Cold Blooded

by Toni Anderson

  “Call 911. Tell them there’s been a shooting involving an FBI agent. Of all the times not to have my fucking Bucar.” He bent down and started CPR on the guard. Pip got out the passenger side and stumbled around to the injured man, calling emergency services as she went. She found the street address just as people started running out of their homes to help.

  “Is he breathing?”

  Kincaid ripped off his tie. “I need to tourniquet this leg wound. Anyone have a shirt I can use to pad the bleeding?” Kincaid raised his voice and a man quickly pulled his t-shirt over his head before she could offer.

  Kincaid torqued the knot tight around the top of the man’s thigh and the guard cried out in pain, breath coming in small, shallow pants. Perspiration beaded the man’s dark skin. At least he was alive. For now.

  “Press down on this,” Kincaid instructed Pip. “Hard as you can.”

  She scooted over to kneel beside him. Kincaid shifted slightly so they leaned against one another, hip to hip, thigh to thigh, as he ripped open the guy’s uniform and found another wound seeping blood from his chest.

  Oh, God.

  Instead of looking at the gunshot wound she gripped the guard’s leg and prayed. Was this some random drive-by shooting or had she or the FBI agent been the target?

  A squad car screeched to a halt behind them. Seconds later an unmarked vehicle with men in t-shirts and jeans arrived, hands on their weapons, eyes cataloging the crowd. They looked relieved to see Kincaid alive and kicking.

  FBI.

  Kincaid called out information to the law enforcement people about the shooter. The vehicle make and model. The direction the shooter had taken off in. To her it had been a complete blur of noise and panic. To him it had been a normal day at the office.

  She shuddered.

  A paramedic eased her aside and she tried to stand, but her knees buckled. Kincaid grabbed her by the waist and dragged her onto the grass, away from the crowd of onlookers that the uniforms moved back. He pulled her t-shirt out of her pants and raised it so he could check her torso, then walked around her, looking at her body.

  “What are you doing?” She struggled to pull away but he wouldn’t let her.

  “People don’t always know they’ve been shot,” came a stranger’s voice.

  Pip looked over her shoulder.

  Kincaid looked up. “I can’t believe she isn’t bleeding out. Someone shot up that car up like an old tin can.”

  “What about you?” Pip cried out. “You shielded me from the bullets. Who’s checking you for wounds?”

  “I’m fine.” He waved off her concern.

  Tears welled in her eyes. “How could you have been so stupid?”

  “Years of practice, right, Kincaid?” The man she didn’t know thumped his fist into Kincaid’s shoulder.

  How could they joke about this?

  She started to shake.

  “This is Agent Will Griffin.” Kincaid introduced them. “Pip West.”

  Agent Griffin was ridiculously handsome. He had close-cropped hair, rich brown skin and almost black eyes that were critical but compassionate. They nodded at one another as her teeth pounded each other like pneumatic drills.

  “Are you gonna use this to get out of our run later?” Will asked Kincaid.

  Pip just stared at him, aghast. He was worried about a run?

  “Hell, no. I enjoy beating your ass into the ground too much for that.” Kincaid quipped back.

  She went to wipe her face, but her hands were covered in the guard’s blood.

  “Here.” Kincaid’s buddy, Will, held up a bottle of water and indicated they both hold out their hands.

  He poured water over them and grabbed some paper towels and hand sanitizer off the paramedics who were already loading the victim onto their rig.

  “Do you think he’s going to make it?” Pip watched the paramedics slam the rear doors closed and the ambulance take off, sirens screaming.

  Kincaid pressed his lips together. “We did everything we could for him.”

  Except maybe get him shot.

  “This a random drive-by?” Will asked.

  Pip looked at Kincaid.

  “Not sure.” Kincaid stared back at her.

  “What were you doing here?” Will asked.

  Kincaid pressed his lips together. “It’s complicated.”

  Pip looked away. Had she gotten him into trouble? She hoped not.

