by Mary Stone
Why in the hell did they even want to find the killer? So they could offer them a medal and a handshake?
Noah hated the persistent buzz of doubt with which he’d contended since the start of the case, and he hated how damn ambivalent he had become.
Neo-Nazi mass shooter or not, Tyler Haldane had been murdered, potentially by the same person who had murdered another man six months earlier.
Haldane and Stockley were, as Bree had so eloquently put, colossal pieces of shit. But they had been murdered. Shot with a military-grade sniper rifle by a man or woman who had likely been trained by the United States government to kill people.
A person who had given themselves permission to be judge, jury, and executioner.
He knew he shouldn’t have to justify his own damn job, and in truth, he figured that was the reason for the knot in his stomach. He expected more from himself, and he could only assume that his friends and coworkers expected more too.
Whenever Bree made a callous observation about Stockley or Haldane, he bit his tongue to keep his less than flattering sentiments about the two men to himself.
Sympathizing with a victim shouldn’t have been a prerequisite for him to find a damn murderer, but here he was.
If they never found the killer, how would he look back at the Haldane case ten years from now? If an innocent person turned up dead at the hands of the same person who’d shot Haldane and Stockley, what then?
With a quiet groan, Noah finally succumbed and leaned forward to cover his face with both hands.
Maybe he could find a way to get himself unassigned from the investigation. He could fabricate a conflict of interest or play hooky for the next month. Or maybe he could slip away in the night and start a new life down in North Carolina or Florida. Hell, maybe he’d go all-out and settle down in Iceland or Sweden.
They got a discount on the Rosetta Stone software through work, so he could buy the program before he disappeared. After a few months of dedicated study, he would be fluent and could interact with the locals like he belonged.
Until the light tap of knuckles against hardwood jerked him out of the fantasy world and back to his desk, he didn’t realize he had begun to drift off to sleep.
Shit. He really did need to call it a day.
“Hey,” Winter’s quiet voice greeted.
In all his contemplation, he hadn’t even made it to Winter. Any time his thoughts ventured too near the warm embrace from the day before, he stuffed down the memory and reminded himself he had a job to do. A job he had only half-assed so far.
Rubbing his eyes with one hand, he turned to her and tried to force a smile to his face. He was sure his effort was an epic failure.
“Hey,” he managed.
“Did you sleep at all last night?” she asked, eyebrow arched.
“I think so,” he answered. For emphasis, he stifled a yawn.
“Come on,” she said as she stepped away from the cubicle. “Let’s go get you some caffeine. We’ve got work to do.” There was a glimmer of contentment in her blue eyes, and his curiosity only intensified.
“Work.” Noah practically groaned the word. “You seem, I don’t know, happy about that.”
“Oh.” She shook her head as her lips curled into a smile. “No, not work-work. When’s the last time you looked at your phone?”
“I don’t know,” he muttered, patting his black suit jacket to assure himself the device hadn’t disappeared. “Why?”
“Autumn defended her dissertation this morning.”
His eyes widened. He’d forgotten about that. “Oh, shit.”
“Oh, shit is right,” Winter chuckled. “She’s officially Dr. Autumn Trent now, and she said we’re invited over to have pizza and beer with her tonight to celebrate. She’s not going to the commencement ceremony, and she told me she just wants to keep it low-key. So, me, you, Bree, and Shelby probably. Us and pizza, beer, and a game called Superfight.”
With a nod, he brushed off the front of his jacket. “I’ve heard of that game. If you get the right people together, it’s pretty damn funny.”
Winter took another step backward and motioned for him to follow.
“Where are we going?” Noah asked, pushing himself to his feet.
“This is basically Autumn’s graduation party, so we need to go buy her a present. Haldane and Stockley will still be dead tomorrow.”
He barely managed to stifle an unflattering snort of laughter. “Jesus, darlin’. You’re terrible, you know that?”
She grinned. “Really, though, we hit a dead end. We’ve been at it for almost two days straight, so it’s time to step away for a second and give ourselves a break. It’s a little after two now, so let’s just call it a day and go do something fun for a little bit.”
