by Robin Mahle
“I’m here. I’ll see you in a minute.”
Cain ended the call and switched off the monitor. “Well, that was fun. You two good?”
“Fine,” Kate said. “Thank you for bringing him back.”
“It’s my fault for sending him out. It’s easy to get lost here. I don’t blame him. I just don’t know why the hell he took so long. He should’ve been back here well before you.”
Kate had an inkling. “I guess we’ll have to ask him about that.”
Cain pulled open the door and revealed an orange sky as the sun crawled toward the west. “Glad you finally decided to join us, Scarborough. Your people in Brasilia are refusing to leave without hearing from you first. I suggest you get on the horn with them and get them the hell on that plane. Assuming it’s still there waiting for them.”
“Who’s with them?” Scarborough walked inside and cast a brief glance to Kate but quickly shied away.
“A CIA operative. His name’s Lambert. He’s waiting.” Cain held out his phone. “Make the call.”
“I’ll tell you, man, I thought we’d seen the last of you.” Fisher offered his hand. “Glad you’re back.”
“Me, too.”
The word “guilty” might as well have been engraved on his forehead from the way he looked. Kate was well-versed in the many faces of Nick Scarborough, but it seemed unfathomable for this to be happening now. Giving him the benefit of the doubt again was a notion that she couldn’t swallow this time. How or where he got booze, she didn’t know, but that wasn’t the part that mattered. What mattered was that he let down the team in the worst possible way. Absolution was well outside her province right now.
“Copy that. Keep in touch and we’ll do the same.” Walsh handed the phone back to Lambert. “We’ll be getting on that plane now.” He eyed Quinn and Duncan. “They’re safe and in a better location. The samples are going to trail us by only a day or so, if all goes to plan.”
“Nothing’s gone to plan so far,” Quinn said. “And now we’re leaving half our team behind. This is a bad call and you both know it.” He started up the stairs to the plane.
Walsh held back Duncan for a moment. “He’s made his position clear. And I’ll be honest with you, I don’t like this either, but our job is to support those we’re leaving behind, whether or not it was the right call.”
“I agree. The rest will have to sort itself out when this is over. I won’t abandon them, regardless of what Quinn thinks was the right thing to do.” Duncan boarded the plane.
As Walsh entered the aircraft, he realized Lambert wasn’t onboard and returned to the door. “Hey.” He spotted the CIA operative still on the runway. “You’re not coming?”
“No, sir. I’ll be staying here to assist Cain.”
“Thank you.” Walsh returned to his seat and secured his belt. “It’ll just be us from here on out. Lambert’s staying behind for backup.”
“They’ll need him more than we do,” Quinn replied.
Mason Wylder drove into the garage of his $10million upper east side home. The single car structure was below street grade and was surrounded by block walls. Cameras bordered his property, but no one occupied the home at present since he’d only just returned from Rio and had released his staff for the summer. Located in a quiet New York suburb, this was his third home, the one he bought solely for family who rarely visited anyway. He was alone with the young woman who had only wanted his autograph and now floated in and out of consciousness in the passenger seat of his car.
He hadn’t always acted out in this way, but money changed him. It gave him power and influence—opportunity. It awakened something in him that had been dormant. His fetishes always lay toward the sadistic, but with money, he could fulfill that desire in any way he saw fit. Up to this point, he had been so very careful not to let it spill over here and now that it had, he was left with no choice but to finish the task. And it didn’t bother him one bit.
The humidity was stifling and especially in the garage where there were no windows to the outside. “It’s time to go now, sweetheart.” He stepped out of the car and walked to the passenger side. “Wake up, now. We aren’t finished yet.” He reached beneath her legs and hoisted her from his car.
There were things he understood about the legal system and how easy it was to find even the most remote pieces of evidence. He wasn’t stupid. After all, he worked on a crime drama television show. They had advisors who knew a lot. He’d learned a lot from them. There were things he could do to protect himself. Plastic, gloves, protecting everything around the scene. It was all he had to do and he felt confident he could do it without Scott’s help. Oh yes, his assistant would be very unhappy if he knew what Mason was doing right now.
