Why deny it?
“Coffee?” Brynn asked, heading toward them.
“Yeah,” stated Croft, pointing at the coffee pot.
Just then, there was a light tapping at their door. Since security didn't buzz them, that meant that Tessa and Paris were up and needed to get in.
Emma opted to go, since she was the less intimidating. At the door, she couldn’t help but smile. “Morning.”
Entering the condominium, Paris and Tessa looked like two kids who got caught with their hands in the cookie jar.
Paris spoke first, “We fell asleep in the cabana. We’re sorry.”
Croft came around the corner and was holding two cups of coffee in his hands. “Here you go,” he offered, smiling at them.
Both stared at him like he had three heads.
“Why does everyone look at me like that lately?” he asked his wife.
Curtis shouted from the kitchen. “They don’t think the ‘Ice King’ has a soul and can be nice! It’s like you’re possessed.”
Emma grinned. “There’s creamer in the kitchen.”
They gratefully accepted the coffee. It had been a long night of heated passion on their boss’s roof. Caffeine was going to be the only way to get through the day.
Before he could make a comment, his phone began ringing. “Director Croft.”
He didn't have to say a word. His face said it all.
Emma glanced over at everyone. “Get dressed. We have another body. We head out in five minutes.”
They all scattered.
When he hung up, it was only his wife standing there. She was watching him as he fought to remain calm. “We had another agent go down,” he stated. “She was out running this morning, and the killer ambushed her.”
“I’m so sorry, Grey,” she offered, moving towards him.
He couldn’t let her comfort him now. The anger was too close to the surface to make his wife a handy target. “I have to get dressed,” he stated, escaping from their kitchen.
Emma watched him go and her heart ached. This was all going to weigh on her husband’s shoulders and drag him into the mire of guilt.
Damn this killer!
She hated when anyone screwed with her husband.
Something had to be done.
* * *
Arriving at the fresh crime scene, Croft had them all suit up. Granted, the killer was making head shots, but he had to follow procedure. There was a wariness brewing in his gut, and he opted to take it one step further. Bringing in the tech vans, he had them circle the victim’s body to offer them a little more protection. At that moment, he wasn’t sure if this was going to be one body retrieval or two. If the last scene was any indicator, they may have a big problem on the horizon.
“What do you want us to do, sir?” Paris asked, standing protectively in front of Tessa.
He scanned the area, taking in the location. “I want you to stay by the victim and watch the women.”
Emma stared at him. “What do you plan on doing?” If he was going to give someone else the duty of keeping guard over her, that meant he had plans.
Ones she wasn’t going to like.
“I’m taking Agent Gilbride and sweeping the area.”
Emma fought the fear rising in her body. “You’re going looking for the killer.”
He touched her cheek. “Stay here with Curtis and Paris.”
Tessa wanted to comment, since she was irritated by her boss and his chauvinistic behavior. While Emma didn't mind, she did. Then, sanity returned, and she opted to remember who was boss, and who was agent.
She liked her job too much to get fired.
As much as Emma wanted to rage against his directive, she knew he needed to do his job. Her husband was a dominant man and wanted to protect his people. Sometimes, you just had to let the alpha be the alpha, and this was one of those cases.
Curtis wasn’t going to let it go so easily. “Let me go with you. I can help,” he offered, not wanting his boss to be wandering around alone.
“I have the military background. I can spot where the shooter was holed up and move faster alone.”
His eyes met Emma’s, and the message was passed between them. He was going to do what he used to do, and he needed to be alone.
“Come on, Curtis,” she offered, her stomach in knots. Leading the young agent away, she’d trust her husband and watch over the Feds around the body. If the killer was still around, they were bigger targets than her and Brynn.
Emma gave one last glance over her shoulder and whispered a silent prayer to anyone listening.
As they approached the body, the ME was already running his tests. The liver probe was inserted, and he was using his watch to do the math.
“It happened less than two hours ago,” he said.
Curtis pulled up the report which had been sent to him from the LVPD officer who had responded to the ‘shots fired’ call. “The cops who were first on scene got here an hour ago, so that’s probably right,” he stated. “A homeowner was up, letting her dog out to relieve itself, and she heard the shot. Immediately, she called nine-one-one to report it.”
Emma stared down at the destroyed remains of human life. “Are we sure she’s a Fed? All that we have is the FBI academy t-shirt that she’s wearing. Maybe she borrowed it or bought it online.”
Steele Bentley picked up the phone lying beside her, and opened it up. Inside, he found her emails. “They’re addressed to a Jane Pepper.”
Curtis pulled his tablet out and did the search of their employee database. When he found the picture, he turned it around. There, smiling back at them, was a happy looking brunette with vivid hazel eyes. “The address is close. By FBI records, she lives three blocks over on Lexington.”
“I’ll be able to print her when we get back to the morgue, but it’s likely your agent,” Doctor Bentley offered. “In you photo, she has a mole on her clavicle. I can see it here, beneath the blood.”
