Into the Night

by Cynthia Eden

THE LIGHTS GLEAMED in the hospital and Bowen’s shoes squeaked as he strode over the freshly polished floor. A nurse glanced up at him and Bowen flashed his badge. “Agents Murphy and Night to see Dr. McKinley.”

  The nurse, a man in his early twenties, pointed down the hallway. “He’s in Recovery, but you know he’s not going to be able to really talk now, right?”

  Bowen glanced down the hallway and nodded curtly. “Thanks.” He and Macey made their way to Recovery.

  “He needs a guard,” Macey said. “After his attack, we can’t be sure the killer won’t come back to finish the job.”

  “That’s if the killer isn’t Peter Carter.” Because Peter was also in that hospital. Under guard and in surgery.

  They flashed their badges to the staff in the recovery area, and soon they were standing next to McKinley’s bedside. Thick bandages covered his throat, and the doctor who’d accompanied them inside—Dr. Tracy White—leaned over her patient. “Dr. McKinley,” she announced. “You have guests.” She looked up at Bowen, then Macey, her dark gaze stern. “My patient has been through quite an ordeal. I can only allow you to stay with him for a few moments, and I must ask that you do not stress him in any manner.”

  “We’re not here to upset the doc,” Bowen said. “We just need some answers.”

  McKinley’s head slowly turned toward them. His gaze dipped toward Macey and he mouthed the words, Thank you.

  “He isn’t going to be able to talk normally for a few days. Here.” The doctor put a small whiteboard in McKinley’s hand. “He can use this, but keep things simple, okay? He’s going to tire easily.” After giving a brisk nod, Dr. White exited the room.

  McKinley’s fingers closed around a marker, and he scrawled a message on the board. “Saved. Me.”

  Bowen saw Macey read those words. She gave the ME a weak smile. “I was doing my job.” She paused. “Can you help us understand what happened?”

  He nodded and wrote “Try.”

  “Thank you.” Macey’s face was pale, and Bowen wanted to get her somewhere and just, hell, fucking protect her from the world.

  But that wasn’t the way things worked.

  That wasn’t the way Macey worked.

  They had a job to do. They’d do it.

  “Did you see the man who attacked you?” Macey asked McKinley.

  He wrote “Mask.”

  “Right.” Macey’s gaze cut to Bowen’s. “He was wearing a ski mask. I saw that, too. I just...” Her stare turned back to the ME. “Where was he? When he attacked you, where was he?”

  The machines around him beeped. His body shuddered as he wrote “Behind me.” His words were becoming harder to read. “Stairs.”

  “You think he came from the stairwell.” Bowen nodded. That made sense. “He was waiting for you.”

  “Dr. McKinley.” Macey squared her shoulders. “I have to ask you some questions, and they’re going to be personal, but they are pertinent to the case.”

  The marker shook in his hand.

  “We learned that the perp has been watching you,” Bowen told him.

  McKinley’s eyes widened.

  “He hacked into your webcam, and he was watching you while you worked.” Macey’s voice was soft and sympathetic. “Was there something he might have seen you do? Something that—”

  McKinley shook his head.

  Macey’s lips pressed together, and then she said, “There was whiskey in your drawer. I know you told me that you’d been sober for ten years, but was that the truth?”

  The machines beeped faster.

  “We need you to be very honest with us, Dr. McKinley.” Bowen’s gaze was on the ME. “Because this perp? He would have jumped on anything that he thought you did wrong.”

  The marker slid across the whiteboard. “Ten years.”

  Dr. White came bustling back into the room. “My patient’s vitals are going through the roof! I must insist that you leave.” Her face was set in determined lines.

  “Thank you, Dr. McKinley.” Bowen inclined his head to the ME. “You rest now.”

  Macey squeezed McKinley’s hand.

  They turned to leave.

  “Um, wait!” Dr. White called out. “I think he has one more message for you.”

  They turned back. McKinley had written again, barely legible. “Ten years since I lost her.” Tears gleamed in his eyes.