  She glanced at her car. Glass was scattered across the trunk and holes pierced the front and back windscreens which were held together by a fine network of fractured glass that looked like a million cobwebs that would shatter at the slightest touch. Holes the size of dimes dotted the trunk.

  Had someone just tried to kill her? Or had they been targeting Kincaid. Or the guard?

  Why would anyone shoot at her?

  But she found it hard to believe it was coincidence, unless the Universe was really trying to send her a very loud message that the world was dangerous and not to get attached to anything because it could be wiped away in the blink of an eye.

  “What do you have in there that stopped those bullets?” Kincaid used the edge of his shirt to ease open the trunk. Inside sat several large boxes of books and photo albums that had formed a barrier between their bodies and the bullets.

  Apparently, her Romance novel obsession had saved their lives.

  Will nodded, impressed. “Next time someone asks me if I prefer digital or print I’ll have a good answer for them.”

  “How can you joke about this?” Pip snapped.

  A large pool of blood smeared the concrete next to the driver’s side door. Pip felt like she was going to throw up. Kincaid came over to her, put his hands on both her arms. “It’s okay.”

  “I thought you were going to die and it would be all my fault.” She gulped back tears. She didn’t want to lose anyone else, not even the annoying FBI agent who thought she was a pain in the ass.

  “Let’s get you out of here.” He led her toward Will Griffin’s vehicle. “I need a ride back to my car.” Kincaid gave him the address.

  “No problem,” said Will easily, despite her yelling at him.

  “Someone in the field office will be investigating the shooting but it won’t be me,” Kincaid told her, guiding her with a hand on the small of her back. “They’re going to have to question you. Just tell them exactly what happened.”

  She got into the car and covered her face with her hands. “I didn’t see anything. It was just a blur of bullets and glass and,” she swallowed, “blood.”

  Kincaid got into the back seat next to her. Will got in the front and immediately pulled away from the scene.

  “I don’t understand. What just happened?” she asked.

  Kincaid put his arm around her and drew her tight against him. She saw the other agent watching them in the rearview.

  “Someone just tried to kill us, Pip. I just don’t know whether they were aiming at you, me, or the guard.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Why the hell were you conducting unauthorized surveillance? And why were you with the goddamn journalist I told you to keep away from in the first place?” SAC Bourne’s questions were like one-two punches into his gut and Hunt felt his career at the Bureau sliding away from him.

  He lifted his chin. He hadn’t done anything wrong. “I paid another visit to Universal Biotech after consulting with ASAC McKenzie and then arranging a tour of their facilities. I used the opportunity to ambush Pete Dexter with questions as to why his keycard had been used to enter the biosafety labs at Blake over the Christmas period when he’d left that university several years ago.”

  Bourne paused in what must have been a mentally rehearsed rant. “Why wasn’t the keycard deactivated?”

  “That, I don’t know.”

  Bourne looked like someone was gonna get chewed up over lax security.

  “I planned to talk to the secretary at Blake and ask her but wanted to question Dexter first. He said Cindy Res
nick had his keycard. He said he’d assumed she’d handed it back to the department months ago. One of Dexter’s partners suggested Resnick had used his card to get him into trouble out of spite.”

  Bourne stared him down with a flinty gaze. “Any security cameras to tell us who used the card?”

  Hunt shook his head. “They have one that monitors the main entrance but they only keep the tapes for a few days.” Which was frustrating as hell.

  “You believe Dexter?”

  “I don’t know.” Hunt wasn’t sure where his dislike of the man stemmed from—machismo nonsense or finely-honed intuition? “He’s into his status symbols—drives an expensive car and is a full partner in this firm at only thirty. I’d like to check into the firm’s financing.”

  Bourne shook his head. “Keep to the plan, Kincaid. Ask SIOC to check the financials if you really think they might be the ones selling the anthrax but otherwise move on. Why were you with the journalist?”

  “Pip West—”

  “The journalist.”

