“You have to take a step back and let her do her thing,” A.J. said, agreeing with Wyatt.
Knox lowered his hands and looked at Liam, the only one of them attached. He’d understand.
Liam lifted his palms in the air. “Emily is stubborn, too. I’ve had to make peace with that. Let her be who she is instead of standing in the way of that.”
“For the record,” Knox grumbled, “I hate you guys.” He moved back to the window, but he couldn’t get a good view of the parking lot. And seeing her leave would probably only make him lose his mind, even if he knew Liam was right.
He’d always stood by Adriana’s decisions even when they’d scared the hell out of him. But damn it, this assignment was personal. Boundaries were tangled the fuck up.
“None of us thinks Aaron is the shooter, right?” A.J. asked, bringing Knox’s focus to the other pressing issue. “I’ve spoken to Aaron a few times since he got out of the Navy,” A.J. added, and Knox turned to give him his attention. “He’s been having a hard time. The VA has him taking all kinds of meds. He asked me if he could work at Scott and Scott, but I told him he needed to get his head on straight.”
Guilt clung to A.J.’s eyes. He didn’t believe Aaron was the shooter, but at the same time, Knox knew he was already blaming himself for the possibility that it was true.
“What kind of meds?” Wyatt cocked his head.
“I don’t know. He said he’s been having nightmares. But that doesn’t make him a killer.”
“Of course not,” Liam quickly responded, “but it’s not going to help his case if someone is trying to pin this on him. People will see a vet with PTSD, and we know what they’ll think.”
“We have a hard enough time with people looking at us like we might snap someday.” A.J. huffed. “We have to clear his name. He called me a few weeks ago and said he met someone and he didn’t want to mess it up.”
“We need to talk to her. Aaron give a name?” Wyatt asked, and thank God his teammates still had the presence of mind to engage in intelligent conversation because Knox’s signals were jammed.
“Chelsea, maybe?” A.J. answered. “But what are the chances the Feds will find Aaron alive?”
“Why do you say that?” Knox finally found his voice. And apparently, a few brain cells when he grabbed his phone to call Jessica . . . the first smart thing he’d done all morning.
“Because how many times does the guy who gets framed for an assassination live to share his side of the story?” A.J.’s brows rose.
Frame job? Was it possible?
“Well, my dad didn’t die, so if Aaron is being framed, let’s hope he’s still alive, too.” He phoned Jessica, needing her help right the hell now. “Hey, we’ve got a problem,” he said as soon as she answered.
“Does it have anything to do with the fact Aaron Todd’s face is on the news as a potential suspect?” she asked in a soft tone.
“What? How could the media possibly know? We only found out.” He looked at his brothers, trying to wrap his head around the news.
“Not sure, but I saw the alert on my phone before you called,” she said.
“Shit,” he hissed. “That can only mean one thing . . . there’s a leak.”
Chapter Eight
A dozen what-if scenarios raced through her mind as Adriana strapped on her vest and secured the Sig P229 in her shoulder holster.
Part of her job was to assess and analyze every possible outcome and prepare solutions to all given situations.
But were Knox’s buddies right? Was Aaron innocent? Possibly being set up?
The look on Knox’s face when she left . . . she’d wanted to whisper sorry a hundred times and maybe a hundred more.
She had to focus, though. She couldn’t let her personal feelings cloud her judgment or distract her.
Her team was about to infil Aaron Todd’s home if he didn’t peacefully surrender. She didn’t want anyone getting shot because her head wasn’t in the game.
The late August sun was beating down. Birds were freaking chirping. And from a nearby home, someone was playing a violin.
It was too cheery outside for a possible exchange of gunfire.
But it wasn’t like God could lasso in the clouds and shoot a thunderbolt or two overhead to set the scene. This wasn’t a book or a movie. This was real life. And shit-tastic things happened on beautiful days and at beautiful moments. Like when her mom died.
“You think he’ll be inside?” Calloway asked, and she averted her attention to her partner.
“If he’s innocent, yes.” If. Knox would hate her for that word, but what choice did she have? Aaron had sent the email, and unless she found out otherwise, she had a job to do.
She prepped with the multiagency team around the corner and out of sight from Aaron’s home. SWAT was also there for an assist if the house needed to be breached.
“I still can’t figure out who leaked his name to the media,” Calloway said as he strapped on his own vest. “Not one of our guys, which means it may be FBI or DHS.”
It was hard to believe anyone from the FBI or Homeland would offer up Aaron’s name, though.
“Or the more obvious answer,” Mendez joined the conversation while holstering his sidearm at his hip. “Knox or one of his buddies.”
“No way.” She bit down on her back teeth. “They’d never do that.” She positioned her earpiece and tucked the coiled wire in place, the mic hidden beneath the vest.
“Unless they wanted to give Aaron a chance to make a run for it before we knocked on his door,” Mendez suggested.
“How would they have time to do that? The media shared the news seconds before we left the office.”
“That’s enough time,” Calloway said, and she wished he’d be in agreement with her on this. But in Calloway’s eyes, Knox was the guy who’d ruined his chances of getting laid.
“Knox’s parents were shot at,” she reminded them. “He’d never put his family in danger by letting the shooter get away.”