  Her. The emotion there was so strong. “Your wife?” Bowen guessed.

  The marker shook as McKinley wrote “Daughter.”

  “I’m sorry,” Macey told him quietly.

  McKinley lowered his whiteboard.

  “Thank you,” Bowen said again. He and Macey slipped out of the room. As soon as they were out of Recovery and back in the general area of the hospital, Bowen turned to Macey. “We need to find out exactly what happened to his daughter.”

  “That will be easy enough. We just need to pull up old records or...” And she already had her phone out, tapping on the screen. “Or we can search the internet. You can find everything there these days.” She scrolled through her search results and sadness flashed on her face. “Shannon McKinley...died at age twenty-one. She was...drinking and driving.”

  Hell.

  Macey glanced up at him. “Our perp was watching the ME, but maybe it was less about what McKinley was doing. Not about punishment at all for him.” She put the phone back in her pocket and her eyes narrowed in thought. “The skull from the museum had been delivered to the ME’s office. Dr. McKinley was supposed to run tests on it. Maybe that’s what the attack was about. If he’d run his tests, then he would have found out that skull wasn’t some relic—but the skull of a recent crime victim.”

  That made sense. “If Peter Carter is the perp we’re after, then, yeah, he would have wanted the skull back. He could have been keeping tabs on the investigation. Could have seen the skull arrive and knew that he had to act. But you were there, so that threw everything off for him.”

  She nodded. “And he had to flee the scene. He could have gone into the lab to retrieve the skull, but then he saw me and had to leave before he could get it.”

  One option. “We need Peter Carter talking.”

  She glanced at her watch. “That’s not going to be happening anytime soon.” Her lips twisted. “And my money says that Peter is going to lawyer up. Fast and hard.”

  “Then let’s find evidence that talks for him.” He marched toward the exit and Macey fell into step with him. “Dr. Sofia Lopez arrived earlier, right?”

  “Yes, but it’s nearly eleven p.m. She won’t be at the ME’s lab now.”

  “Let’s get her there.” The sooner they found out the identity of their Jane Doe, the better. He shoved open the door and the crisp night air hit them.

  Macey grabbed his arm. “Bowen!”

  He whirled back toward her. “He hasn’t called anymore, Macey. No more taunts. No more games.” Bowen pointed back to the hospital. “Is it because he’s in there? Because you and Jonah put bullets in him?”

  She swallowed. “Jonah is piecing those computers back together. If he can recover information from the hard drives—”

  “Then we can have hard evidence. Fuck, yes, but we need that skull identified ASAP.”

  “It doesn’t happen instantly, Bowen!” Frustration burst in her words. “If we can’t make a DNA or dental match, then we’re going to need facial reconstruction work. We’re talking about a process that can take days. Weeks.”

  That was time they didn’t have.

  Macey pulled out her phone and fired off a text. “I haven’t even talked to Dr. Lopez since she came to town. I made sure security was set up at the lab, but everything was happening so fast then, I didn’t get to discuss much with her.”

  Her phone vibrated.

  Macey read the text and then her head whipped up. “Dr. Lopez sa
id she met with the mayor, and he set her up in a second lab at the ME’s building.” A surprised breath escaped her. “She’s at the lab now—and working on the skull.”

  Fuck, yes. “Let’s go,” Bowen said.

  * * *

  “BE CAREFUL WITH THOSE!” Jonah barked as the officers picked up another hard drive. There had been five computers in the office and they were all beaten to hell and back.

  At his sharp command, the two officers sent him disbelieving looks. “They’re already in pieces, man.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t want them in any other pieces. No more damage. The more damage we have, the more corrupt the material will be.” And the harder it will be for me to recover anything. “Be careful with them,” he ordered curtly once more. “I need all of this equipment transferred to the police station.” And he’d be spending all night trying to retrieve the data.

  The officers filed out. Jonah put his hands on his hips as he surveyed the area.

  “You really think you’ll be able to pull anything off those machines?”

