Act of Blood (An FBI/Romance Thriller ~ Book 16)

by Kelley, Morgan

  Still, he tried his best to convince her that he was a killer. He was failing miserably.

  “Yes, they were. I did it. You’re screwing with me, and I don’t know why. I did it all. I’m obviously insane.”

  She pulled out her cell and dialed down to the lab. When Chris answered, she explained.

  “Christopher, I know you’re in the middle of the autopsies, but I need your help.”

  “Sure thing, honey. What do you need?”

  “I have Marco Deltoro here, and he’s admitted to bludgeoning William and strangling Jeanne to death.”

  He laughed. “That would be funny since they’ve been poisoned. Neither shows evidence to that kind of assault. His head is intact—not even a scratch, and her hyoid is perfectly fine. It’s not fractured. I didn’t find bruises on her neck either.”

  The man looked panicked.

  “You’re trying to confuse me. I did it. I killed them.”

  She slammed her hands on the table, and the man jumped three feet in the air.

  “Stop lying to me. You’re wasting my damn time while a killer gets away! You didn’t kill them. Why are you covering for your son, Peter?”

  He looked horrified.

  “WHAT? Now you’re confused.”

  Callen placed the tablet on the table for the man. He’d been silently watching the entire thing from his spot leaning against the wall. He knew his wife was going in for the kill.

  “Here are pictures of my kids,” she said, flipping through them. “This is EJ and CJ. They’re very heavy on the Native DNA like their fathers. They have the hair and skin tone. Here is my daughter Charlie. She has my eyes, her father’s hair, but my pale skin.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  She kept going, refusing to answer him. “My other son, Christopher Anthony looks like his father too, but he’s pale like me. He has all the Native features like the cheekbones and profile, but none of the pigmentation. Genetics are an awesome thing. His father and I made a handsome little boy.”

  Callen waved at him. “I’d be that father.” Then he pointed at the matching cheekbones. “See?”

  Marco looked even more horrified as the whole thing began unraveling in front of him.

  “Our daughter Cat is a mix right down the line.”

  “I really don’t…”

  She flipped the screen. There was a picture of Peter Cochran.

  “He doesn’t look like his father at all. You see, William was blonde, but Peter is the opposite side of the spectrum,” she said. “Chris?”

  “Yes, Elizabeth?” he asked, still on the phone.

  “If two people with blue eyes have a child, what are the chances that they’ll have a brown eyed child?”

  “Slim.”

  “I see. What are the chances that if a man with brown eyes and a woman with blue eyes have a child, they’ll have a child with brown eyes?”

  “Look at your children. The three boys all have brown eyes. Charlie has blue eyes.”

  “I see. Thank you, Chris.”

  The man was squirming.

  “So here’s what I’m thinking. You were banging the missus, and the husband finds out. After all, the son he’s been paying for all these years looks nothing like him, but he does look like you. Did the truth come out and that’s why he was killed by Peter?”

  Marco held his ground.

  “He’s not mine.”

  “Do I have to call my anthropologist? He’ll look at you, and he’ll tell me the truth. He’ll see the markers in your face, and your son’s, and you’re up shit creek for impeding an investigation on top of assault.”

  He swallowed.

  “So you were found out, and you killed him. Only it went too far, and she got hurt too. Did she drink the poison by accident?” she asked, setting him up.

  He began sobbing.

  “Yeah, I’d cry too because none of this fits. How about you try the truth? How about you tell me what’s really going on so I can help you and find their killer?”

  He had no choice.

  The truth was right there, and it was staring him in the face. Peter was his child.

  “I was brought to this country by the Cochrans. Yes, I worked for them, but they were my family.”

  “How did your dick and sperm end up in the wife? That’s really the part I need to know about.”

  “They found me on a vacation. Mr. Cochran couldn’t have kids, and his wife desperately wanted one. He would do anything for Jeanne, so they brought me here, got me my citizenship, and I became family.”

  “For a child.”

  “Yes.”

  “When did Peter find out?”

  He looked sad.

  “Go on.”

  “It was about six months ago. They thought it was about time to tell him, and when they did, he wasn’t happy.”

  “That’s why you thought he killed them.”

  He nodded.

  “He was so mad. He hasn’t spoken to them in weeks or me either for that matter. He was in a rage.”

  “You’re an idiot. You could have gotten the chair for this. If he’s killing people, then you would have been tried for that. Had I been a shitty investigator, you’d be a dead man.”

  “He’s my son. I have to protect him now that they’re dead. It’s my job.”

  “He may be a serial killer.”

  “NO!” he blurted, standing up.

  “If you come out of that seat and across this table,” Callen warned, “I’m going to break all your appendages off and beat what’s left of your bloody torso to pieces.”

  The man sat.

  Apparently, the large Native scared him shitless.

  “What is going to happen to me?”

  “I’m pressing charges for assault. You hit and tackled me to the ground. If that was all you did, I’d let it go, but lying to me pisses me off.”

  There was a thump from behind the glass. Both she and Callen turned around to stare at it.