“How about we go to the gym?” The home gym was on the basement level and only steps from the garage. “Are you awake yet?”
She was rousing into consciousness and at any moment would flail and it would become difficult to control her. He had to get her inside. She was light and petite and carrying her was like carrying a child. Inside the gym, a yoga mat lay before him and he placed her there. She was beginning to struggle now as her senses returned.
“Calm down, honey. This will only hurt for a minute.” In his back pocket, he retrieved a Swiss Army knife and pulled out the blade. With his knees pinning down her arms and his full weight on her stomach, he smiled. “You’re so pretty.” And with a swift clean lash, he sliced her throat.
Kate looked on as a knock sounded on the door at their new and supposedly safer lodging, though at this point, that seemed frighteningly laughable. “Is that him? The CIA officer?”
“If it isn’t, we’re all in trouble.” Cain approached the door and squinted through the fisheye lens before pulling it open. “Glad to see you made it out of Brasilia safely. I appreciate you helping us out here.”
CIA officer Bryce Lambert entered. “Seems like I’m always bailing you people out.” He gazed at the others. “You all must be what’s left of BAU?” He approached Fisher. “I’m Bryce Lambert.”
“Cameron Fisher. Glad to have you here.” They exchanged a greeting.
“That must make you Kate Reid?”
“Yes, sir. Thanks for offering your services.” She took his hand.
“I’m Nicholas Scarborough. I want you to know how much I appreciate you getting my team out safely.”
“My pleasure, Scarborough.” He shook Nick’s hand before turning back to Cain. “But it’s Elijah you should thank. He told us what you all have been up against since your arrival. I’m sorry it’s been so difficult, but that’s Brazil for you.”
“How long have you been posted here?” Fisher asked.
“About six years. I’ve seen it go from good to great to shit. We’re deep in the excrement now.” He turned toward the makeshift kitchen, which was really just a bar fridge and a microwave set atop a folding table. “Hey, you guys got anything good to drink? I could really use a beer.”
“No beer, just water.” Cain retrieved a bottle for him. “Sorry.”
“This’ll do, for now.” He chugged it half way down. “What about these forensic samples you want me to slip out of the country?”
Cain walked to another folding table and grabbed the case. “Right here. You think you can get these on commercial transit tonight?”
Lambert eyed the time. “It’ll be tight, but I think I can do it. The port isn’t far from here and I have people who will meet me to make the handoff.” He peered at Scarborough. “What are your plans after that?”
“We’ll get them to our people at Quantico and they’ll rush it through the labs. We’re hoping for a match to the unsub we believe is responsible and track him down while he’s still here.”
“And if you don’t get an ID?” Lambert asked.
“Then we stay until we do. We’ve come too far to quit now. Our people have been threatened, shot at and now we’re in hiding. We aren’t letting him get away with it. We’ll find the American and bring him to justice and if
we take down some government officials, then all the better,” Scarborough replied.
“Whoa, now. Hold up.” Lambert raised his hands in defense. “I’m going to have to stop you right there. If you find anything that leads to the government authorities here in any way, you’re going to have to let it go. This can’t involve them.”
“It already does,” Kate said.
“Oh, I get that. But we’re talking a major situation if you start indicting their people. I’m afraid I can’t let that happen. You want to find and catch an American killer here, more power to you. But you won’t be taking any officials down with you.”
“We’re risking our lives to stop a killer roaming free in Rio. We assume he’s an American. Then we’re forced to fight an uphill battle to escape the authorities and we have zero recourse against them and their corruption? Fisher asked.
“You hit the nail on the head, my FBI friend.”
“What the hell are we doing here then, Scarborough? They don’t give a shit about the dead women, they don’t give a shit about anything here. Even Varela let his own man get killed to protect himself. What chance do we stand of finding this asshole? What’s the goddam point?”
Kate stepped in. “The point is, it’s our job. I don’t care where we are, or what the risks are, that’s what we’re here to do. And I’m not leaving until it’s done.”
