Looking back, she wondered why she’d cried at all. Her family had been monsters who’d tried to instill their twisted beliefs into her psyche. They’d belittled and mistreated her when she’d questioned them or disobeyed their rules. Walt had tried to sexually assault her and she was sure he would have succeeded eventually. At thirteen she’d probably have been married off to one of the many losers who came in a constant stream to her daddy’s isolated compound. If she’d rebelled they would have killed her for spite and called it justice.
It wasn’t justice. It was abuse.
The only person she missed was Ellie.
A knot formed in Tess’s throat at the thought of her sister’s death.
No, Kenny Travers had never really fit in. She wondered how he’d managed to hide his true essence for so long when surrounded by such all-encompassing hate.
The coffee she’d drunk churned in her stomach as the memories swirled. Part of her wished she could forget that time and where she came from, but another part was proud. She’d been strong enough to retain her compassion and humanity despite everything she’d endured. She’d been resilient enough to move on, to grow and thrive and blossom into a respectable and worthwhile human being.
Tess stared across the darkened room to the photograph of her mom. What would she have done?
Trudy Fallon had been the first genuinely good person she’d ever met. The daughter of a rich, white mother and poor, black father who’d met in college and fallen in love, gotten married against their families’ wishes. The marriage hadn’t lasted more than a couple of years and a young Trudy had been shuffled between two worlds never fitting into either. That’s what had made her so perfect for Tess and Cole. She understood what it was like to be unloved and unwanted. She’d appreciated that where they came from didn’t define who they were, it was what was inside that mattered. The three of them had made their own little family, one blessed with a deep abiding love. Losing her adoptive mother last year had hurt more than losing her entire family at Kodiak Compound.
She shook herself out of her melancholy and ran upstairs to throw on warm pjs.
She came back downstairs and decided to work. But the silence was oppressive so she switched on the TV and immediately wished she hadn’t.
The news headlines proclaimed a rabbi had been murdered.
Cold washed over her.
She’d been able to retain a small degree of hope that the murder of the judge and his wife, and that of the transgender DJ, were unfortunate coincidences. This was a big city. They led prominent lives, which attracted the haters no matter your creed, politics, or sexuality.
But the rabbi…
He wasn’t a celebrity. He wasn’t high profile. According to the news anchor he was just some sweet old guy, beloved by his family and the community, renowned for acts of inclusion and kindness.
Dread spread through her veins.
She called Cole, but he didn’t pick up.
Was he honestly pissed with her, or was he hiding something?
Then she remembered something that made her knees give way. Monday—the day the judge and his wife had been gunned down in cold blood—had been February twenty-third.
If he’d lived, it would have been her father’s sixty-fifth birthday.
She swallowed repeatedly as her stomach threatened to crawl up her throat.
Had one of his followers decided to make some sort of statement for the twentieth anniversary of the raid on the compound? Anniversaries were a big deal with these antigovernment types. Just ask Timothy McVeigh.
Or was it one of those horrible coincidences that cropped up sporadically to mess up the world like a cosmic joke?
She paced the room. This was so like the plan her daddy had preached over and over again. The language so heinous it had been seared into her mind with the indelible ink—like the tattoo they’d branded her with as a child. Even the memory of his voice in her head made her want to gag. How he could have preached that twisted message and thought it was okay? How could all the people she’d known back then have been so deviant and misguided?
She wasn’t surprised at her mother.
Francis Hines had been a hard woman who’d only balked at the constraints of being female in a white nationalist enclave, not at their ideology. If anything, she’d taken a harder line.
Occasionally she saw her mother’s face reflected back at her in the mirror, or in a photograph taken from the wrong angle.
It scared her.
To think she shared her mother’s DNA made her want to scrape the skin off her bones.
There were others on the lunatic fringe who shared similar beliefs to the Pioneers. They weren’t the only crazies out there, but the link to her father’s birthday… The fact it was twenty years since the raid…
She contemplated Steve McKenzie’s fancy business card. Should she call him with the information about her father’s birthday? But he was FBI. Surely, he’d figured it out? Maybe that was why he’d turned up tonight.
More importantly she needed to know why Cole had a photograph of that judge in his file cabinet? And why had he removed it?
She sat on the edge of her sofa and watched the same TV footage repeat, over and over. A row of parked cars along a dark street with yellow tape strung across both ends to prevent reporters getting any closer. A tent had been constructed over the body. Police cruisers with their lights flashing created a weird futuristic atmosphere. Small pockets of uniformed cops stood around, looking angry and nervous.
A man in an FBI raid jacket entered the tent covering the body. Tess rewound the footage. McKenzie.
At least she had an alibi for this murder.
Did Cole? Damn.
Police weren’t saying how the rabbi died, but the reporter suggested a witness had heard muted gunshots—same as the other murders.
Tess looked at the photograph of her adoptive mother on the fireplace. What should she do?
“There are growing fears that a series of hate crimes have been occurring in metro-DC area,” the reporter said. “We’ve just been informed the FBI is forming a joint task force to investigate. Spokesmen for the FBI have so far refused to comment, except to urge everyone to remain calm but vigilant, and for anyone with information to please come forward.”
