“The day I found my friend Cindy’s body, a black SUV nearly ran me off the road near her cottage. I saw a dust trail along her drive. I believe the SUV left the scene shortly before I arrived.”
“You think whoever was in the SUV was involved in your friend’s death?”
Pip shrugged and knew her expression betrayed her irritation.
“So you’re just randomly following black SUVs around Georgia?” Agent Fuller didn’t bother to hide her disdain.
“No. I’m trying to piece together who Cindy might have seen in her last days. I spoke to one of her exes and he mentioned seeing her with a man who drove a black SUV. I thought she might have gotten back together with Pete Dexter and decided to see if he happened to drive a black SUV.”
“Because the ME found two different types of male DNA at her cottage? Contact DNA in the lounge. Semen in the bedroom.” Fuller was looking at notes in a file in front of her.
A band of anger squeezed Pip’s chest. That Cindy’s life should be reduced to this… “Yes.”
“Did she sleep with a lot of different guys?”
Pip was not going there. It didn’t matter if Cindy slept with the entire state of Georgia. It only mattered if one of her lovers had force-fed her coke.
Fuller drew in a long breath when it was obvious Pip wasn’t going to answer. “You have any idea why someone might have shot at you today?”
Pip had been considering it non-stop. “They might have been shooting at Agent Kincaid or the guard.”
“We’re checking the guard, but anyone trying to assassinate an FBI agent has to know their actions would bring down the wrath of the entire Bureau. We have dedicated a team of agents to this case, though Agent Kincaid probably wasn’t the target.”
A cold rush of air whipped over Pip’s skin as the A/C kicked in. It didn’t cause the goosebumps on her skin. Agent Fuller’s words did. “Then someone doesn’t like the questions I’ve been asking about Cindy’s death.”
“Who?” Fuller didn’t hide her skepticism. “Two different Medical Examiners deemed your friend’s death to be caused by asphyxiation due to drowning, with drugs as a contributing factor. The dealer who sold her the drugs is also dead. Who else would care?”
Pip recoiled.
“Do you know how he died?” asked Fuller.
“The drug dealer?” A chill of foreboding ran down Pip’s spine. “He was shot in the head.”
“We’re running ballistics. You own a gun, Ms. West?”
Pip’s mouth dropped open. “You think I shot him?”
“Did you?” Fuller’s eyes didn’t leave her face.
Pip felt persecuted. She shook her head. “No.”
“Do you own a gun?”
Pip shook her head again then frowned. “I think I’ve just inherited two. Cindy’s dad owned a gun. It’s in the safe at the Atlanta house. And Cindy owned one too but I don’t know where that is. Presumably at the cottage.”
“What kind?”
“Black ones.”
Fuller looked disgusted with her lack of firearms knowledge or maybe she thought Pip was being facetious. “You don’t know the caliber?”
“I don’t like guns.” Pip could have mentioned Kincaid taking one off her last night but wasn’t sure if that might get him into more trouble. Or her.
“Where were you between 10 PM last night and four this morning?”
“What?”
“I’m wondering if you have an alibi for the murder of the drug dealer who sold your friend the coke that killed her. You made it quite apparent your interest in the man.”
Pip gaped. Apparently, she must have “assassin” tattooed on her forehead as this was the second time this week she was being accused of causing someone’s death. She should probably call Adrian Lightfoot right about now.
So much for trying to keep Kincaid out of this. “I was in the hotel lobby until about eight, then went to my room until about ten thirty. I ordered room service. After that I went to Cindy’s house in the city. Agent Kincaid turned up around eleven thirty and I was back at my hotel close to midnight.” Just before she turned into a pumpkin. “Then Kincaid arrived again around 5 AM at my hotel room this morning to tell me about Sally-Anne Wilton. Talk to hotel security. They must have tapes or records.”
“Why did Kincaid tell you about Sally-Anne? Were you friends with her, too?” The way Fuller said the word “friends” made it sound like a curse.