“Then let’s stop pussyfooting around,” Cain said. “Get these samples on a plane and let’s get this show on the road.”
17
Inside the safehouse, individual cots lined the walls and were made up with a small pillow and a light blanket on each one. It was better than sleeping on the floor, if only a little. Kate hadn’t expected to sleep well in any case, and the makeshift beds made that all the more difficult. Then again, her mind reeled with a host of other troubling thoughts as she lay awake while listening to the men around her sleep soundly.
The only comforting thought was of her team returning to Quantico, safe and sound. Though she had been left to wonder if Quinn would use the division as a tool to wedge between them. Kate set her sights on Nick in the cot next to her. She was devastated and beyond angry. He put himself in peril and it could have resulted in putting all of them in peril.
The longer she lay even this near to him, the more her skin crawled until finally, Kate sat up. She padded quietly to a back exit that led to a small, fenced in patio. She needed air.
As she gazed into the night sky, staring at the stars, the door behind her opened.
“What are you doing out here?” Nick asked. “He closed the door behind him.
She studied him. He appeared still half-asleep, but the words were at the tip of her tongue and could not be contained. “I know you were drinking.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, but there was no mistaking its bite.
He stood in silence.
“I know you were drinking and that was why you got lost and why you were late. Do you have any idea what would’ve happened if you’d been harmed? What it would have done not only to this investigation, but to the relationship between Brazil and the US? A federal agent? Jesus. How could you be so incredibly selfish?”
“You’re right. I screwed up. I don’t have an excuse and I wouldn’t insult you with one. I wanted a drink and I had one. I had three, if I’m being honest. Not my finest moment.”
“Not your finest moment?”
“What more can I say, Kate? I had the shots the other night and it messed me up. I wanted more and I was absolutely selfish. I had more. You think I’m not pissed at myself?”
She tried to find calm in the rising tide of anger that swelled in her stomach. “Maybe you should go back home. Get out of this place. Go to a meeting. And then you can help the rest of the team.”
“You think I’m going to leave you here alone?”
“I won’t be alone. Fisher and Cain will be here and we’ve got Lambert to help now. Nick, I’m afraid you’ll put us all in danger. I want you to go.” All Kate wanted to do right now was leave; jump on a plane and go home herself. Instead, her eyes shot daggers at Nick and he appeared defenseless.
“I won’t leave you, and I won’t screw this up again. I swear it. You have to believe me. This case is too important. You’re too important. I want all of us to get back home alive.”
“You slipped and you know the only thing that will help you get back up is to go home. Go to your meetings. Clear your head and get the hell back on the job.”
“No.” He held her gaze. “I won’t leave you here. I can control this and you’re going to need to trust me on that.”
“Trust you?” She took a step back in disbelief. “Isn’t that what I’ve done for the past two years while you were pulling your shit together? I followed you to Quantico. I’ve trusted you since the very beginning even when I didn’t have a reason to. I can’t trust you right now. Not with my life or with Fisher’s or Cain’s or anyone here.”
“Look. After we get the results and we can identify this prick, we can use Cain’s resources to track down the killer. Then we can go home. We’re so close, Kate. I promise you that when this is over, I will do whatever you want to fix this. I want to fix this. It’s on me and I take full responsibility.”
She studied him again. “You have no idea what I’ve put on the line for you. If your screwup costs us here, I’ll never forgive you.” Kate walked back inside.
In the middle of the day at a trendy eatery in Manhattan’s upper west side, Scott waited for his boss. They were supposed to go together to the studio for a table read of the season premiere episode set to begin filming in a matter of weeks. Mason’s early return from his summer hiatus was what prompted the expedited table read and Scott thought it would be the best thing for him. It generally took a few weeks for Mason to return to normal—his normal.
With the trip having been cut short, Scott’s concern grew that Mason might not have been ready or willing to get back to work. And that his alter ego might still prevail. While the despicable actions were already inexcusable, Scott looked the other way because he was well-paid to do so. It seemed he had no moral compass either.