  Great.

  She knew who was there. She could feel his eyes burrowing into her back.

  This man didn’t need to worry about jail time. He was likely going to disappear as soon as the camera was off. Ethan Blackhawk was all stirred up too.

  Callen gave her the look.

  They were both in trouble for not reporting this to the other part of their unit. The shit was about to hit the fan.

  “I understand.”

  Actually, he didn’t.

  In case she was wrong and this man was one hell of an actor, he was riding a jail bed until she cleared this up and found a killer. Prosecuting was the only way to lock him up.

  At this point, she was eliminating the potential suspects.

  “Now, I’ll go interview your son. If he’s as big an idiot as you are, he’ll be sitting in jail beside you.”

  The man started crying.

  She rolled her eyes, pointed at the door, and she and Callen headed out.

  In the hall, she headed into the observation room. Low and behold, there was Ethan and Gabe. She had two peeping FBI toms.

  “Not since my first week on the team have I had this kind of audience. Did I pass, teach? Do I get to keep my shiny gold badge and all the shitastic benefits that go with it?”

  Ethan opened his mouth and Gabe elbowed him. Now was not the time or the place. From her tone, they could tell she was irritated.

  That never ended well with Elizabeth.

  “Good move. Since you two sicced tails on us, you need to choose your words wisely.”

  Apparently, the cat was out of the bag. Gabe knew his ass chewing was coming. Livy was going to boot his derrière around their home when they got there later. He could already see it happening.

  “What do you think?” Ethan asked, choosing to listen to Gabe.

  “I don’t know. You said this person is likely an actor. Is Marco Deltoro purposely pointing us at his son? He could be the killer. Then again, his son is a theater major. How many times have we had people who hav
e covered for their kids?”

  “I’d do it,” Ethan offered.

  Callen agreed. “I would too. I’d do jail time for any of my sons. It’s what a parent does.”

  NO.

  It really wasn’t.

  You let them take their licks for being irresponsible in hope that they learned their damn lessons. Elizabeth began praying her sons were saints.

  Then again, they were hellions now. Odds were not in her favor.

  She was screwed.

  Still, she addressed the male jackassery. “We know you would, and that’s why you and your brother are bad influences. You should be ashamed to wear those badges on your sexy bodies. Tsk. Tsk.”

  He laughed. “Did he really punch you?” he asked, trying to keep his cool.

  Callen gave her the look. Lying to Ethan was never a good idea, but in this case, telling the truth wasn’t either.

  This could go bad, and fast.

  “Nah, he didn’t punch me.”

  Ethan relaxed.

  Elizabeth continued, “It was when he tackled me in the chair, pinning me beneath his body that his mouth slammed into mine. That’s how he split my lip.”

  “ELIZABETH!” both men said together.

  “Aren’t you glad you asked?”

  “I’m getting too old for this.”

  Gabe laughed. He was glad his wife had a little more common sense than the woman he called sister. She was a menace, and he was shocked Ethan or Callen didn’t have one hell of an ulcer.

  He would.

  Speaking of wives, where was his?

  “What’s Livy doing?”

  “She’s sitting alone in interrogation room three with our potential killer—without a gun. I’m sure she’ll be fine, especially since his method of killing is not shooting. Well, until now. I hope the local cops patted him down.”

  Gabe started sputtering.

  Ethan elbowed him.

  He still went off. It was clear that what was good for the goose was not good for the gander.

  The profanity was epic.

  It was amusing to her. So much so, that she actually laughed maniacally. Then she opted to keep twisting the knife.

  “He’s carrying three blades in his shoe, wearing a vest with a bomb, and there’s a box of poisonous snakes in there with them too. You know I like to haze the newbies to see how they handle every situation.”

  He realized she was yanking his chain.

  “You’re a total bitch.”

  She started laughing again.

  “Why do you find that funny?” Gabe asked.

  “Your wife said the same thing after we had to kick the shit out of your security guys. You know, when the one went for my gun.”

  Gabe closed his eyes.

  “You okay?” Ethan asked.

  “Shhhhhh. I’m praying.”

  “For what?”

  “My sanity.”

  Well, that said it all.

  “Control your damn wife,” Gabe ordered.

  His only reply was laughter—from Ethan and Callen. It was as if the man thought that was easy and just anyone could do it.

  Did he know her at all?

  * * * B l a c k h a w k - W h i t e f o x * * *

  Monday Afternoon

  Down the hall, Livy was waiting for her. When she rolled into the room, the man was sitting there staring at the wall. She could tell he was pissed and upset, but his ego was keeping him from mourning.

  Or he was a killer.

  There were really only two choices in the matter. They simply had to figure out which was happening.

  “Hello, Peter Cochran. Let me preface this by saying that I’m sorry you’ve lost your parents. We, here, at the FBI, are working their case to find their murderer.”

  “Sure.”

  “Tell me about the degree you’re working on at George Washington University.”

  She wanted to keep him off guard, and this was the best way to do it. This was going to be exactly like the interview with his biological father.

