is.”
“All right. Let’s break it down. There are only so many ways to identify a body. We already know that any tattoos or birthmarks are out.”
“As are fingerprints.”
“Right. There might be dental evidence, but that’s only if he had work done that was out of the ordinary, and the teeth weren’t damaged.” Colt tapped a finger against his lip. “The doctor probably didn’t test for it, but you could ask them to check for anomalies in the blood. Antibodies and the like. Run any they find against childhood illnesses, or immunizations. It’s a long shot, but—”
“Wait. What did you just say?”
“That we could have his blood checked for antibodies?”
“His blood.”
She double checked the report then went back to the computer, clicking through folders until she found the one she was looking for.
Colt moved in closer. “What are you thinking?”
“It’s a long shot, but… On one of our first cases together, we were executing a seizure of property on this douchebag drug dealer. The asshole’s brother jumped us while we were making an inventory. Caught Dave with a knife to his arm before we able to subdue him. Dave bled pretty bad before they got him stitched up. There was talk of surgery, in case the blade had nicked some ligaments, but it wasn’t necessary. However, I’m pretty damn sure they type-crossed his blood, just in case. It was eight years ago. If Dave is covering his tracks—wiping any previous identifying information from reports or records—making it match that body in the morgue—there’s a chance he might not have remembered to alter the hospital’s account from that file.”
“You think the body they found might have a different blood type.”
“I know. Pretty damn flimsy, but… Like you said. Something about that report was off, and I think that’s what has been bothering me. It didn’t click until you mentioned it. I swear Dave was AB negative, like me. That’s why it stuck. That we could donate for each other if there was ever an emergency. But the ME put his blood type down as AB positive. Close, but…” She blew at the wispy hairs around her face. “I could be wrong. We’re talking a stupid Rh switch.”
She flipped through the digital pages, scouring the reports until one line jumped out at her. She inhaled, staring at the truth on the screen.
Colt gripped her shoulder. “Well, I’ll be damned. You were right. The Rh listed there is different from all the others. No way that’s a simple mistake. Which means…”
Jericho forced herself to swallow. To keep breathing when her chest simply wanted to stop. Lock everything away instead of facing the truth. The pain.
She fisted her hands. “Dave’s not only alive, he planned this. All of it.”
Colt sighed, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “We need to call Cannon and your boss. This changes everything.”
He’d tried to kill her. On purpose. After eight years of having each other’s backs.
“Jericho?”
Wait. Had he arranged Wilson to target that restaurant? Had all those texts been lies to keep her there? Did she really know anything about him? Or had it all been an illusion? A role he’d been playing.
“Jericho!”
She blinked when Colt shook her, looking up at him. “What?”
“Call your boss.”
“He won’t pick up. Not during a transport. Maybe if I call him repeatedly but… They’re both essentially on lockdown. We’ll have to wait until after they hand off Brown.”
“Cannon will get the message. Trust me.” He hit a button on his phone. Frowned. “Jericho? Did Art jam the cell service when he left? Is that protocol or something?”
“No, why?”
“Service is out.”
“What?” She took out her phone. Stared at the message in the top left of the screen. “That’s…odd. We should have full bars. I’ll try a landline.” She picked up the phone on her desk. “Something’s wrong. There’s no dial tone.”
“Shit. We’re out of here. Now.”
“Just let me save this to a thumb drive.” She transferred over the reports then tucked the small device down the side of her bra, shrugging at Colt’s arched brow. “Can’t be too careful.”
“Smart. Stay close.”
They headed for the exit when Six appeared in the doorway. Hair slightly out of place. Face grim. He made some signal to Colt, and the man grabbed her hand, following after Six as he angled toward the stairs. Jericho didn’t ask where they were going. Why they were bugging out—using the stairs. Obviously, the blocked cell service. The dead phone lines. It wasn’t a technical difficulty or a freak storm that had cropped up while they were inside. Someone was
coming for them. That’s why Six had ventured inside. Why they were moving quickly—avoiding the elevators. This was an escape.
The door creaked as Six slivered it open, checking inside before waving them through. Jericho waited on the landing, glancing at both men. They seemed to be having some sort of silent conversation between them. It was frustrating, not to mention creepy.