Had Kincaid thought she’d murdered Sally-Anne and the drug dealer too? She didn’t want to believe it. “Kincaid came to the hotel yesterday afternoon, to the lobby,” she clarified, “to tell me the results of Cindy’s autopsy. Sally-Anne turned up just as he was leaving and Kincaid gave her his card. She stayed for an hour. After she left Cindy’s lawyer turned up. The hotel must have security footage showing who enters and leaves the hotel.”
The look in Fuller’s eyes suggested she’d already checked. The agent was trying to trip her up.
“Is there anyone who might want to see you hurt?” Fuller asked.
Of course, there was. Pip felt sick. “If you’re talking about Frank Booker, he’s dead.”
“What about his partner in the police force? A brother who loved him and thinks you framed him and got his family killed?”
Pip gritted her teeth. “I didn’t frame him. I exposed him for the corrupt sonofabitch he was.”
“A lot of cops who worked with him didn’t believe the stories.”
“They were wrong. I had enough evidence that even Frank knew he was going down.”
“Whatever the cost?”
Pip leaned forward and narrowed her eyes. “If you’re asking me if I wish things had happened differently then of course I do.”
“Perhaps the wife had family who think you’re responsible for her death and the death of her three children.”
Pip shut her eyes. A fist closed around her trachea and she couldn’t breathe. She’d warned Lisa to get out of the family home but the woman had been too terrified of Frank. She’d believed the only way she’d be safe was if Frank was locked up. But his colleagues had been slow to react to Pip’s article, even though she’d warned them before it went to print.
Pip wasn’t sure whether her editor had released the information about Lisa being her informant or not. She didn’t know if it would make a difference to how she was perceived in Tallahassee. One thing had been clear—she could never again work there effectively as an investigative reporter. She wasn’t sure she’d work anywhere as an investigative journalist again.
“It’s possible someone targeted me for reasons related to my job,” she conceded.
Which meant the guard had been hurt because of her. Nausea ground in her stomach.
“What did you see during the attack?” Fuller redirected her questions.
Pip huffed out a short gulp of air that sounded almost like a laugh. “I saw the gear shift and the foot well. Agent Kincaid was shielding me with his body.”
“How well do you know Hunt?”
“Hunt?”
“Hunt Kincaid.”
“Not well enough to know his given name, apparently.” Pip’s mouth went dry at that. She was getting way too attached to the agent.
Fuller’s expression didn’t change but Pip noticed her eyes got narrower. “He threw his body over yours at great danger to himself during a shooting, but you don’t even know his first name?”
“Are you saying you’d need to be on first name terms before you protected someone, Agent Fuller?” Pip crossed her arms, feeling pissed. “I assume he was doing what any federal agent would do in that situation.”
The knowledge made her retreat further inside herself. She’d been doing a little falling for the man and he’d been doing his job. She was such an emotional mess she couldn’t even tell the two apart.
Another thought struck her. Maybe Fuller was his girlfriend. Sure, he’d said he wasn’t married but what agent worth his salt would reveal his personal relationships to a pote
ntial suspect. Maybe Fuller was looking at Pip like she had crawled out from under a rock because she believed Pip was trying to poach her man.
Was Kincaid in trouble for being with her when he was supposed to be FBI-ing?
“We are not personally involved,” she repeated, clearly. “Our relationship is strictly professional and related to the investigation into my friend’s death.”
Fuller pursed her lips but eventually nodded. She closed the folder. “I suggest you lay low until we’ve identified your attacker—”
“I have a funeral to arrange.”
Fuller raised a finely plucked brow. “It might be a double one if you don’t keep your head down until we figure out who shot at you and why.”
Pip blinked at the callous phrasing. “You really think someone might be trying to kill me?”
Fuller stood. “I think you’ve made a lot of enemies and should watch your back.”
Pip gave a bitter laugh. “That’s your advice for someone who might be in danger? No offers of protection?” Pip stood, too. The interview was clearly over.