  Hunt blew out a big breath, praying for patience. “Yes, sir, the journalist. I saw her car when I was leaving Universal Biotech. I wanted to tell her we’d found the drug dealer who’d supplied her friend the coke, ask if the second autopsy she’d requested on Cindy Resnick had produced any results. I also wanted to ask if she’d come across Pete Dexter’s keycard amongst Cindy’s belongings.” He hadn’t gotten that far.

  “She just happened to be there?” The SAC did not sound convinced.

  Hunt knew he was dangerously close to getting a verbal ass kicking for subordination but neither he nor Pip had been responsible for some asshole pumping multiple rounds of 9mm lead at them. Without Pip’s love of print books, they’d both be dead.

  Bourne stared at him. Waiting.

  Shit. He was in for a roasting. May as well get it over with.

  “She was watching the Universal Biotech facility for a black SUV. She says she saw one near Cindy Resnick’s cottage on Monday, minutes before she found her friend’s body.”

  “Why didn’t you just run all the employees for black SUVs?”

  “I ran Dexter to see what vehicle he drove, but no SUV. I didn’t know what Pip was doing outside Universal Biotech until I got in the car with her. I had no reason to run everyone else at the company.” Which would have taken hours of grunt work he didn’t have time for.

  The SAC still looked pissed.

  A letter of censure could kill Hunt’s hopes of being accepted into HRT selection, but begging would kill his pride.

  Bourne straightened a piece of paper on his desk. “The journalist thinks Dexter is involved in her friend’s death?”

  “West—the journalist,” Hunt said before the SAC could, “believes whoever had sex with Cindy the night she died probably provided the drugs. She was looking at Cindy’s ex for that reason alone.” Not because Hunt had told her anything about bioweapons or BLACKCLOUD.

  Bourne shook his head. “Local cops are ready to declare Cindy Resnick’s death an accidental drowning stemming from drug use. The dealer who probably sold her the drugs has been found dead. Check the dealer’s DNA against the samples the lab took from the cottage. Maybe she knew the guy and asked him to come see her and bring a party bag. Maybe he expected a different kind of payment than what she had in mind.”

  Hunt wanted to argue that Pip said Cindy wasn’t into drugs, but what if she was wrong? Did he want to screw up his career by sticking his neck out with his SAC? Plus, there was nothing wrong with checking the dealer’s DNA. It was a solid idea. He’d also see if he could figure out a way to check Dexter’s.

  Bourne leaned back, deceptively relaxed. “So what happened?”

  He meant the shooting.

  Hunt relayed what had happened.

  He was mad he hadn’t got a license tag of the truck or a clear view of the driver. He’d returned fire and definitely put a few holes in the thing. He’d been hampered trying to protect Pip. Plus, the busy highway behind them had increased the chances of a civilian getting caught in the crossfire.

  Bourne watched him with that legendary eagle stare. Hunt bore the silent appraisal. Chin up. Shoulders back. He was still wearing clothes smeared with blood and they itched against his skin. He didn’t know if that worked in his favor or not. The guard was in surgery. No one knew if he was gonna make it.

  “Who do you think they were shooting at?” Bourne asked finally.

  Hunt cleared his throat. “We’re running the guard for any gang affiliation or criminal history but he’s the outside bet. Ms. West and I have both been asking a lot of questions, but shooting at me only makes the FBI dig deeper.” He met his boss’s gaze. “They followed her car. I suspect they didn’t even know I was with her.”

  They’d been after Pip.

  Bourne gave a sharp nod of acknowledgement. “You’ll be questioned about the shooting, but I don’t believe there’s any issue with your actions. If you hadn’t been there that journalist would probably be dead.”

  Hunt swallowed, fighting the bile that wanted to rise up his throat.

  “Are you involved with her?” Bourne asked bluntly.

  “No, sir.” He hoped the SAC wasn’t the legendary mind reader some people believed.

  “Good. Make sure it stays that way. She’s dangerous.” Bourne’s lips formed an uncompromising line. “If she finds out about the bioweapon and writes about it, the ensuing panic could kill more people than an actual outbreak.”