But…as Cannon had told her numerous times—sound got you killed. So, she stood there while they leaned over the rail—scanned up and down the stairs. It didn’t help that they were several floors up—didn’t have many options if there were people in the stairwell below them. And trapping themselves on the roof wasn’t her idea of a sound strategy.
Six muttered something under his breath. “I doubt we’ll get all the way down, but…we’ll have to chance it. I saw three head toward the elevators. A black SUV turned toward the parking garage. I’m sure there were more men inside. Wherever we go, we’re bound to meet with resistance.”
He’d kept his voice low. Barely enough to reach them, which meant he was concerned people might already be heading up.
He glanced at Jericho. “Any thoughts on a different route before we commit? You know this building the best.”
“It’s not during regular hours, so anyone coming in needs a security code. Which, they obviously have. It also means there’re most likely marshals with them.”
God, was it Dave? Had he come back to finish what he’d started? There were still cameras. He knew where they were, of course. And maybe he had a way of erasing the footage. Hell, he’d altered his files. Convincingly faked his own death—would be free and clear if she’d died. He either had some mad tech skills or was in league with someone who did.
She met Six’s gaze. “Also, it’s Sunday. There won’t be much in the way of cover in the garage. Building’s usually pretty deserted. We’d fare better trying to exit on the main floor. But I assume they’ll have people watching. Camped out in the lobby or outside. And we might not have a choice. There are a limited number of ways out of here.”
Six nodded. He motioned to the stairs then started winding his way down. He moved fast but controlled, keeping toward the outside. The men didn’t make a sound—not boot clicks. Not harsh breaths. Jericho wasn’t sure how they did it. Her boots weren’t silent—they weren’t loud, but there was a hushed footfall every time she stepped, even consciously trying not to.
Made her wonder what kind of training they’d actually had, how intense it must have been to be this skilled, when a noise sounded from below. It wasn’t much. Not really more than a scuff, but it had Six changing direction—exiting on the next floor. He didn’t slow. Didn’t ask for directions, which meant he was somewhat familiar with the layout. She wasn’t sure how, but now wasn’t the time to ask. Moving was the priority.
Six followed a couple of corridors before suddenly stopping. He pushed her against the wall with one arm, motioning some signal to Colt. The man nodded then backtracked, disappearing around the corner. Jericho flicked open the closure on her holster—readied herself to draw. Six glanced at her hand, then her side, shaking his head as he pushed back his coat—revealed the hilt of a massive Sig. Did they make one larger than a forty-five? Something only Special Forces knew about? Top secret? Because—damn, it looked huge. Elephant-ready huge.
She tapped her badge, but Six arched a brow then pointed to her side. Sure, she was still recovering. And, yeah, it hurt like a bitch to draw—something she’d discovered last night when she’d pulled her Beretta on Brown. But, damn it, she was the law, here. Didn’t any of these guys care about their own well-being? That they could go to jail for protecting her?
Judging by the look on the man’s face, the answer was a resounding no. Not that she was surprised. Cannon had risked everything to come to her defense. No reason the men he trusted with his life—with her life—should be any different.
Jericho considered drawing regardless but decided to wait. She wasn’t even sure what they might be up against on this floor. Best to give it a bit more time—see if whoever Six thought he’d heard just walked past.
Five seconds turned into ten. Then twenty. Then more. She was just about to nudge him when someone grunted followed by a hard thud. Despite the burn through her ribs, the pull on her healing wound, she drew, keeping the weapon close to her shoulder. Six snorted, shook his head, then stepped out. Just like that. Right into the middle of the hallway.
“Six. What the hell—”
“It’s clear.”
“Clear? How?”
She moved into the corridor then froze. Two men were on the ground, hands bound with zip ties. Colt stood over them, brushing his palms off on his pants. He smiled at her then nodded at Six.
“But…” She shook her head. “You were behind us. How did you get behind them?”
He shrugged. “Went up a floor and came down the other set of stairs behind them.”
“In thirty seconds?”
“Twenty. Took ten to knock them out.”
“Christ.” Jericho holstered her gun. “I don’t recognize them, but that tattoo on their necks is part of the fifth-street gang. They’re associated with the Macmillans.”
She turned to Six. “Wait. How did you know they were there? I didn’t hear anything, and I was listening.”