Fuller tilted her head to the side. “We could arrange protective custody until we have narrowed down a suspect if you wish.”
Pip shook her head. Protective custody was too much like foster care.
The edges of Fuller’s lips turned up in a small smile. “That’s what I thought.”
Fuller opened the door and Pip headed out, breathing a sigh of relief. Next time she was questioned she was getting a lawyer. Fuller led her down a corridor, right out to the front entrance. Pip wanted to ask after Kincaid but had the feeling Fuller wouldn’t tell her anything anyway.
Her instincts proved correct when Fuller turned. “Do Agent Kincaid a favor and don’t contact him again. If you have something to add to the investigation into the shooting or any questions regarding your friend’s death, contact me.” She handed Pip her business card. “Your vehicle is in evidence. Ask security to call you a cab.” With that Agent Fuller walked away.
Pip raised her chin and stood as tall as her five-foot-one frame would allow. She’d been rejected before. Many, many times. Her opinions had been disregarded. And as a member of the press she’d been asked to leave before, too.
It didn’t mean she was worthless or wrong.
The Resnicks had taught her that and she would not break faith with them even though they were all gone. She stepped outside into the hot sunshine and raised her face to the sky.
Someone had shot at her today and nearly killed her. Worse, other people had been caught in the crossfire.
The FBI didn’t give a crap about Pip. Fuller had made that more than clear. Pip dropped the female agent’s business card in the nearest trashcan.
Being an investigative reporter had its dangers, but shining light on dark places was how you made the world a safer place. But she didn’t want to put anyone else in danger. She pulled out her cell and called for a ride. She told herself not to think about Kincaid, or the fact he’d saved her life today. Instead she’d forget about the agent and go see how the guard was doing. And if she nursed a little ache at the unfairness of it all, that was her business. And she intended to keep it that way.
Chapter Nineteen
“Kincaid!” Fuller yelled at him as she strode across the bullpen. She glanced at Will who was still grilling him as he filled in his 302. The reports were a staple of FBI life. An FD 302 had to be filed for pretty much everything that happened except going to the bathroom.
Paperwork. Hunt detested it.
He ignored Fuller, wanting to get the shooting incident report finished. He held up his finger to ask her to wait. He could feel her seething annoyance as she and Will whispered to one another, about as subtle as warthogs on Peachtree Street.
He finished typing, pressed save, turning to face them both. “You want to question me?”
Mandy planted her hands on her hips and glared. “That your report on the shooting this morning?” She nodded at the 302 on the screen.
He switched files. “No, this is my statement on the shooting, ma’am.” He gave her a tight smile to annoy her.
She read it over his shoulder while he sat there and watched her. “Doesn’t mention here the fact you’re involved with Pip West.”
“Involved?”
“In a personal relationship.”
“We don’t have a personal relationship.” But he’d like to. He acknowledged that to himself in some surprise. The woman had gotten under his skin despite being a reporter and despite his boss’s warning.
“That’s not what she said.”
Hunt held Fuller’s gaze for three long seconds before he knew for certain she was lying. “Bullshit.”
She pulled her lips to one side and looked annoyed. “I guess you’ll find out when the boss reads my report, won’t you?”
He laughed and climbed to his feet.
“Maybe the reporter is trying to cause you trouble?” Will suggested, propping his hip against Hunt’s desk.
“Fuller is lying,” he told his friend. “The fact you can’t tell makes me pity you.”
Will looked at Mandy and swore. “That undercover stint gave you a whole new set of skills.”
Fuller looked miffed they’d figured her out. “How’d you know?” she asked Hunt.
He gave her a pitying smile. “You tried to sell it too hard. Plus, Pip West has no reason to lie.”
Hunt trusted the woman. The realization hit him hard in the solar plexus.