  His shoulders stiffened at Tucker’s drawling voice. Jonah glanced over his shoulder. “I can try.”

  Tucker stepped into the office. A considering expression was on his face. “You’re the computer whiz, right? You’re supposed to be able to do anything with tech.”

  “Almost anything,” Jonah qualified. He didn’t want expectations too high. “I can’t work miracles.” He kept his hands loose at his sides.

  Tucker’s bright gaze swept over him. “You fired the first shot tonight.”

  And he’d already given statement after statement about that scene. There was always so much red tape at the FBI. Sometimes he wondered how anything got done. “Macey and I were under attack. I did what was necessary.”

  “That your first shot in the field?”

  “You know it was.” Jonah inclined his head toward the guy—the agent he’d known had never wanted him on the team. “Isn’t that why you campaigned to have Samantha keep me off the unit? Because you didn’t think I’d be able to handle the pressure of the job?”

  Tucker didn’t deny the charges. He just raised one brow. “How would you know that?” He tapped his chin and took a step closer to Jonah. “You haven’t been using those tech skills to dip into confidential FBI files, have you? Peeking at files that you shouldn’t see?”

  He wasn’t going to bother answering that. “For years, whispers followed you around.” He knew all about Tucker Frost. “Reports claimed that maybe, just maybe, you’d been involved in the murders your brother committed.”

  Tucker’s jaw locked.

  “But you were still first pick for Samantha Dark’s team. Why was that?” It was a question that had nagged at him because he’d been busting his ass to prove himself at the Bureau. He’d busted his ass, and Tucker Frost had basically flown to the top of the class.

  “Samantha wanted me on the team because I stared at the monsters, and I didn’t flinch.”

  The monster had been Tucker’s own brother.

  Tucker’s eyes swept over him as the other agent said, “When it came down to making a choice, I made that choice. I pulled the trigger and I killed my own brother rather than let him hurt an innocent woman.”

  A woman that Tucker loved. Yes, Jonah knew all about that story. And about the fact that Tucker had recently reunited with that woman. Too bad that reunion had caused a wake of bloodshed in New Orleans.

  “Then I turned my damn life around,” Tucker added, voice tight. “I made it my mission to hunt others like my brother. The ones who hid behind charming smiles but were really the worst monsters of their kind. I hunted them, I stopped them and I never let emotion get in the way. You can’t, not with this job. If the cases get to you, they will wreck you. They can’t become personal. You can’t let them. If you do, you’ll find yourself with a fast trip to see the Bureau shrink.”

  Jonah swallowed. “You don’t think I can handle the pressure of the job?”

  “You shot a man tonight, and your hands are dead steady.”

  Jonah lifted his hands. They weren’t shaking.

  “That tells me that two things could be happening. One, you’ve got fucking ice in your veins. You’ve locked down your emotions and you won’t let the job get to you because nothing gets to you.”

  “Is that a bad thing?” An agent should be clearheaded. An agent should get the job done. “I saw Agent Murphy—Bowen killed a man, and the guy is carrying on like it’s business as usual.”

  “No, he’s not.”

  “Could have fooled me,” Jonah muttered.

  “He has,” Tucker assured him flatly. “I know Bowen. I’ve been in the field with him again and again. He shuts down when he has to make the bad choices but Bowen deals with the aftermath. He knows the aftermath is brutal and ugly and that the guilt and second-guessing don’t stop. He shoulders that burden, and he only lets those close to him even see that he’s carrying it.”

  His inner circle. Right. Jonah knew that was a circle that he wasn’t a part of, not yet. “Let me get this straight, you’re riding my ass right now because my hands aren’t shaking? But it’s totally cool with you that Bowen fired and never hesitated?” Such bullshit.

  A faint half smile curved Tucker’s lips. Jonah didn’t like that smile. To be honest, he didn’t much like Tucker, either. He fought to keep me off this team. “Maybe I’m not being fair. Could be that I don’t know you well enough yet. Maybe you are like Bowen. You lock down tight and only let the ones closest to you see your pain.”