Emma suddenly realized that the ME wasn’t looking too good himself. “Hey, are you okay, Doc?” she asked, touching his arm.
“Yeah, I was out late last night and had a bit too much to drink.”
This was a first.
If Christ himself walked onto the scene, they would have been less surprised. Apparently, their faces showed it too.
It made Steele laugh. “I do have a life outside the morgue. You don’t have to look so shocked. I even date and live in a real house, and it’s not as cold as a refrigeration unit either.”
That made Emma grin. “You should get her bagged up and out of here. If Greyson’s off wandering in the woods, then that means we’re all in danger.”
Doctor Bentley was okay with that. He glanced over at his team and motioned toward the deceased agent. “I want her bagged up and ready for transport. We’re going to get out of the FBI’s way on this one,” he stated.
Emma stepped back, motioning to the rest of the team. In their huddle, she broke it down. “Brynn, Paris, and Tessa need to head back to the office. We need to start going over this woman’s file. If the killer picked her, there’s a reason.”
Paris was more than happy to get out of the open. He assumed by now, that if the killer was going to take a shot, he would have.
Still, Tessa was his priority. His gut was all twisted into vicious knots because of the unknown.
“I need a profile worked up on this victim. When you get in house, get started.”
Paris pulled out his phone and began snapping photographs. He’d make some notes for his own personal use. “Do you want me to alert Maggie Clark? She’s the other profiler.”
Emma was trying to gauge what her husband would do. “Yeah, and tell her get a rush on it. When he gets in-house, there’s going to be one hell of a storm rolling in.”
They didn't doubt it.
“What are you going to do?” Brynn asked warily. She didn't like the idea of leaving Emma out here in the open, since she was so high profile. What if the killer opted to take a
shot to scare her, and was off the mark?
“Curtis and I are going to head to Jane Pepper’s house to locate that handprint.”
“And after that?” Tessa asked.
“Then, I’m going to get ready to soothe the savage beast, and hope that this doesn’t put him over the edge. He’s lost too many of his agents. It’s about to get damn ugly.”
No one would argue with that.
* * *
Greyson moved through the neighborhood, sticking to the backs of yards and hidden areas. If he was going to pinpoint the killer’s vantage point, he didn't want to be the next target. So, he tried to make it as difficult as possible to be in the crosshairs.
Before he and Agent Gilbride headed in, they grabbed coms and two tactical shotguns. While his sidearm would be sufficient, Croft wanted a little more of an advantage if he needed to take a distance shot. Plus, he needed the scope to check out the upcoming area. For now, each man was moving through the trees toward a location which Croft had picked out.
Being an ex-Army sniper, he knew that in order for the killer to make that shot, he had to be relatively high up. He would have wanted to be able to see the woman running toward the location. Only then, would the shot be taken.
It irritated him that he so easily slipped into the mind of the killer. Greyson loathed that he was just like him. Croft had watched his prey, anticipated their moves, and then taken life--over and over again.
A killer was a killer, and that knowledge ate away at him. Even if he was now using it to stop the maniac, it was still under his skin, festering.
Deep down, it wouldn’t matter how many he avenged, since his soul was stained with the blood of so many others.
Pushing it down, he moved through the shadows, avoiding the people in the neighborhood. It was all coming back to him. The instinct was there. Now, it was a matter of tapping back into it, and finding his way into the mind of the stalker who he now tracked.
When he happened upon the building, it would have been exactly where he picked to do the kill.
It was perfect, and that only enraged him further.
Examining the location, Croft noticed that the height was there, giving a clear line of sight of the street not too far away. It was deserted, dilapidated, and easy to get in and out of unnoticed.
This was it. He’d bet his career on it.
Scratch that. Greyson Croft would bet his life on it.
In the not so far distance, he saw his agent in the trees. He was a good guy, but clueless with blending in. He stood out like a sore thumb.
“This is it, Tom,” he said over the com.
“Are we going in?” he asked, trying to find his boss in the area. For some reason, he wasn’t able to see him. You’d think finding a large man would be easy, but it was as if he disappeared.
“I am. I need you to patrol the perimeter and make sure no one tries to sneak out.”
“You should have backup in there.”
Croft wasn’t worried. He’d been in far worse scenarios in his life. An abandoned building was nothing. Besides, who would he take in?
His wife?
Yeah, that wasn’t happening unless hell froze over and swallowed him whole. The other option was his green as grass partner. That wasn’t happening either. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if the agent was hurt or worse, killed.
There was no other option.
Yeah, sometimes, you had to just bite the bullet and take care of business on your own.
“I’ll be fine,” he reassured. “Just watch those doors, and for Christ’s sake, get further back into the trees. You’re as plain as day.”
Immediately, the man did what his boss asked, as he continued to scan the area.
Greyson Croft stayed hidden, as he slipped effortlessly through the bramble of the deserted building’s yard. He was damn glad that he’d rushed out of the house in a pair of jeans and sneakers that morning.