Tess walked into the kitchen, her gaze pulled toward her purse where she’d stashed the jump drive.
If she found evidence that Cole was involved in these murders would she give him up to the police? Would she give up the baby brother she’d vowed to love and protect with her own life when they were still both children? The idea stabbed like a serrated knife right through her chest.
He was sweet and kind and she loved him more than she’d ever loved anyone, but was it possible he was involved in a conspiracy to commit murder? What if there were other people targeted for death? People who could be saved? Her mouth went dry. It was an impossible choice, but it was really no choice at all. If Cole was guilty she’d tell McKenzie in a heartbeat to save innocents.
She snagged the small plastic stick from her purse. Sweat beaded on her brow as she slid the drive into the USB port.
The files took time to populate and she stood there nervously clenching her fists. Movie files. She clicked on one of the icons, her heart pounding in trepidation.
The sound of heavy breathing filled the room. She blinked and stared wide-eyed at the thrusting buttocks that filled the screen. Her mouth opened. Whoa. She didn’t know people could even do that standing up.
She tried another file. A girl in a tight-fitting outfit filled the screen, bent over, washing a car. Tess knew where that was going so she turned it off. She raised her face to the ceiling, and blew out a big sigh of relief.
This was her brother’s porn collection.
She ran her hands over her face and laughed. How the hell was she going to sneak this back into his desk without him knowing about it?
Who cared? She yanked it out of the slot and shut down the computer.
> She still didn’t understand the connection between her brother and the judge’s picture, but at least this data stick didn’t contain a murder list.
A heavy feeling settled inside her chest. No matter how badly she wanted to, she couldn’t ignore the unanswered questions hanging over her head. There was only one person she knew who might have answers, but to get them she needed to do something she’d sworn she’d never do. She needed to confront her brother.
Chapter Eleven
Cole eyed his lover as she got out of bed, naked, and walked to the bathroom, closing the door gently behind her.
The room was almost completely black now and he leaned against the pillows and listened to his cell buzz in his jeans. He knew it was Tess calling to apologize again, but he was still pissed so she could stew for a little longer.
Who the hell was she to tell him who to see? Her track record was nothing but whiners and losers.
He plumped the pillow and lay on his side, waiting for his lover to return. They’d met before Christmas but she was still reluctant for them to be seen together in public. Part of it was the age difference. Part was her job.
He didn’t give a damn about either, but she was sensitive and he didn’t want to upset her. His sister’s comment had made him realize, as much as he thought Carolyn’s worries were dumb, old-fashioned attitudes still prevailed. It was weird considering Tess was the most inclusive person he knew, but they’d never had to deal with an age difference before. Tess was gonna have to get used to it.
He loved Carolyn.
It was too early to say anything without freaking her out, but he was all-in with this relationship and he hoped she was, too.
He’d thought he’d been in love before, but he’d been fooling himself. He’d sat in high school chemistry classes mooning over girls just like any other adolescent male. But no one had wanted to date the zitty nerd with thick glasses and an IQ thirty points above their own.
When he’d gotten tight with Joseph, the guy had urged him to play the field. Cole had for a while, but now he was ready for a real relationship. Joseph chased anything in a skirt, taking pleasure from rubbing other guys’ noses in it. The dude was a compulsive player and better be pretending to want to nail his sister else Cole would beat the guy to a pulp.
The door opened and Carolyn gave him a smile. There wasn’t a wrinkle on her body nor a gray hair on her pretty head. She looked almost angelic and he couldn’t believe she’d agreed to go out with him in the first place, let alone have sex.
She walked across the room without a stitch on and the sway of her hips had him hypnotized. She cursed as she stubbed her toe on a box.
“Ouch.” She grabbed her foot and massaged the injury. “Can you still do me that favor on Friday I asked you about?”
Wait. What? He frowned. It was hard to concentrate when she didn’t have any clothes on. What had she asked him to do again?
“I’m not supposed to move in until the first of the month, but the landlord told me I could have the keys early as the old tenants moved out. A friend of mine is lending me his van…”
Oh, yeah. Something about helping her move her stuff to a new apartment. This place was pretty cramped. “Sure.” Her breasts swayed as she bent down to pick up her suit pants and drape them over a chair. He swallowed. “No problem.”
“I can ask someone else if you’re busy… Trent said—”
“I’m not busy.” Who the fuck was Trent?
It didn’t matter. He couldn’t believe anybody looked as amazing as she did naked. And she was worried about her age?
“You should probably be in class.” She bit her lip.
That got his back up. “Friday’s class is just about the ethics of hacking. I can skip it.”
She sighed as she came towards him, the light from the bathroom making her skin glow. “I should no doubt be worried about that statement.”
“I’ve got it.”
“I worry I’m going to affect your studies,” she admitted. “And that’s when I remember you’re still in college—”
“Hey.” He caught her hand. “There are some advantages to me being younger.” He placed her palm directly over the advantage he had in mind.
Her eyes widened and her lips twitched. “Seriously? Again?”
He grinned. “Come back to bed and find out,” he urged.