Six helped Colt move them over to a more secluded section. “Had a feeling.”
Colt grinned. “Don’t ask. Just trust and believe.”
Six sighed. “We should take the other stairwell. Might get lucky and get a clear shot to the main floor.”
“Right, because our good luck’s going to start, now.”
“Thought you marshals were a positive bunch. Always got your man.”
“That’s the Canadian Mounties. And I haven’t exactly had great luck where my job’s concerned, lately. Partner trying to kill me and all that.”
“You’ve got Cannon, now. And us. Luck’s already changed.”
Well, damn. She couldn’t argue with that. Instead, she smiled then followed them down the hallway, pausing long enough to check the stairs before heading down, again. They made good time, despite stopping at each level—listening for more men. And, for just a second, Jericho thought Six was right. That their luck had definitely changed. Until they reached the first floor and discovered there wasn’t a door to the main lobby. That the stairs simply continued down.
Colt cursed under his breath. “Seriously?”
“Shit. I never use this side. I didn’t know. It must be one of the secure exit points—prevent people from accessing the upper levels from the main floor. Guarantee only those with a code can access this stairwell from the garage. They probably use it for prisoner transfers to the courthouse.” She matched Colt’s grim expression. “I haven’t done court transfers, okay? Most of the time they contract that job out to security companies they’ve vetted—given Special Deputy status to. We hardly have enough personnel to tackle the big stuff.”
Colt raised his hands. “No blame. It just limits our options.” He looked at Six. “Well, buddy? Back up, or down to the garage?”
Six looked in each direction. “It’s not like we can walk out those main doors, anyway. We’d be wide open. We’d have to find a side door or service exit. But going to the garage…” He huffed. “We should… Shit. Someone’s above us. Down, now.”
He’d heard someone above them? Because Jericho hadn’t heard a thing. Not a scuff, a creak. Not a tap of boots on the stairs. Nothing. Except her own breathing. They’d barely been moving, and yet, she felt as if she’d been running a marathon. Had used up all her available fuel. And that wasn’t even accounting for the burning in her side. Without any pleasant distractions, it was painfully debilitating. Not that she’d let it stop her. But it made her acutely aware of how much of a liability she was. Why Cannon and Art had insisted she take more time to recover. She’d been fooling herself.
No, she’d been in denial. Blindly overlooking the fact that Cannon had done all the he
avy lifting since she’d been hurt. He’d eliminated the threats. Been the one to hunt down the men. All she’d done was sit at the table then walk across the floor. She hadn’t even handcuffed Brown. Or dragged him out to the truck.
Shit. She should have let Cannon handle all of it. Worked out a way to access the information from a satellite location. Instead, she was putting his teammates, his brothers, at risk.
Six paused at the door to the garage, glancing over at her. “You okay?”
Damn, did it show? Was she wheezing or shuffling? “Fine.”
“You’re in pain. Stay close. Let us handle anything that pops up. And, if I tell you to run, you fucking run and don’t stop until you’re out. Understand?”
“I’ll stay close and try not to confront anyone, directly. That’s all I can promise. Unless your lives are at risk. Then, all bets are off. I don’t back down, and I don’t leave friends behind.”
“Cannon sure can pick ‘em. Okay. On three. Our only objective is to get out. We can hunt the bastards down later.”
He counted down on his fingers then opened the door. It didn’t make a sound. Just a whoosh of cool air across their feet. Then, they were through. Dodging behind a group of vehicles parked near the door. There must have been some kind of meeting or maybe people had left their cars there. Gone drinking and taken taxis home, because there were more cars than she’d expected. Scattered throughout the lot. Only half of the lights were on, casting long shadows across the pavement.
The men kept her between them, shuffling to the edge of the car when footsteps sounded from farther up the lot. And not just a few. Five, maybe six people. Heading their way. Most likely fanning out and searching every possible hiding place.
Six muttered something under his breath, then he was moving. Dragging them to another section with more cars parked in a couple of rows. Giving them a bit more cover. He looked at Colt, the other man’s expression just as grim.
Colt made some kind of hand sign then moved off, disappearing around the edge of the vehicles. Six crept over to the opposite side, looking out when the door to the stairs banged open—three men spilling out.