  When his guard was down, she’d go in for the kill.

  It gave her a case of the giggles. She loved this part of her job.

  “I’m a theater major there. My mother loves the arts, and I love them too.”

  “What about your father?” she asked.

  He glared at her.

  “Are you talking about the one who donated the sperm or the one who pretended to be my real father for the last twenty-two years?”

  She stared at him. “I get that you have a chip on your shoulder over this, but you have bigger issues to worry about. You’re staring down the barrel of a life sentence for killing five people.”

  “WHAT? Who did I kill?”

  The look of horror on his face matched his father’s in the other room. They knew where he got it from—this apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

  “We can start with Roman Conley.”

  “I don’t even know him!”

  She went down her list to the next victim, hoping his face would give him away.

  “How about Richard Goodwin?

  He shook his head in denial.

  “Fern Yoder?”

  Once more, there was no recognition at their names. It was clear he didn’t know them.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m telling you that I don’t know anything about any of those people. I was away at school. I don’t know who killed my parents…I mean my mother and HIM.”

  She leaned back in her chair.

  This nut was going to be hard to crack. He was angry, hurt, and mourning them—whether he knew it or not.

  She needed a miracle.

  “Right now, we have someone checking on your where abouts. When the police came to tell you that your parents were dead, you said you were at a party.”

  “I was! I didn’t leave there until two this morning. Then I went to the dorm, to bed, and then right to class at eight.”

  She didn’t know if he was lying or telling the truth. Callen was doing the research for her. He was in observation researching as the man spewed out the details.

  “Why do you hate them?” Livy asked.

  “I’m not his son. They hired some guy to impregnate my mother, and I was the result.”

  She stared at him, thinking about Amy at home. She wasn’t biologically Gabe’s daughter, but he was definitely her father. He was the one who provided for her. Gabe had been the one cradling her after she was born and she was colicky.

  Being a father didn’t mean you had to be the one who produced the sperm to create the miracle.

  The miracle happened after when you did the hard time in kid boot camp.

  “They must have really wanted you,” Livy stated.

  He glanced over. “What?”

  “In order for them to go through that kind of trouble, they had to have wanted you in the worst way. For any man to swallow that kind of pain, seeing his wife pregnant with someone else’s child…it has to be hard.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “That’s your right, but if you didn’t kill them,” Livy said, “then you should care who ended their lives. That was a travesty. No matter what they did, lying to you, they didn’t deserve to be killed. No one does.”

  He stared at the wall.

  They could see he was cracking.

  There was a line of red creeping up his throat and across the tan skin.

  Now…

  Was he getting mad, or was he feeling the pain crushing down on him.

  Elizabeth figured it was time to see.

  “I have a daughter,” she began.

  “So fucking what?”

  “Watch your mouth or I’ll remove your tongue and tap dance on it. In here, I’m the only one who can drop that word whenever I freaking feel like it.”

  He shut his mouth.

  Peter obviously saw that she wasn’t the one to get into a verbal sparring match with in the room.

  “Anyway, as I was saying,” Elizabeth conti
nued, “I have a daughter who isn’t biologically mine. I didn’t think it was possible to love someone that much, especially when they weren’t your own, but I was wrong.”

  He stared at her.

  “She’s my child in here,” Elizabeth said, touching her chest, “She’s most definitely mine. Looking back at it, had I not had this chance to have her in my life, I’d be heartbroken.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Instead of being angry, maybe you need to look at this from their perspective. Your mother wanted a child. They took it to extremes to have one. I'm not saying they didn’t cross a line, bringing in a surrogate sperm donor to live in this country, but they wanted you.”

  He stared at his hands.

  She needed to push forward, so they could see if he was the killer. They needed some emotion.

  Anything.

  “Your father was willing to swallow that. He was willing to step up, give his wife a chance to be a mother. In that, you were born. I bet he went out of his way to love you.”

  No comment.

  “Did he abuse you? Lock you in a closet?”

  “NO!”

  “Did you have everything you needed to be happy?”

  “I guess.”

  “Then they loved you. Then let’s look at your biological father.”

  “Let’s not.”

  She smiled. “Tough shit. This is my interview, and you’re going to suck it up, son.”

  “I want a lawyer.”

  “Yeah, no. I haven’t even asked you a damn question yet. Right now, I’m just telling you how it is. So zip it, lose the attitude, or I’ll get mean.”

  He shut his mouth.

  “Anyway, your real father, Marco Deltoro is in the other room. Did you know he’s about to go to jail for you?”

  That had his attention.

  “What? Why?”

  “When I told him I was coming in here to accuse you of their murder, he was the first person to stand up for you. He actually attacked me and admitted to the crime.”

  He looked horrified.

  “Marco couldn’t kill a chicken to eat for dinner, let alone two people. How did they die?” he asked.

  They heard it.

  He was cracking.

  “They were poisoned.”

  He stared down at his hands.

  “Do you know anyone who would hurt them? Is there anything going on that might have made them this killer’s target?” she asked.