“Work called. I need to go in.” She made her voice firm but he could feel her wavering and saw the hungry way she caught her bottom lip.
“Call in sick.”
She rolled her eyes as he pulled her down beside him.
“We’re not all in college, you know. My job is important.” A frown touched her brow at another reminder about their different positions in life.
He leaned over to lick one perfect nipple.
She shuddered and threw back her head. She moaned and sank the fingers of one hand into his hair. “We don’t have time.” But she was squirming against him in a way that made his pulse accelerate.
“We’ll be quick.” His hand slid between her thighs.
She groaned and then pushed against his shoulders so he was on his back. “We’ll have to be.”
She straddled him, impaling herself, the sensation making his brain whiteout.
“You have no idea how incredible that feels.” He skimmed his hands up to her breasts and pinched the delicate tissue.
She laughed and gasped. “I have a pretty good idea.”
She started riding him, slowly, setting the pace and controlling the depth. She leaned over him and he found her nipple with his mouth. His hands slid over her ass, grinding her against him exactly how she liked it. Her fingernails bit into his shoulders.
“I’ve created a monster,” she whispered.
She had. He was insatiable for her and didn’t care who knew it.
She held his gaze as she reared up and fucked him harder. He found her clit and squeezed. She bucked uncontrollably against him and her muscles contracted around him like a vise. She grinned as she caught her breath, never breaking rhythm, and reached behind her to stroke the taut skin behind his balls. Despite trying to make it last longer she shot him over the edge like she’d lit a fuse. Then she curled over him, laughing as his tried to figure which way was up.
“I love you,” he blurted as his heart galloped. He closed his eyes and swore to himself.
But she didn’t protest the way he’d expected. She pulled him with her into the shower and kissed every inch of him, once again proving that a woman in her sexual peak beat a college girl in every way imaginable.
* * *
Mac stared out across the crisis action team room they’d been assigned. A sea of faces from at least eight different agencies stared back, including ASAC Lincoln Frazer of the BAU via video-uplink from his home office. It was midnight, but night was indistinguishable from day inside the windowless, hermetically sealed SIOC.
Special Agent Mark Ross—the guy who’d been so pissed by Mac’s visit to the crime scene on Monday—slumped in the nearest seat and watched him through red-rimmed eyes. The guy probably hadn’t slept since Judge Thomas’s murder. The WFO agent recapped everything they had so far: No witnesses. No definite evidence. No recent threats. No obvious skeletons in the closet. No clear motive outside the fact the man was a federal judge with dark skin.
The homicide detective from Capitol Police took her turn updating the briefing. Annabel Dunbar had glossy, black hair cut brutally short and wore pants so tight Mac was surprised she could breathe, let alone walk. “Unlike the judge and his wife, Sonja Shiraz had been inundated with threatening letters, email and tweets.”
Mac was old enough to find the idea that they were investigating “tweets” stranger than the fact the DJ had undergone a sex change.
“I want all the letters sent to the questioned documents lab for analysis. I want all the authors traced and put into a database.”
“That’s a lot of people,” the detective commented. “Mainly trolls.”
“Trolls go in the database, too.” The anonymity of the internet brought out the worst in some folks. Maybe the hatred it nurtured had spawned a murder campaign. “I want it noted if they make a habit of harassing people—and see if any of those other people have ended up dead.” Mac named Libby Hernandez to work on it. “Pay particular attention to Sonja’s blog and other social media outlets where she posts about her transition. Also comments on news articles about her.” Where the real trolls hung out.
A couple of agents shifted uncomfortably. One raised his hand. “What pronoun do we use in the reports. Birth or…reassigned?”
A couple of the guys giggled like children. Detective Dunbar put her fist on her hip and glared.
Mac gave them an easygoing smile but they better be paying attention to his eyes before they smiled back.
Faces straightened. A little color entered the cheeks of the agent who’d asked the question. Fact was, a lot of people struggled with the concept of gender reassignment. Mac had struggled for a time, too, and then figured that if people cared enough to willingly have their genitals altered with a scalpel, then it was a serious matter and it should be treated as such.
“Let’s show Ms. Shiraz the same respect you’d want for your sister or mother, shall we?”
Detective Dunbar visibly relaxed. “Sonja’s parents arrive from India today. When I spoke to them on the phone they were inconsolable. They’d thought she’d be safer here than back in India.” She pressed her lips together and stared at the charcoal carpet. “I felt like I’d personally let them down, let Sonja down with this occurring in DC. I want to catch this bastard before he does this to anyone else.”
Mac recognized that driving desire for justice. The need to make the bad guys pay. It burned hot enough in some people that the long hours and crappy wages didn’t seem to matter.
Taking these bastards down was his personal catnip and he could tell Dunbar felt the same.
After the detective finished Mac took over the briefing. “We have four victims. Two slugs in each vic and no stray bullets have been found at this time. Evidence Response Team techs are continuing their search of the crime scenes. No shell casings at the first two scenes, so this UNSUB is careful and meticulous, but,” he grinned, “an ERT Team tech got lucky at the most recent scene. He found a casing that rolled under a car and down a storm drain.”
Cold Malice Page 9