Was the fact he wanted to get involved with her, blinding him to everything else, everything that really mattered? Could she be part of the bioterrorism case? Regardless, she was still a reporter. But Hunt had learned this lesson and never shared classified data, and would certainly never discuss a case as sensitive as a renegade seller of a biological weapon.
But he liked Pip West.
Fuller tapped him on the back of the head. “Don’t get involved with her. She’s bad news.”
Hunt scowled at her for reading his mind.
“Mandy’s right,” Will said quietly. “She might be attractive but she’s trouble.”
Mandy’s features became even more pinched.
They didn’t get it. It wasn’t Pip’s good looks that attracted him. It was her tenacity, her search for the truth even though it wasn’t her job and it wasn’t convenient. She wasn’t waiting for someone to come along and solve her problems. She was capable of doing that on her own, even without the authority of a badge.
He liked her independence. It was a turn on. He liked her spirit, her determination. He’d be lying if he pretended he didn’t like the package it all came in.
“Hopefully you won’t have to see her again.”
“She’s gone?” Hunt asked, disappointed they hadn’t talked before she left—they had shared an experience today that he wouldn’t forget in a hurry. Then he took in the mulish angle of Fuller’s chin and knew exactly what had happened. “You just let her walk out of here? She could be in danger.”
“We have a team searching for the driver of the truck who shot at you.”
In the meantime, someone out there might take another shot at Pip. The idea worried him more than he wanted to admit.
“I offered her protective custody.” Fuller looked at her fingernails in a relaxed manner that didn’t fool him one bit.
“But you didn’t insist.”
“Judge would never sign off on it with what we’ve got so far.”
“Something tells me you didn’t try too hard to sell the idea,” Hunt said.
“I think she’ll be fine as long as she keeps her nose out of things that don’t involve her.” With that she turned and walked away.
Hunt sat heavily in his chair, worried about Pip and unable to do a damned thing about it.
“She’s right. That journalist is trouble,” Will told him again.
He walked away before Hunt could tell him to shove it. Hunt picked up the phone and dialed Pip’s cell but she didn’t answer.
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God, he was pissed.
So what if he was attracted? That wasn’t the issue here. He had professional reasons to talk to Pip and they were treating him like some hormonal teenager who couldn’t keep it zipped. He wasn’t an idiot. Even though the idea of something physical with the woman was tempting, his job was more important. But she was part of that job.
Nothing meant more to him than the FBI and protecting people who were in danger. Why was Pip considered less worthy than anyone else?
“Saving the world” Pip had called it. She’d said he was like her friend and her friend was dead. He didn’t want the same thing to happen to Pip.
Unbeknownst to his erstwhile colleagues he wanted to search Cindy’s property for Dexter’s keycard and see if the man’s story was true. Unable to reach Pip, he called the FBI Laboratory and asked them to check Cindy’s purse, which they’d grabbed with the electronics. Resnick’s university keycard was in her wallet, but not Dexter’s.
Maybe it was in the house in Atlanta or in the red SUV up at the lake. He didn’t necessarily want Pip to know why he was sniffing around Cindy’s stuff. It was Dexter he was interested in, but he couldn’t afford to let her know. She was already suspicious of the man. He didn’t want her spooking him.
He called Libby Hernandez at SIOC. “Hernandez, did you find anything on the company Universal Biotech?”
“Well hello, Agent Kincaid. How’s Atlanta?”
He could hear the analyst smiling as she typed in information.
“Hot.”
“I hope you mean that in a totally non-biological weapon kind of way.”
He grinned and scrubbed a hand through his still damp hair. At least someone was keeping their sense of humor. “I hope so, too.”
“I didn’t find out much beyond it being a corporation jointly owned by four individuals as we already discussed. We’ve been monitoring their phones and email since you visited them but nothing suspicious on the surface.”
“Did you dig into their financials?”
“The firm’s?” she asked. “They’re still operating in the red but they’ve only been going two years. It’s pretty early days for a firm like that to turn a profit.”
Cold Blooded Page 20