His smile widened as he nodded his understanding. Six months ago, she would have run herself ragged chasing down any and every lead on a case. In fact, she had run herself ragged during the search for The Preacher.
But now, she was the one who had pulled him away from the frustration of one dead end after another. She was here to remind him that there was life outside of the FBI office, to remind him that no matter how frustrated he might have been with himself, there were still people who cared.
As they stepped out into the parking garage, he turned to look at Winter. The afternoon sunlight caught the shine of the ebony braid she’d tossed over her shoulder, and her already vivid eyes seemed even brighter.
“Thank you, Winter. You’re a good friend. I don’t know if I tell you that enough.”
When she smiled up at him in response, he would have wrapped her in a bear hug if they hadn’t been in the FBI parking garage.
“What did you have in mind to get Autumn, anyway?” He asked the question as much in an effort to pull himself away from the thought of yesterday’s warm embrace as anything.
“Well,” she wrinkled her nose, “I’m not a great gift buyer, so I texted Shelby to ask what she thought Autumn would like. I just want to make sure I give credit where it’s due, you know?”
With a chuckle, he nodded. “Roger that. What’d Shelby say?”
“Well, Autumn really likes to cook, but since she’s a broke college student, Shelby said she hasn’t been able to buy a lot of the cool kitchen gadgets she wants.”
“We’re going to get her kitchen stuff? Isn’t that more in the ‘wedding present’ department?”
“See, Noah, you can’t box yourself in like that.” She flashed him a matter-of-fact look as she raised an index finger. “You’ve got to get your friends the stuff they want, not the stuff that tradition says is okay to give them.”
“Oh, okay, I see what happened there.” He paused at the driver’s side door of his pickup to fix her with a knowing smile. “That’s what you said to Shelby, isn’t it? About the wedding present? And then she told you not to pay attention to tradition?”
Winter waved a hand like she was swatting at an insect. “That’s beside the point. Autumn wants a stand mixer.”
“Like the KitchenAid stand mixers they’re always using on Iron Chef?” he asked as they climbed into the truck.
“You watch Iron Chef?”
“I’m a man of many interests,” he replied, resting a hand over his heart. “And yes, I watch a number of different cooking shows, including Iron Chef. Alton Brown is my boy.”
When Winter burst into laughter, he joined her in short order.
Within the span of ten minutes, his day had gone from absolute shit to a moment he was sure he would remember fondly for years.
12
To Sun’s relief, Levi Brandt wasn’t a chatty man. He was friendly and quick with a smile, but unless his conversational partner made it clear they were interested in a dialogue, he kept quiet.
His slate gray eyes remained fixed on the road as he tapped a finger against the steering wheel in time with the beat of the song on the radio. Sun wasn’t sure she wanted to strike up a conversation, but they had sat in silence for almost
the entire trip to Norfolk. The lasting quiet felt off.
“Do you like this song?” she finally asked.
His eyes flicked to her and then back to the road as a slight smile touched his face. “Who doesn’t like Tom Petty?”
She nodded. “Good point.”
Sun’s musical preferences were eclectic, but there was some merit to Levi’s response. Even after she’d discovered hip hop and industrial rock, she had always kept a spot in her playlists for a handful of Tom Petty tunes. And as she raked through her mind, she couldn’t recall meeting a person who disliked Tom Petty. Even her brother, a diehard metal fan, loved the man.
Though she expected Levi to pose another question, he remained quiet as the song drew to a close. He must have been able to read Sun’s dislike for small talk. Then again, the man was an agent with the victim services division. Aside from the BAU, victim services agents dealt with the nuances of human behavior more than any other department.
Dealing with and putting people at ease was Levi Brandt’s job, and as far as Sun could tell, he was damn good at it.
She had volunteered to go alone to talk to the woman who had escaped Mitch Stockley all those years ago, but for the first time, she was glad that Agent Brandt had insisted he accompany her.
