She shut that shit right down.
“Funny, I don’t see the commissioner anywhere here…you know, since this is officially an FBI case.”
She began walking away, knowing that a reporter worth his ilk wouldn’t give up so easily.
Sure enough...
He followed them both.
“Come on! I can help!” Alex said. “Give me something, and I’ll help you in the paper.”
Yeah, she wasn’t born yesterday.
She hesitated.
“Come on! You can trust me! I’m new to the crime beat, and I’m damn good at my job. Scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours.”
Oh, he had no idea.
Well, she did want to screw with the mob. Maybe it was time to put the heat on them.
“I can’t trust you.”
“Yes, you can! I have a very trustworthy face.”
Uh, no, he didn’t.
She wouldn’t trust him as far as she could toss his weasely little ass.
But…when in Boston, play with the big boys.
“Well, okay. I guess it won’t hurt to give you a little news,” she said.
He eagerly pulled out his pen and waited with baited breath, as he prepared to eat out of her hand.
“The mob is behind this. In fact, Michael O’Banion is all over this. We think he called the hits on these women.”
Alex stared at her. That was not only giving the man a stick of dynamite, it was lighting the damn fuse.
He knew who it was going to blow up around too.
Her.
It was official.
She was cuckoo.
If O’Banion had nothing to do with this case, it was going to make the man insane.
If he did have something to do with it, he was going to begin bailing on the people involved.
It was about to be every rat for himself.
Alex crossed his fingers and began praying, ‘Please don’t use your name…please don’t use your…’
“And you are?” Alex O’Malley asked.
“Elizabeth LaRue, but why do you need that? You’re not going to release it, right?”
He smiled.
“Never.”
She played dumb.
“I didn’t think so. I have to go,” she said, getting into their ride.
When Alex, her temporary partner, got in, he stared at her. “You just painted a bull’s-eye on your back. What the hell kind of game are you playing with a mob man, Elizabeth?”
Oh, she was aware of what was about to go down.
“If he talks...”
He laughed.
“He’s on his phone as we speak,” he said, pointing at the man, and he, indeed, was. “You’re either insane or trying to get yourself hurt.”
“If he’s aimed at me, he’s not aimed at other people.”
Alex refused to start the vehicle.
“Who are you protecting?”
She didn’t speak.
Alex was pretty smart too. He didn’t become an agent by sheer luck. He’d become one by studying and being intelligent.
If she was taking the heat, there was a reason.
Elizabeth LaRue was NOT stupid.
It had to be for someone she really cared about.
Then, he got it.
She’d given the ME and the anthropologist a bodyguard. She’d put Noah on both of them.
It had to be one of them.
He took a shot, hoping she’d go for it.
“It’s the doctor. You’re sleeping with him!” he stated, waiting for her reply.
Elizabeth didn’t confirm or deny that. She wouldn’t for their careers, but she’d let him assume.
“Elizabeth, you can’t stand between Michael O’Banion and a person. He’s like a runaway train. He takes everything out around him.”
She cracked her knuckles.
“Well, we’re about to go off the rails. I stand by my choice. We’ll see if the commissioner tossed us to the wolves with this reporter, or if the reporter is going to run back to O’Banion.”
He sighed.
“Let’s get to the boutique that woman worked at, and start asking questions. I’ll fill you in on the boss and what she said on the way.”
Elizabeth was good with that.
“I want to know how Debbie Helton was tied to Harvard, I need to tie her to a professor.”
IF she was.
Oh, she couldn’t prove it yet, but where there was smoke, there was fire, and there was a smolder on the horizon.
If O’Banion was involved, she hoped he was ready to get burned. There was no way she was backing off, and that meant one thing.
She was going to win.
This killer was losing ground, and Elizabeth LaRue was going to catch him.
Yet.
It was only a matter of time.
* * * E l i z a b e t h L a R u e * * *
Washington D.C.
Saturday Afternoon
He found him in the gym, and that wasn’t necessarily odd, but Ethan looked troubled. When he got on the treadmill beside his agent, he was ready to listen.
Like a boss.
Like a friend.
“You look upset,” Gabe said, starting to walk on the treadmill.
“I’m working on some things in my head. Since I didn’t have to leave for a case, I’m dealing with my backlog of profiles. Don’t let the exercising fool you. I’m definitely working.”
“How’s it going?” Gabe asked, trying to get his agent to open up. The man looked like he needed a friend.
Ethan glanced over as he was running.
“Good, I guess.”
Neither man spoke.
Gabe picked up the speed until he was matching Ethan’s pace. When he went to put on his headphones, Blackhawk, finally, began talking.
“Am I a decent agent?” he asked out of the blue.
“Yes, why?” Gabe replied.
“I just needed to know.”
As of late, Ethan was questioning everything he knew about himself.