Agent Gilbride scanned the surroundings, trying to find his boss. “Director, let me know when you enter the building,” he said, watching the location by the nearest door.
“I’m already in,” he replied, whispering.
The agent looked around in confusion. He wasn’t sure how his boss pulled it off. Damn! He was stealthy.
Croft used what the military and FBI had taught him, locating an open window. The already broken glass proved what he suspected. This was likely the entrance which the shooter had used.
Once inside, he scanned the area. Since there weren’t a lot of windows to let in the sun, Croft pulled out his cell phone, hitting the flashlight app. The entire time he searched the interior, he kept his tactical rifle in front of his body. If he had to make a quick shot, he wouldn’t have time to swing it from his back to his chest.
Listening, he pointed the light at the nearest stairway. What once had been a nice house had now wasted away after years of neglect. The woodwork was chipped at by vandals, leaving their marks and initials. The graffiti showed that this place was as good as any to go and not be seen.
It was perfect for a sniper.
When he didn't hear anything, he continued on.
“Boss, are you okay?” Agent Tom Gilbride asked.
Croft didn't answer. Instead, he hoped the man was smart enough to listen for his breathing on the open com. For now, he needed to move as quietly as possible.
It was hard not to slip back to another time and place. During his various missions, he’d gone into many dilapidated buildings to stake out a hideaway days before a target was scheduled to roll through. It had been all about waiting and being patient.
Back then, that was his forte. Unfortunately, time had eroded away his patience, especially when it came to his wife.
At the base of the stairs, he slowly took it one step at a time, keeping his body as flat against the wall as possible. His eyes narrowed, as he focused on the one location that gunfire would likely come from.
If someone was going to ambush him, it would be there.
Slowly he crept forward, until his foot hit one loose wooden step. The creak was so loud that the agent outside heard it over the com.
“You’re still clear, Director,” he reassured into the transmitter.
Croft was forced to trust the man outside with his life, since he was focused on what was coming and not what he’d just passed.
As he reached the top, he peeked around the corner. There were three rooms, and only one of them faced the street where the agent had died. That would be the most likely place to find the shooter.
Yet, it felt off.
They weren’t high enough.
Croft stared up at the ceiling. There had to be another level, and that meant a way into the attic. If he wanted to see the street, he would need to get higher.
Moving into the first room, he was careful not to trip over the debris lying there. It looked like someone was using it as a place to squat. In the corner, there lay a mattress with discarded hypodermic needles alongside it.
Yeah, this house had seen plenty of action.
Checking the closet, he stared up at the ceiling, disappointed there wasn’t an access route to an attic. Well, one room down.
“Are you okay, Director?” his agent asked.
Croft whispered low enough for the com to pick it up, but not anyone in the building. “Yes.”
Heading back into the hall, he braced for the next room. It was just as messy, but this time littered with beer bottles and used condoms. Yeah, his tech team was going to find a plethora of DNA here, and none was likely to be their killer.
This animal knew better.
Croft thought back to all the places he had used as a lookout. They were locations which would mask his presence. This house was exactly that.
‘Who are you?’ he wondered. This screamed military or FBI, which made him even more uneasy.
Clearing the first two rooms, he directed his focus at the last one. As he crept closer, Greyson listened for anything that might give an
other person away.
So far, there was nothing.
Peeking into the room, he was surprised to find it relatively clean. Yes, there was garbage, but nothing like the other rooms. In the center sat a chair, oddly out of place. Moving toward the windows, he stared out at the street. From where he was, he couldn’t see the road where his agent was running. There were low trees blocking his way.
That meant he was going up.
Glancing toward the ceiling, he saw what he was looking for. There was a square cut out of the sheetrock. It appeared that the shooter had made his own access into the attic.
The last thing he wanted was to stick his head up into the space and get his brains blown out. So, he pulled off his shirt and wrapped it around the nose of the gun. Pushing the chair, he made sure it made a scraping sound to alert anyone above him. That following second was the longest in his life. He hoped there’d be some sort of reaction, giving away that the killer was up there waiting. When there was none, he already had his suspicions that the crazy had left the coop.
Now, to make sure.
Quickly, he shoved the shirt up into the attic, hoping that the shooter would take it as a head.
When no one shot at him, he figured it was relatively safe. Pulling his gun back down, he dropped his shirt on the floor and gauged the distance. He could probably pull himself up into the attic, but then he’d have to let go of the gun.
Yeah, that wasn’t happening. Using the chair, he got ready to peer into the line of fire.
Taking a deep breath, he thought about his wife.
A silent prayer was said, as he carried on with the plan. Standing, he waved his left hand into the opening. When there was no gunshot or pain, he relaxed.
Using the phone, he used the light to scan the contents. Whoever lived there before had left some personal possessions.
There were boxes and a few trunks of what looked to be old kid’s toys. They were all low and small enough that he could see no one was lurking there.
Love is Bleeding (A Croft & Croft Romance Adventure Book 4) Page 25