  Hunt adjusted his stance and snapped his shoulders back further. “Even if we were involved, sir,” he fought to keep his tone even despite the seething anger. “I wouldn’t compromise an investigation by revealing classified information to anyone, let alone a reporter.”

  His SAC didn’t throw the incident in LA at him. Instead he went for fresh blood. “Yeah, but you wouldn’t be the first agent to blurt something compromising during an intimate moment.”

  Hunt felt his face heat. He was not discussing “intimate moments” with his boss, but he wasn’t gonna let this ride. “I have no intention—”

  The SAC laughed. “Intentions mean jack-shit. She’s a beautiful woman. You’re both single. She has an alibi for her friend’s death, she isn’t a witness to any of your cases, but it doesn’t mean she’s in the clear. She might be involved in the drug dealer’s death.”

  Hunt didn’t reiterate he was her alibi for that shooting, too.

  “And she might have conspired with her dead friend to sell enhanced anthrax and some sort of super vaccine to terrorists.”

  The task force had checked her out in detail and there were no solid links, but again, Hunt kept his mouth shut. She was involved. He couldn’t afford to personally get entangled.

  “Then there’s that thing in Tallahassee…”

  “Where she exposed a dirty cop.” Which was what they’d have done, too.

  “And a lot of innocent people died.” The SAC watched him carefully and Hunt felt like he’d fallen into a trap.

  “I don’t think she’s looking for a story right now,” Hunt said. “I believe she’s trying to deal with the death of her best friend in the only way she knows how.”

  “Reporters are always after stories. I’d have thought you’d have learned that after LA.”

  Bourne slashed a hand, cutting off Hunt’s angry response. “Go get cleaned up. Make your report and then get back to work on BLACKCLOUD.”

  Hunt left the SAC’s office angry and frustrated. He headed to his desk, found Will using his phone. Will looked up, finished his conversation and put the phone down.

  “Mandy’s taking the lead on your shooting. She’s interviewing your girlfriend right now.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” Hunt said through gritted teeth. Part of him wanted to go watch the interview, tell Fuller to go easy on Pip, but that would be crossing a line both personally and professionally. As protective of Pip as he suddenly felt, he couldn’t interfere in the investigation. He knew the BLACKCLOUD taskforce woul
d be burrowing even deeper into Pip’s background, but why would she have called 911 at the lake on Monday? Why would she have insisted her friend didn’t do drugs despite all the evidence to the contrary? If she and Cindy had been working together to sell weaponized anthrax, why keep pushing for answers? Why draw attention to herself?

  He checked his phone messages. Information on the guard had come back negative for gang affiliation or priors. His gut told him Pip had been the target, but the question was why?

  Dammit, he didn’t have time to guard her, but the idea of anything happening to her… He squeezed his hands into fists and blew out a big breath.

  “I need to clean up,” he told Will.

  He headed to the locker room and stripped, tossing what had been his best suit into a plastic bag in case evidence wanted it. He’d almost died today. Pip had almost died and another man had been shot and gravely injured. The hot water drummed over his face, against his eyelids as he stood there with one arm braced against the wall and let the spray heat his body. He needed to figure out how to protect Pip while still doing his job, and right now he had no idea how to balance the two.

  * * *

  Pip watched the female agent assigned to the shooting investigation drop down to a chair opposite her in the interview room. The space was sterile and nondescript and reminded her of the other room she’d sat in earlier this week. Had it only been a couple of days ago? It felt like a lifetime in terms of grief and anger.

  “Ms. West. I’m Special Agent Fuller. I’d like to ask you a few questions about the shooting earlier today.”

  Pip nodded. The agent had sleek, long, blonde hair tied back in a ponytail so tight it pulled at the corner of her unfriendly blue eyes. She wasn’t much taller than Pip herself and wore her gun and badge like a declaration of hostile intent.

  “Do you have any reason to believe Dr. Angela Naysmith committed a crime?” Fuller asked.

  Pip shook her head. “No, ma’am. I didn’t know who owned the SUV until Agent Kincaid ran the plates.”

  “Why were you following the vehicle in the first place?” A slight mid-west twang laced the words.