His choices in life, his ability to do his job, and his personal relationships with everyone.
He’d had a crappy one-night stand, let the woman bounce in his lap even after she insulted his tattoos, and he didn’t get why he took it.
Where was that old Ethan who loved his tattoos and defended them?
Oh, wait.
He died when he left his family behind.
“Where do you see yourself in ten years?” Gabe asked.
“Here at the FBI.”
“I meant in your personal life.”
“I won’t have one. Some people aren’t meant to get married or have that life. I’m that man. I’m going to die an agent since I was born to be one.”
“That’s poppycock, son, and you know it.”
Was it?
Ethan wasn’t sure.
“You can have whatever you want in life once you realize you want it.”
“I want your job.”
Gabe laughed. “Well, that’s a nice way of telling me to watch my back.”
Ethan kept running.
“One day, you’ll move up, and I want to take your place. I want to be at your desk, and I think I’m smart enough to do it. You asked what I wanted, and there it is.”
He stared at him.
“You won’t make it.”
“Why not?” Ethan asked. “Why don’t you have faith in me?”
God knew he didn’t have faith in himself.
Gabe slowed the treadmill down and stared over at the man.
“You don’t have balance. All you have is your job, your desire to be the best, and that’s going to be what takes you down.”
He slowed his treadmill too.
“What do I need?”
“Maybe a personal life outside the job?”
“I was just with a woman last night.”
Okay, that was a total lie. He wasn’t with her out of choice but a booze driven-bender.
What G
abe didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
“I can see. You have scratch marks on your neck. If you can stick with a relationship, maybe you can find balance. I didn’t get this job until after I got married.”
“And if I find balance?”
“When I become the director, I’ll keep you in mind. You’re smart, Ethan, and you’ve got the drive. You’re just missing that one thing.”
He’d never thought about that before.
“Your soul. You lost it somewhere along the way, and I won’t put you in that chair until I can see that you’ve realized that there’s more to life than playing czar. Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely.”
Ethan took it all in.
“Okay, Gabe.”
If his boss wanted him to have a life outside the FBI, he knew the woman who could do it for him. He didn’t particularly like her, but she’d do as a cover for his real need.
Ethan wanted to move up the ladder.
Melanie would have to do. Despite what Gabe said, he didn’t need a life outside the FBI.
If it meant pretending he had a relationship, sleeping with some woman he didn’t like, and playing the role, he was in.
From here on out, he’d play the game to get the ultimate goal.
“I’m glad we had this talk,” he said. “I’m also glad I’m living again,” he offered, bullshitting his boss. “Melanie is a nice girl.”
She wasn’t.
“What does she do?”
“She’s a flight attendant. She’s away a lot, but so am I. Do you think it can work?” he asked, digging that bullshit-filled hole even deeper.
“If you want it to.”
“I do.”
Yeah, more lies.
Christ!
He was the worst human being ever. He was going to faux date a woman and have worthless sex—just to get off—to give his boss the impression he was like everyone else.
Blackhawk thought about that picture he’d drawn as a boy. It was fantasy.
That raven-haired woman wasn’t out there.
There was nothing out there. Like the director of the FBI, who was also single, he was going to take that route, and use some bimbo to get him there.
Gabe patted him on the back, and then glanced over at the news playing on the TV. He saw some freckle-faced reporter gushing about the news story of the hour.
Then he heard it.
‘O’Banion’.
‘LaRue’.
‘Mob hit’.
“Well holy shit! I’m going to kick her ass when she gets back from Boston. IF she gets back.”
Ethan stared at the screen.
“Uh, okay,” he said, watching Gabe storm off.
He wasn’t sure who he was talking about, but someone was going to get their ass kicked, and for once, he was grateful it wasn’t his.
Ethan smiled to himself.
He was one step closer to his dream.
A filthy Indian would rule the FBI world.
* * * E l i z a b e t h L a R u e * * *
Saturday Afternoon
Très Chic
When they arrived at the boutique, it was being manned by some harried-looking woman who wasn’t the owner. She was ringing up purchases, trying to keep the customers happy, and still answer any questions that were randomly thrown at her by shoppers.
It looked like hell.
Elizabeth would rather face off against a flock of nut jobs than work retail. She didn’t think she could handle it. There would be bloodshed.
The poor woman.
Well, Elizabeth was going to make her day easy.
She whistled.
All fifteen of the shoppers looked over at her as if she’d lost her mind.
“FBI. Everyone leave your items and vacate the store,” she said, as she held up her badge.
There was talking, whispering, and finally, they exited.
“Lock it,” she told Alex, and he did just that.
“Uh, am I in trouble?” the young girl asked. “I didn’t do anything, Officer.”
“Agent. It’s Special Agent Elizabeth LaRue. I’m here to ask you questions about Debbie.”