As the opening guitar riff for the next song sounded out through the car’s speakers, Levi groaned. Arching an eyebrow, Sun glanced over to him.
“Not a fan of Van Halen?” she asked.
Shaking his head, he reached out to change the station. “I can’t stand them. I’m pretty indifferent about most ‘80s hair bands, but for some reason, this one just grates on my nerves.”
“I thought I was the only one,” she chuckled. “They were simply too popular for my tastes.”
“Very true.” He shook his head. “I can’t stand a lot of stuff that other people love. My friends in college would call me Buzz Killington.”
For the first time in weeks, Sun’s laugh wasn’t forced or strained. “No one ever called me that, but I’m the same way.”
“I’d always ruin stuff that’s just universally loved. Like Harry Potter. I don’t hate it, but I never understood the draw. I tried to get into it because all my friends were, but I couldn’t get past the first book.”
“I made it to the second,” she replied. “But I’m more of a Dresden Files person, myself.”
“Dresden Files is great,” he agreed with a nod.
She relaxed back into her seat. “I don’t like superhero movies, either.”
“Me either, and it’s weird because I love over the top action movies. Anything with Jason Statham in it, I’ll at least watch.”
“John Wick. That’s a comic book movie, but I don’t think you can classify it as a superhero film.”
“No.” He grinned. “Definitely not a superhero anything.”
For the next twenty minutes, she and Agent Brandt listed off popular franchises, filmmakers, and musicians they both liked and disliked. To her surprise, she and Levi held many of the same unpopular opinions about their media preferences.
If any more road trips were required during the remainder of the case, Sun knew who she would choose to accompany her.
Their conversation trailed off as they pulled into a residential neighborhood near the outskirts of Norfolk.
Following the directions provided by her smartphone’s GPS application, Levi pulled over to the curb in front of a modest, two-story house.
Most of the other homes in the area were similar, and Sun figured most of the occupants were working-class families. They weren’t far from a large naval base, and she had spotted a few Navy stickers on the rear windshields of the parked cars they passed.
Though a few weeds had sprouted throughout the front yard, the lawn was well-kept. A bed of flowers rested beneath a picture window to the side of the door, and the pleasant scent wafted past as she and Levi made their way to the porch.
If Sun had a house, she thought she would keep a similar garden. For the time being, however, she would have to settle for her saltwater aquarium. The tedium of maintaining appropriate PH levels in the water, cleaning the tank on a regular basis, and even feeding the finicky fish was calming to Sun.
When she and her brother were young, they made a tradition of helping their father with the vegetable garden in the backyard. Decades later, he still maintained a robust, albeit smaller, patch of plants and flowers. The climate in Florida was a stark difference from their native Washington, D.C., and Sun could still remember how excited he had been when he learned of all the new plants he could grow.
As Levi rapped his knuckles against the wooden door, Sun pulled herself from the reverie. A slew of barks followed the knock, and she thought she heard someone mutter to the dog before the excited outburst tapered off.
“Who is it?” a woman’s muffled voice called.
“FBI, ma’am. Agent Brandt, we spoke on the phone earlier today.” He held his badge up to the peephole, and Sun followed suit.
“Oh, right. Just a second.”
After a brief pause, a couple metallic clicks were followed by a light creak as the door swung inward. With her free hand, the woman held the collar of a German Shepherd, though the dog didn’t move from where it sat back on its haunches.
“Good girl, Ripley.” The woman’s amber eyes flicked back to the shepherd as she released her hold to scratch behind one pointed ear. “Sorry, agents. She’s not quite two yet, so she can get pretty excitable. She’s a good dog, though. You’ve got nothing to worry about. Come on in.”
Levi flashed her a smile as he tucked his badge back into his suit jacket. “My family had a German Shepherd when I was growing up. Retired service dog, super smart.”
“They’re very smart dogs,” their hostess replied as she eased the door closed behind Sun. “I have a couple cats too, but I doubt they’ll come out. They’re pretty shy.”