Scott pulled up in his chair when he spotted Mason’s arrival. He surveyed the restaurant and the nearby street, wondering if he was the only one to notice Mason’s rather haggard appearance. He stood up and waved him over. Upon Mason’s approach, Scott began, “You look like shit. Sit down.”
Mason pulled out a chair and dropped into it with an aloofness that was even more alarming. His shirt was untucked and his face sported stubble, which wasn’t his style.
Scott leaned over the table and lowered his tone. “What the hell is wrong with you? Have you looked in a mirror?”
Mason examined his finger nails. “Not recently.”
“You should. Where have you been?”
“Working on some things.” He picked up the glass of water in front of him. “Speaking of… I’m going to need you to stop by the house on Grovers and do some clean up.”
Scott’s face turned deadpan. “What are you talking about? Where’s your housekeeper?”
“Not something the housekeeper should handle.”
“For fuck’s sake. What did you do, man?”
“Nothing you haven’t dealt with before. What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is you’re supposed to go in for a table read today. Are you kidding me with this shit? I mean, look at you.” He pulled back. “You look like a walking turd. You can’t go to the studio like that.”
“Then we’ll both go back to my house, you can call whoever it is you call in these situations and I’ll get cleaned up. No big deal.”
Scott eyed him. “There’s no coming back from this.”
“What are you talking about? We take care of this just like the rest and move the fuck on. I don’t see why you’re getting so bent out of shape.”
Scott had just figured it out. He’d played with the devil and now he was about to get burned. To hide something like this here w
as going to take a lot of money and help from people one should only ask as a last resort. Scary and dangerous people that might actually be scarier and more dangerous than the man sitting in front of him.
“How much time do we have?” Scott peered at his phone. “You have to be at the studio in two hours.”
“Don’t worry, there’s extra money in it for you. I get it’s an inconvenience.”
Scott stood up and dropped two twenties on the table for the drinks. “An inconvenience. Sure. We’re leaving. Let’s go before anyone recognizes you.” He waited for Mason and started ahead of him, almost shielding him from those walking nearby. “Get in the car.” He opened the door and slammed it shut after Mason stepped inside. Scott slipped into the driver’s seat and keyed the ignition. “Where is this problem right now?”
“In the gym.”
“Well, at least you thought about the mess it would leave.” He pulled away.
“See? I got your back, dude. You’re stressing way too much.”
Scott remained silent as he drove back to Mason’s townhouse and pulled onto the driveway. He cut the engine and peered at him. “Get inside and get changed.”
Mason stepped out and keyed in the code to open the garage door. The door rolled up and revealed a gleaming garage with coated floors and a Ferrari inside. He made his way toward the house and entered.
Scott was only steps behind him and lowered the garage door from the inside. He inhaled a breath before making his way to the basement, preparing for the unknown. “Oh Jeez!” He covered his mouth, holding back his gag reflex. He was no stranger to the carnage Mason usually left in his wake, but this was a whole new level of degeneracy. “What the hell did you do in here?” He stepped inside the gym and stared at the blood-splattered walls and while the floor had been covered in plastic, it wasn’t enough to contain the spillage. The sloppiness of the kill was going to make this infinitely harder to manage.
He approached the body and searched for the head that it lay only a few feet away. Scott picked up his phone and for a moment, considered calling the police, but the moment passed. He had to protect himself as much as he had to protect Wylder. So he hovered over the head of the victim and held his phone to his ear. There was a fixer he knew who belonged to a dangerous group of people. It was a last resort and it would cost him. “Wait. What the?” He moved closer to the head and crouched for a better look. There was something familiar about this woman, even in this condition, he sensed he knew her. He continued to study the victim, trying to place her when his eyes widened and he pulled back up. “No. No way. This can’t be happening.” He shot a look to the door, ready to bolt into the main house and take Wylder by the shoulders and scream in his face. Instead, he could only stare at her. He knew her. Lots of people knew her. This woman was the niece of a prominent Broadway director. She’d been beheaded and defiled and lay bloodless inside the home of the famous actor, Mason Wylder.