Maybe he hadn’t always been on the best of terms with his folks, but he wouldn’t sacrifice their safety simply because Aaron Todd had been a SEAL.
“Teamguys are his family, too.” It was as if Mendez had taken a disturbing dip inside her mind. “Until I know who leaked the name, you’re not authorized to share any details of this investigation with Knox or his people. I don’t care what the president wants.” He stabbed a finger in the air. “Understood?”
“We got the warrant,” Special Agent Quinn announced before Adriana could answer Mendez.
“Good.” Mendez peered at Adriana as if he needed to check off the dominant box. They weren’t in the same department, but she had to show him proper respect, even if it irritated her to be so looked down upon. It seemed the higher up people rose in their positions, the more dick-like they became. “I need to hear you say it before I let you come with us.”
Calloway held a gloved palm in the air between where Mendez and Adriana stood. “She’s good,” he surprised her by coming in for the defense. “Foster would never risk her career, not even for a friend.”
He really didn’t know Knox. Or her.
Because she’d absolutely risk anything for Knox, including her life.
“Say it,” Mendez demanded, refusing to back down from his ridiculous power play.
“Yes,” she said, her teeth nearly clamping down on the word.
He gave her a long, hard look. Distrust in his eyes. Then he flicked his gloved hand in the air. “Let’s do this then. Get into your positions.”
The different teams maneuvered down the street and into their assigned locations.
Calloway wrapped his hand over her shoulder from behind, giving her the all-clear signal to move.
With her Sig clutched, she shifted to the fat oak tree off to the side of Aaron’s property and waited as Mendez and three other agents moved in for the front door.
It was a small two-story white shingled home. A bit run-down. The grass overgrown.
Weeds reclaimed the flower beds along the front of the house.
There was a chance Aaron was still home and with a rifle pointed at them right now, and so they had to be on guard. And if part of Knox didn’t believe that chance existed—he wouldn’t have been so scared to let her go.
Mendez gave the signal, and then he rapped at the front door with a heavy fist. “FBI! Open up!” He shifted off to the side of the door and out of the line of sight of the window a foot away. “FBI!” he hollered again and pounded. “Move in,” he gave the command a few seconds later, and SWAT approached.
“Preparing to breach,” Mendez announced over comms.
This wasn’t her first time out in the field. She’d been assigned to hunt down possible threats in the past. But this was the first time her heart nearly exploded from her chest because so much was on the line.
“All clear!” someone said over comms a few minutes later. No sign of Aaron.
She resisted the urge to reach for her phone and text Knox.
“Calloway. Foster. See if the neighbors are home. Find out what you can,” Rodriguez ordered over comms, and she’d happily take a command from him over Mendez any day.
“Roger that.” She stowed her weapon and slid on her Ray-Bans with the far-too-cheerful sun in her face.
“Look at you,” Calloway said with a smile.
“We’re outdoors, and it’s sunny.” Her glasses hid her eye roll, but she shot him one anyway.
She pointed to the house across the street, which offered the best vantage point to Aaron’s home.
The yellow home was well-maintained, unlike Aaron’s house. It had character. It was loved. It belonged in the sunshine with violins and chirping birds.
A woman, maybe in her late seventies, sat on the front porch, which stretched the length of her home. One rocking chair, so she was probably the only one who lived there. Well, aside from the Yorkie she had on her lap.
“He’s not home,” the woman announced as they climbed the three steps of her front porch. “As you can see.” Her Southern accent was more Alabama than North Carolina. “And who do you work for?”
Adriana showed the woman her commission book, which held her Secret Service badge, photo ID, and credentials.
The woman leaned forward and read the Secret Service motto inscribed there. “‘Worthy of trust and confidence.’” She scooted back in her seat. “Are you trustworthy?”
“Yes, ma’am.” But was this woman?
“Do you know when Aaron left?” Calloway asked.
“Yes, about twenty minutes ago.” She arched a brow, her forehead creasing even more. “I was on my porch when I saw him leave.”
“Car?” Adriana asked. “Motorcycle? On foot?”
“Bike. Not a Harley like my husband had. Sportier.”
Adriana exchanged a quick look with Calloway. “He have anything with him?”
“Not that I saw.”
“Let Mendez know,” she said to Calloway, and he hurried back to Aaron’s house. “Did you happen to notice if he was home on Monday or yesterday?”
“I was spending time with my son in South Carolina. I got home early this morning.”
Too bad. It would’ve been nice to find out if Aaron had been away from home at the time of the shooting, or the night before when the gunman had been trying to get close to Sarah. Maybe another neighbor saw something. “Anything else you can tell me?”
“I have him over for dinner every Friday evening. He’s never stood me up, either, even when he started dating that new girl.” She set her dog down, and the Yorkie scurried off the steps and began barking up a storm at all the uniforms across the street. “Aaron’s a nice boy. He’d never hurt anyone.” She smiled. A genuine smile, too. “Well, aside from bad guys. He’s a military hero like my honey was.” She stood, her long pink cotton PJ gown skirting the wood planks beneath her feet. “If you find Aaron, be sure to tell him I’m still expecting him for dinner Friday. Making pork chops. His favorite.”