“Is it just you here, then?” Sun asked, glancing around the space as they made their way to the living area.
“Yeah, just me, Ripley, and the cats.” She waved a hand to the couch. “Have a seat. Do either of you want anything to drink?”
Sun and Levi shook their heads. “No, thank you,” Sun answered.
As the woman dropped down to sit, she forced a smile to her face and brushed a piece of strawberry blonde hair from her forehead. The dog sat beside her, head up, on guard. Though the German had done nothing threatening, Sun knew that could change at any moment.
“I know we talked a little on the phone, but I’m Agent Brandt, and this is my partner, Agent Ming. Thanks again for meeting with us on such short notice, Ms. Timson. We’re trying to sort through this case as quickly as we can.”
“Of course,” she replied with a quick nod. “You can call me Anne, or just Timson. I’ve been in the Navy for almost eight years, so Ms. Timson just sounds odd.”
“No problem, Anne.” Levi offered her a smile, but the tenseness in her posture didn’t dissipate.
“What do you do in the Navy?” Sun asked, trying to ease the woman’s trepidation. The desire to do so was surprising, mostly to herself. Maybe some of Noah’s friendly demeanor was rubbing off on her. God, she hoped not. “Have you been stationed here for very long?”
“I work on guided missile systems and anti-mortar tech. I’m an engineer. I just moved in here a couple months ago. I was overseas in the Middle East until May, but before then, I was stationed in Hawaii. The only reason I was willing to come back here is because I found out that Mitch Stockley was dead.”
Stockley had been killed six months ago, and Anne Timson had been in Iraq or Afghanistan at the time. Alibis didn’t get much more airtight than military service in a different country.
“You didn’t want to be in Norfolk while he was alive?” Sun asked. “Were you worried he was going to try to hurt you, or kill you?”
“Of course I was.” Anne laughed, but the sound was dry, almost brittle. “He killed those other girls, didn’t he? And they hadn�
�t even had the chance to try to go to the police, but I was stupid enough to try. Obviously, I know better now, but at the time I thought I was doing the right thing.”
“You did the right thing.” Sun’s reassurance was hushed, and she met the woman’s amber eyes before she went on. “You didn’t know how it’d turn out. And just because it turned out shitty doesn’t mean you did anything wrong.”
“Two more college girls went missing after I told the cops about him,” Anne said, her gaze shifting from her to Levi and back. The dog bristled, looking from Anne to both agents, trying to understand the tension he was clearly feeling. “Two more, agents. I tried to tell them, but they wouldn’t believe me until they had, I don’t know, hard evidence? Whatever in the hell that means. Apparently, it means they needed more than just the word of some dumb, drunk college girl who claimed she’d been sexually assaulted.”
Sun grated her teeth together, but her frustration wasn’t directed at Anne. She was frustrated with the system that had failed this woman.
She could only assume the injustice was thanks to the same fucked up cosmic force that had saved Kent Strickland’s life while a seventh-grade girl went into cardiac arrest on an operating room table. The same force that had granted that mass murderer a complete recovery while Sun would never regain the full range of motion in her left arm.
“It’s great, though,” Anne said, blowing out a breath. “Great that someone’s finally looking into it now that that prick is dead. But you’re not even looking into him, are you? You’re trying to find who killed that piece of shit. No one gave a damn when I swallowed down all that shame to ‘do the right thing’ and report him to the police, but by god, now that he’s dead, everyone’s interested in solving it.”
Sun understood the woman’s fury. Matched it. She didn’t even attempt to stop her from venting whatever she needed to say.
“You know, agents. I didn’t kill him. That’s pretty easy to prove. I was in Afghanistan trying to keep some Navy SEALs from getting blown up by mortars while they slept. I can’t give you their names since that’s classified, but I was there, and my personnel record will confirm it. I’m not close to any of my family, so I seriously doubt that any of them decided to kill Mitch Stockley to defend my honor. The only reason I’m back here is because one of my friends got stationed in Norfolk. And before you ask, they were with me in Afghanistan.”