by Kylie Brant
“We’ve got more agencies than we can handle jockeying for position in this investigation.”
“I imagine that kind of juggling comes with the job.”
The assistant director grimaced. “You have no idea. But in this case it means doling out pieces of the case to teams comprised of agents, and members from DHS, USMS, the DC police department . . . and now you.”
“Nice to know I’m not crowding the field.” Adam wasn’t without sympathy for the man’s position. But the emotion didn’t run deeply enough to have him bowing out and making it easier for Hedgelin or the agency. He’d made a promise to Jo. She’d done her part. She’d gotten him placed on the investigation. He had no illusions; it would have been her connections—and Byron’s—that had landed him here. Despite his past in the agency—or perhaps because of it—his presence would make them uneasy. His last case for the FBI had nearly killed him. Although he didn’t care about such things, to some it had made him a hero. But because he’d chosen to cut his ties with his former job, the bureau might regard him much differently.
That part didn’t matter. The investigation did.
“You’ll be partnered with two of our seasoned agents. I believe you know both from your time here. And Lieutenant Frank Griega will be your liaison from the DCPD.” Hedgelin dropped into his high-backed leather desk chair and shot Adam a small smile. “Given that our best guys in the Behavioral Analysis Unit were actually instructed by you, we’d be interested in any profile of the offender you put together.”
Adam inclined his head. Since he hadn’t made a point to keep up with many from the bureau once he’d left it, he had no idea who was still left in the BAU. But Cleve was right. Profiling had been a specialty of his while he’d been an agent. Now it was his employees at Raiker Forensics who received his tutelage. “Of course.” His pause was laden with meaning. “But it’d help to get some background on the case first.”
The agent leaned forward and stabbed at a button on his desk phone with the stump that remained of his right index finger. Adam wasn’t the only one who bore old injuries from the last case they’d worked. He rarely considered his own. When it came to human nature, it was only the scars on the inside that were worth noting.
Moments later the door to the office opened and a man and woman entered. With a glance, Adam determined that Cleve was right. He did know the agents. His gut clenched tightly once before he shoved the response aside with sheer force of will. He’d had recent dealings with Special Agent Tom Shepherd, as well as knowing him slightly when they’d both been with the bureau.
But his reaction had nothing to do with Shepherd.
“You recall Special Agents Shepherd and Marlowe?”
“Of course.” He gave them a curt nod.
Shepherd’s broad smile complemented his aging Hollywood golden-boy looks. “You’re looking a sight better than you did a few months ago in the Philly CCU. I’ve been hearing the doctors took to calling you the miracle man.”
Her voice and face devoid of expression, Jaid Marlowe raised a brow at him. “Just a word of advice—you aren’t actually bulletproof. Next time you have an assassin after you, try Kevlar.”
“Now that I’ve discovered bullets don’t bounce off me, I may have to.” His tone was as mild as her own. No one would suspect that only a few short months ago Jaid had sat at his bedside clutching his hand, silent and pale, her wide brown eyes drenched in tears. In a medicated fog at the time, he might have thought she was an image produced by his subconscious. She’d taken up permanent residence there eight years ago, like a determined ghost refusing to be banished.
Cleve stood, taking three oversized brown folders from a pile on his desk and leaning across the desk to pass them out. Flipping his open, Adam saw it contained copies of the case file. Regardless of the minutes wasted trying to convince him to bow out, a file had already been prepared for him just in case. Which made him wonder if his response to Hedgelin’s persuasive tactics had been predicted from the start, or whether the extra file had been prepared for the absent DCPD lieutenant.
The thought vanished when he focused on the pictures contained in the first manila folder inside. There was a clutch in his chest when he recognized his friend crumpled on top of the stained, broken plywood, bright yellow roses crushed beneath him. The depth of emotion blindsided him. He took a moment to acknowledge the feeling before tucking it away. Subjectivity crippled an investigator. Turning those feelings into purpose was the only way to help Byron Reinbeck.
With that intent in mind he riffled through the pictures, plucking out a few to arrange on his lap atop the open folder, side by side. After studying them for a moment he looked up. “The shooter was on a rooftop across the street?” His gaze lowered again. “The building was at least five stories. Rooftop most likely. Or top floor, although being inside the building would increase his risk of being identified.”