“You mean Miss ‘I can’t make it to work and Becca will get screwed and have to cover’?”
Well, someone was unhappy.
“She was killed last night.”
The woman’s mouth opened.
Then she closed it.
“Still feel the same about her?” Elizabeth asked.
“No. Wow. I feel like a total bitch now for thinking all those mean things about her. Was there an accident?” she asked.
“First, name.”
She rattled it off.
“Well, Becca, not quite. She was killed,” she said again, waiting for the woman to get it.
Then it hit her.
“Is this part of that case that was on the news the last few days about the ‘Boston Strangler’ wannabe?”
Well, here she went.
“Yes. Has anyone been bothering Debbie? Did you notice anything weird?”
She thought about it.
“Well, the other night we were talking as we had dinner. We ordered pizza, and she said she felt like she was being followed. I blew it off since it was Debbie. She also thought she could meditate and talk to the dead.”
Elizabeth made notes.
“Ah, one of those people.”
The woman nodded.
“I made a joke over pepperoni and extra cheese that she might be haunted. Now I feel bad. She was being followed, wasn’t she?”
She nodded.
Then something else occurred to Becca, and you could tell it scared her.
“I live alone. Am I in danger?” she asked.
“I would suggest you find a friend and buddy up.”
Alex patted her on the shoulder.
“You’ll be okay,” he offered, as he tried to reassure her, “but she’s right. If you have a friend, go stay with them.”
Elizabeth had an idea.
“Do you know him?” she asked, pulling up Professor Prince’s picture. “Has he been in here?”
She shook her head.
“We’re a women’s boutique. We don’t get many men. I’d remember if we did.”
Elizabeth held it out for her.
“Take a really good look.”
She did.
“Sorry. No. We get a few husbands who are dragged in, the mailman who stops in and chats each day, and the occasional takeout delivery, but that’s it. I’ve never seen him.”
She took her phone back and went with one last shot at this.
“Was she in school or ever has been enrolled at Harvard?”
Becca laughed.
“Uh, I don’t know how much you think we get paid, but no, she wasn’t going to school. In fact, she was looking for a second job to help pay her bills.”
Elizabeth thanked her.
“I’ll send the people back in.”
“I hope you catch the killer! Debbie was flighty, but she was a good person to her core. The world lost someone good.”
Yeah, she’d noticed that murderers tended to take out the good ones—and rarely the shitty humans.
“I’ll catch him.”
And she would.
If it were the last thing she ever did.
“Where to next?” Alex asked as they vacated the shop and ignored the people staring at them as they passed.
Elizabeth looked at her watch.
She’d given Chris plenty of time to do an autopsy, and she wanted to catch him as he was finishing it up. When he was distracted, he gave her more information.
It was their game, and she enjoyed it.
There was something about how cute he looked all flustered and worked up when she caught him off guard with some question.
She loved it.
It gave her a rush.
That was proof.
Elizabeth LaRue was out of her damn mind.
She’d fallen in lust.
/> * * * E l i z a b e t h L a R u e * * *
Morgue
When he got the body back to the morgue, Doctor Julliard was already there, and she was working on her own case. So, Chris got into his protective gear and began the autopsy.
Tony helped him get it done.
He’d finished in record time, and now it was about wrapping up the last few things before calling it complete.
Honestly, he was shocked. Normally, by now, Elizabeth would pop in to torment him.
They had a little game going, and this time, he’d won. He’d finished before she could pester the hell out of him.
God!
He loved her for it too.
It was one of his favorite things, and he’d never admit it out loud.
Never.
As for the autopsy, there was nothing out of the ordinary. He examined her body, found wounds to her neck and throat, and then the evidence of rape.
“Anything?” Tony asked.
“There’s not a damn hair on her.”
“That is NOT going to make Elizabeth happy when you tell her that.”
Oh, he was aware.
He looked up at the clock. She would be in there any second. He could tell.
“I’m getting hungry,” Tony stated.
“You can fill in the chart as I do the last of the stitching, and then you can head out to grab something. Take Noah and the techs with you,” Chris said, more than happy to get the smiling agent away from him.
He wasn’t anti-gay, but he was anti-body contact without permission. Chris liked his personal space, and he wasn’t big on anyone pawing at him.
Unless it was a sexy dark-haired woman.
Elizabeth could touch him all day long. There was some cathartic feeling when her hand made contact.
That was welcome morning, noon, and night.
As they worked in relative silence, the techs began getting restless too. Chris knew they were working nonstop, so he gave them a break.
“Find some food, eat, and get back fast. Elizabeth will be here, and she’s going to want to know why we can’t locate a single piece of trace on these victims.”
“And no fingerprints—just smudges,” Tony added. “That’s going to irritate the hell out of her.”
Dawn of Evil_FBI Flashback Page 31