  Bowen felt pain? That was news to him.

  “It’s so important in this job...to be able to fucking empathize. With the victims. With the families. You have to be able to understand pain.”

  The guy thought he didn’t know about pain? Bullshit.

  “But perhaps there is another option at play with you. Maybe the crash just hasn’t hit you yet. It hasn’t fully settled into your head that you were seconds away from dying tonight. You fired wildly when he came at you, and that’s why you only clipped him in the shoulder. If Peter Carter hadn’t been desperate and frantic with fear, the scene could have gone down different, and that truth hasn’t really struck you yet. You don’t realize that death was breathing down your neck, but it was. And if Macey Night hadn’t fired her shot to take down Carter—that’s down and not out, because Macey, she’s the kind that always tries to save people, even when they don’t deserve it—if she hadn’t fired, you would have just stood there and watched Carter blow his own brains out.”

  Jonah flinched. “You don’t know...”

  “Isn’t that what you did before?” Tucker pushed.

  It was just the two of them in that office, and the tension that he’d always felt when Tucker was around, it was boiling to the surface.

  “Because I know the stories about you, too,” Tucker said quietly as his watchful gaze swept over Jonah. “I know that your father used a gun on your brother and your sister. I know that he turned that gun on your mother.”

  Jonah’s hands clenched into fists.

  “And then I know that you were in the room the whole time. You watched while he finally turned that gun on himself.”

  The sound of Jonah’s pounding heartbeat filled his own ears.

  “The only one to survive,” Tucker murmured. “That was you, right? You made it out, but the rest of your family didn’t. You stood there, and they all died.”

  “I was...eleven. What did you want me to do?” His voice was too rough. Too ragged. He needed to fix that. He needed to control that. Control.

  “You’re not eleven anymore. Yet you just watched a man nearly kill himself, the same way your father did, and you have no reaction?” Tucker’s hard gaze swept over him. “That shit worries me. That shit is the reason I’m—how did you put it?—‘riding your ass’ right now. Because your reaction isn�
�t adding up for me.”

  “You don’t need to worry about me.” Jonah forced his hands to unclench, but he couldn’t stop his heart from racing. “You’ve doubted me the entire time.” Maybe the gloves needed to come off. No more lying. Clear the damn air.

  Again, Tucker didn’t deny the accusation. He wasn’t the type to deny. Or to lie. But he was sure as fuck apparently the type to judge.

  “I’m not some ex-SEAL like you are,” Jonah snarled. “I haven’t spent my life running into battle.” Or killing. “I lost my whole family on the worst night of my life. And I wondered why. Why did it happen? Why did everything go so horribly wrong? Why did I lose them and why—why the fucking hell—was I left standing? I asked myself that every day. I asked myself that every single time I went to see a shrink. Because when I was a kid, being bumped from foster home to foster home because everyone thought I must be tainted, they made me see a shrink. Made me talk about that night over and over until it was burning in my head.”

  Tucker just watched him.

  “I don’t judge you because of what your brother did. How the fuck dare you stand there and judge me?”

  But Tucker shook his head. “Not judging you. Never said you were guilty of anything. But I did say you’re acting as if nothing happened. And that’s not good. I need to know that my agents are sound—that their pasts won’t wreck them on a case.”

  “I’m not wrecked,” he gritted out. “I’m doing my job, and you need to stop pushing me.” Was the guy just testing him? Jonah thought Tucker was, and he was going to pass this test, just like he’d passed all of the others thrown into his path over the years. “I deserve to be here.”

  Tucker moved to stand right in front of him. “You were closer to the perp than Macey. I saw the crime scene. You should have shot first. You hesitated. You can’t do that again. Not when another agent’s life is on the line.”

  Jonah swallowed. “You have to get past this grudge you have against me.”

  “You’ve spent the last five years behind a computer. You haven’t gotten enough fieldwork experience. I might sound like a grade-A bastard, but it’s because I’m putting the team first. You have to be able to count on the man or woman at your side. Hesitations cost lives. Simple fact.”