Yeah, she was pretty sure Friday dinners were off the table for now. “Do you know his girlfriend? Her name? Where we might find her?”
Her attention dropped to her feet. “If I tell you, you’re going to think he’s guilty.”
Oh, shit. “Please, ma’am.”
“His girlfriend works at the hotel. You know, the one where the gunman shot at Mr. Bennett.”
Chapter Nine
“This is your shot, Foster.” Mendez crossed his arms and eyed Adriana. “If you want to listen in to this interview, you have to give me your word that what you hear stays here.”
They were back at the FBI field office but on the fifth level instead of the third. She’d discreetly texted Knox she was safe as soon as she’d had the chance, and he’d replied with a Thank God.
She’d hoped to see him when they’d returned to the office fifteen minutes ago, but she hadn’t seen Knox’s Suburban in the parking lot.
“Didn’t we already go through this earlier?” she asked, irritation shooting an arrow to her heart for the second time in the last minute.
The first arrow hit when Mendez ordered her to hand over her personal and work cell phones. He was worried she’d call Knox while observing the interview of Aaron Todd’s girlfriend.
She’d nearly snapped out an Are you out of your damn mind? back at the FBI director, but Rodriguez shot her a please-God-don’t look. So, she’d turned her phones over.
“Knox can’t think clearly. He’s already decided Aaron Todd’s innocent.” Mendez was still riding the trying-to-convince-her train, which she supposed meant he cared about her opinion, or he wouldn’t give a damn what she thought.
He could’ve kicked her out of the room, or even off the investigation, because of her friendship with Knox, so she’d take her presence as a win and ignore the anger at having her phones taken away like a punished teen.
“A.J. knows Aaron. Maybe he can offer us better insight into the man. We shouldn’t keep them in the dark.” She had to try one more time.
“Sorry, Foster.” He faced the glass as Chelsea Baker was brought into the room on the other side. “If we’re not on the same page, you need to leave.”
They weren’t even in the same book.
He was reading a twisty political thriller, and she was maybe in a romantic suspense.
“Yes, sir. Understood.” She buried the snark from her tone the best she could. “You didn’t need to take my phones, though.”
Rodriguez stood by the door waiting for Mendez, and he shook his head at her words. He was a guy who always played by the rules. Nothing wrong with that. But she’d learned at a young age from her mother that sometimes you had to color outside of the lines.
“Don’t make me regret allowing you to stay in this room to observe,” Mendez said before striding out, Rodriguez quietly following.
She took a few deep breaths and faced the window.
When the Feds had picked up Aaron’s girlfriend at her apartment thirty minutes ago, she’d answered the door with two black eyes and a swollen lip.
Not a good sign for Aaron.
Mendez slid into the metal chair on the other side of the small table.
The interview room was more like an interrogation room. No windows. Twelve by twelve in size. The black painted cinder block walls and concrete floor made it feel small and claustrophobic.
The only decor was the mirror on the wall, which was actually the one-way window allowing Adriana to view and hear the proceedings.
“Thank you for speaking with me,” Mendez began, his voice much softer than when he’d spoken to Adriana. “This interview will be recorded.” He pointed to the camera in the upper right-hand corner of the room.
Adriana glimpsed the screens over her head and reset her focus on the glass.
“As you’re aware, you’re here due to your relationship with Aaron Todd.” Mendez waited for her to acknowledge with a nod before continuing. “When was the last time you saw or spoke to him?”
Eve
n from where Adriana stood, she noticed the tremble in the woman’s hand on the table. Chelsea slipped it to her lap. She looked like she’d been the underdog in an MMA fight.
Did Aaron do that to her?
“I saw Aaron yesterday morning. We got into an argument,” she whispered, tears cutting lines down her cheeks long before the first question.
“Is that how you got the bruises? Did he hit you?” He lifted his pen and pressed the point to the legal notepad but didn’t write.
“Yes.” It was a small sound. A “woman afraid of admitting her boyfriend beat her” kind of sound.
“And what time did you leave Aaron’s house on Tuesday?” Mendez needed to see if Aaron had an alibi for the time of the shooting without influencing her answers.
“I think I left around eight.”
Adriana grimaced at the news. The shooting took place around ten, which gave Aaron time to get to the hotel.
“So, to confirm,” Mendez said while writing something down, “when did you first arrive?”
“I spent the night on Monday.”
“And what time did you get to his house on Monday?”
Adriana inhaled at Chelsea’s words, waiting for an answer.
The shooter had been with Sarah Reardon the night before, and if the time frames didn’t match up, Aaron might have an alibi.
She wanted to catch the killer, but she really wanted to deliver Knox some good news, to let him know a veteran hadn’t tried to assassinate his father.
“I.” Chelsea closed her eyes, showing more of the purplish-black marks over her lids. “I’m sorry. I can’t remember. It’s been a strange few days.”
“I need to know Aaron’s whereabouts Monday evening, and can anyone confirm your location?” Mendez asked.
Rodriguez remained quiet, hands in his pockets, his back to Adriana, his eyes, no doubt, on Chelsea.
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