“The roof,” Cleve affirmed. “Seven-story building. The second folder has the scenes shot there.”
There was a note in the man’s voice that alerted Adam. He went to the next folder and shuffled through the photos there. There was little to see in the images. No evidence of a rifle or scope. No tripod. No shell casings. The shooter had coolly taken the time to pick up before fleeing the scene. There was nothing except . . . He squinted his one good eye at a photo of what looked like an ordinary five-by-eight white index card encased in a plastic Ziploc. On it was scrawled one word in what looked to be red marker.
Wrath.
As if reading his thoughts, Jaid said, “Wrath? The shooter was angry at the victim?”
Riffling through the rest of the photos in that file, he stopped at one that showed the card before it’d been disturbed. “Oh, he wanted this to be found, didn’t he?” Adam murmured. He’d first thought the bag protecting the card was one used by the crime scene technicians, but now he realized the shooter had left it that way. Encased in plastic, with a fist-sized piece of broken concrete holding it in place on the pebbled flat roof of the building. “Wrath. One of the seven deadly sins.” Feeling the others’ eyes on him, he looked up. “Not that I’m all that well versed in the tenets of Catholicism, but I had some exposure in my youth.”
“A passing exposure, obviously.” Jaid’s wry remark had the corner of Adam’s mouth quirking.
“It didn’t take, no. Much to the Jesuits’ despair.”
“Funny you should mention it, though.” Hedgelin took a large manila envelope off his desk and opened it to shake out a single photo. Bracing himself with one fist planted on the desk, he leaned forward, holding the image up for them to see.
“That’s not Reinbeck,” Shepherd noted, shifting to better view what was obviously a crime scene photo.
“This victim’s name was Oliver Samson.” The deputy director paused but when no one commented he went on. “He had a global investment and securities firm. Samson Capital.”
“One of the too-big-to-fail companies that plundered unfettered until the financial collapse a few years ago.” Recognition was filtering now, of the victim’s name and his company. Both had been on the receiving end of some unbelievably bad press after the upheaval, worsened further when its obscene bonuses paid to top executives came to light. Adam assumed Samson had ridden out the rocky times with help from the government-issued bailout funds. He recalled the media surrounding the man’s death had been lacking in details. “When was he killed? Last month?”
“Five weeks ago in the parking garage of his building on I Street NW. Stabbed. You can’t tell in this picture but there was an identical card left at the scene.” Cleve’s expression turned grim. “It was impaled on the knife left in his heart.”
Intrigue spiking, Adam guessed, “Avarice.”
The deputy director nodded. “Close enough. The word ‘greed’ was written on the card, in red marker, much like the one found at the site of Reinbeck’s shooter. If I’m not mistaken, that’s yet another biggie according to church dogma. The DCPD is compiling copies of the comp
lete report on that ongoing investigation. Griega will get it to us when it’s ready.”
“You think these two are serial killings?”
Hedgelin raised his hand as if to halt Jaid’s line of thought. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I don’t want the media even considering that idea. It’s going to be all I can do to control what they get regarding the facts surrounding Reinbeck’s death. The manner of deaths was completely different. We’re a long way from tying the two homicides together at this point.”
“But the religious connotation of the notes give us a link worth following up on.”
The deputy director didn’t reply to Shepherd’s observation. Instead, he took off his glasses to polish them with his handkerchief, a habit Adam recalled from their time partnered together. “We’re in the midst of having all the evidence gathered for the Samson homicide transferred from the state crime lab to Quantico, where it will be given top priority. If there’s a link to be found in the evidence, we’ll soon know about it. In the meantime, another team is looking into connections between the two men. We still have a large group of DCPD officers canvassing the area surrounding last night’s shooting. Once we have ballistics back, agents will be assigned to trace those leads.”
Despite his cautionary note regarding a serial killer being responsible, it was obvious the bureau was looking closely into a link between the cases. “What about the threats the justice received? Depending on how many clients took a bath on the financial collapse, Samson probably had more than his share of enemies, too.”
Adam’s comment elicited a nod from Hedgelin. “Since it’s the USMS Judicial Security Division’s duty to anticipate and deter threats to the judiciary”—his voice was heavy with irony—“they’ll have a thorough file on any targeting Reinbeck. It’ll take some time to compare them to those received by Samson. You won’t be involved in that end of things. Right now you’re headed over to the Supreme Court building to help with the interviews there. It’s the JSD’s turf, so play nice. With over three hundred permanent staff members alone, it’s going to be a daunting task, made worse because it’s a Saturday and they’re all being summoned in to work. You’ll be part of the contingent focusing on the staff who worked most closely with the justices. There are close to forty clerks, four fellows, administrative assistants, and God knows who else in there with direct access to the judiciary. Your first focus will be on Reinbeck’s clerks and his admin.”
His attention shifted to Shepherd. “Take Raiker to security and pick up a temporary ID badge for him.” His smile was thin as he included Adam in his glance. “They’ll need to take a picture for it. Shouldn’t take longer than fifteen minutes or so.”
Barely restraining a grimace, Adam rose. Photos were a necessary evil at times, but one he avoided at all costs whenever possible. It clearly wasn’t going to be possible this time around. And the realization already had him feeling surly.
When the agents rose as well, Hedgelin looked at Jaid. “Agent Marlowe, if you’d stay for a minute?”
The order couched in the request had Adam’s instincts rising, but he didn’t look at her as he and Shepherd headed to the door. He’d been given a reprieve. He had the next ten or fifteen minutes to figure the best way of handling the constant proximity of the woman who represented the biggest regret in his life.
Since she wasn’t invited to sit again Jaid remained standing, her eyes fixed on the executive assistant director. The pseudocivility that had permeated his voice for the earlier briefing had vanished. The gaze he regarded her with was hard. “I had an opportunity to speak to Shepherd earlier. I’m going to tell you the same thing I told him. I want Raiker supervised at all times. He doesn’t conduct interviews alone. He doesn’t follow up on any leads without one of you accompanying him. The bureau may have had its arm twisted into including him on this case, but damned if we’re going to sit still and allow him to turn this thing into another chapter for his sensationalized memoirs.”
There was absolutely no reason for his tone, his words, to have her hackles rising. Feigning puzzlement, she asked, “He’s writing his memoirs?”
Hedgelin sent her a sharp look but she knew her expression was blank. She didn’t wear her emotions on her face anymore. Adam Raiker had begun that lesson, all those years ago. Life had completed it.
“I’m certain you know what I mean. You’re to keep him firmly contained within the investigative parameters you’re given. In addition to the report you or Shepherd file online nightly, I want details on Raiker’s behavior. His thoughts about the case. Who he talks to. Anything he says of interest.”
In short, she was to spy on him. Just the thought filled her with distaste. She’d run her share of surveillance ops in her career, but reporting on another member of her team was especially abhorrent. Especially since she suspected his most grievous crime was his mere presence in this investigation. The petty politics involved in the agency was her least favorite aspect of the job.
But she knew how to play the game. Or at least how to appear to. “Understood.”
He stared hard at her, long enough to have her flesh prickling. “I understand you knew him when he was with the agency.”
“I took a class he taught for the BAU.” The words were delivered in a bland voice. And didn’t reflect the sudden weakness in her knees. “Worked a couple cases with him after that.”
Hedgelin gave a nod, as if satisfied. “It’s to our advantage that you and Shepherd are on a friendly footing with him. That should keep him off guard. Just be sure you don’t let that friendship interfere with your duties regarding him.”
“It was a long time ago.”
He picked up a folder on his desk and opened it, clearly dismissing her. “Join them in security.”
Without another word Jaid turned for the door. She’d seen Adam twice in the last eight years. Each of those times he’d been in CCU, clinging to life. It had taken a wealth of strength to accept this assignment, realizing it would place her at his side for days, possibly weeks on end. She’d convinced herself that she could handle it. Could handle him.
But it had never occurred to her that she might be called on to betray him.
Berkley Sensation Titles by Kylie Brant
WAKING NIGHTMARE
WAKING EVIL
WAKING THE DEAD
DEADLY INTENT
DEADLY DREAMS