by Mary Stone
I could have, but by now, I knew the Feds would have realized that the same rifle I held in my hands had been used to kill Mitch Stockley and Tyler Haldane.
Whether or not they’d drawn the conclusion that I was the only killer, I still wasn’t sure. But if they hadn’t figured it out yet, they would know by the time the sun rose into the sky the following day.
And tomorrow, I’d make sure they knew this was only the start.
Though I had no personal vendetta with the Federal Bureau of Investigation—they were a force for good, after all—I wanted them to know that the same person had wiped Mitch Stockley, Tyler Haldane, and Ben Ormund off the face of the planet.
I wasn’t under any illusion that I was about to start a revolution—I knew that the sleazy underbelly of society was here to stay. I knew the men I killed were only a drop in the bucket, but I’d be damned if I didn’t do something.
No one had looked out for the women and girls Ormund and Stockley had brutalized, and the ideals espoused by men like Haldane emboldened the creeps to act on their perverse impulses.
But for as long as I was able, I would make sure some of those men paid for what they had done.
And in my world, there was only one price I would accept.
I wanted their lives.
14
Other than their usual morning greeting, Noah and Winter spoke little on the short trip it took to the FBI office. Like he’d anticipated the night before, he wasn’t hungover, but thanks to the litany of “what-if” scenarios that had flitted through his head as he tried to sleep, he wasn’t well rested, either.
They’d Ubered back to get his truck since he didn’t want to stuff himself into Winter’s little Civic, which had caused her to roll her eyes. Stifling a yawn with one hand, he flicked on the blinker with the other. “I don’t know about you, but I need coffee,” he said.
From the corner of his eye, he caught Winter’s nod. “Me too. I slept like shit.”
“You too, huh?”
“Yeah.” Her voice was quiet, even strained.
He pulled up as close as he dared to the last car in line. When he went to run a hand through his hair, he stopped the motion short of his forehead. Since he’d become so negligent in visiting a barber, he had figured a few weeks ago that he ought to at least style his hair, lest it turn into a shaggy mess.
At least five days out of the week, he wore a suit and tie to work, and a haphazard mop of hair didn’t accompany the professional air that federal agents were supposed to exude.
Then again, if he’d ever remember to get a damn haircut, he wouldn’t have to bother.
“I’m sorry.” Winter’s sudden apology was hurried, almost weary.
Her voice snapped his thoughts away from his sense of fashion as he turned to look at her. Fidgeting with the hair at the end of her braid, her blue eyes darted back and forth.
“What for?” he asked.
“Last night.” With a sigh, she shook her head. “I didn’t mean to, you know, make anything weird. I’ve got a knack for doing that, don’t I?”
As much as he wanted to know more about her motivation for the offer, he bit his tongue and gave her a quick smile.
In all honesty, his uncertainty about her motivation was the main reason he had turned her down in the first place. They’d established that neither of them was drunk, but at the same time, he didn’t want to risk an act that either of them might regret. He didn’t want to risk an act that would drive a wedge between them.
He had only recently begun to feel like their friendship was on steady ground.
Before, he’d wondered almost every day if she would up and disappear like she had at the end of the Kilroy investigation. He never doubted Winter’s convictions. Loyalty and duty to those for whom she cared came before almost anything else, but those ideals had taken a back seat to her desire to find Douglas Kilroy.
Both Winter and Aiden had played the people around them like a set of pawns on a chessboard, but in the end, each of their master plans fell apart.
When he thought of the Machiavellian tactics she’d pulled out of her hat during the Kilroy investigation, he realized they had still not talked about those dark months. And as much as he didn’t want to bring up the painful memories, he knew they’d have to have the conversation one of these days, especially in light of the idea that their friendship might become more than platonic.
But if he was going to rip open that old wound, he needed to be damn sure there was a good reason. Though he wanted to think that she was interested in the same type of relationship development as he, he wasn’t about to hazard another guess.
He wouldn’t make another emotional confession unless she was the first to reveal her feelings.
In the meantime, the last thing he wanted to be was the creepy friend who kept pushing boundaries. The start might have been rocky, but he valued their friendship, and he respected Winter too much to turn into the guy whose advances she had to turn down twice a week.
“Nothing’s weird, darlin’,” he finally managed. “Don’t sweat it, all right?”
“This might sound weird, but,” she paused to sigh again, “I think I like it when you fall asleep on my couch. There’s something comforting about waking up with your best friend so close by. It’s just, working this job, putting as many hours into it as we do some weeks, it feels isolating sometimes. But when you’re around someone you care about in just some of those little places, like when you wake up in the morning, it makes you feel a little less alone. At least that’s how it feels for me, I guess I can’t say the same for you.”
He kept his expression nonchalant and thoughtful as he shrugged.
The words were among the last he’d expected to hear from her, and he knew he’d need more than just a few seconds to parse through the meaning.
“I think I’m used to living alone,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “But I see what you’re saying. It’s keeping that connection, right? It’s easier to keep it if your friend is actually there, if you can actually see them.”
“Right,” she replied with a nod. “Yeah, I think that’s it. Almost like it’s a reminder or something. A reminder that I’ve actually got a friend. Or friends.”
“Maybe you need a roommate.” He chuckled. “You should see if Autumn’s planning to move to a new place once she nails this interview and gets that job.”
“Are you kidding?” When Winter chortled at the remark, the tenseness and uncertainty seemed to vanish from the air. “I looked up how much money private forensic psychologists make. Even when they’re new, they can make more than a SAC, unless the SAC has been there forever. She’s going to be loaded.”
“So? Then you can mooch off her. Shit, maybe we should all be roommates. I’ll live in the basement.”
“Oh my god.” Winter’s laugh made him smile even bigger. “She’s pretty sharp. I think she’d catch on, and I don’t know how much she’d appreciate a couple FBI agents freeloading, even if she is raking in the cash.”
“Now, I never said anything about freeloadin’,” he proclaimed, raising a hand. “I’ll cook, and I’ll clean the pool.”
“So, you’re a pool boy now, huh, Dalton? You know, I think right now we’re getting pretty close to the intro to some cheesy romance novel or a Lifetime movie.”
“Easy way to avoid that,” he said with a dismissive wave. “I’ll just put on some coveralls whenever I go out to clean it. That way neither of you ladies has to worry about drooling on yourselves.” He turned to offer her an exaggerated wink.
“Well, that’s boring,” she scoffed. “Here we were on the cusp of a reality show that’d land us a gig on MTV, and you had to go and ruin it by putting a shirt on.”
“What?” His face was beginning to hurt from smiling so much. “I don’t know how I should take that. You think people would pay money to see me without a shirt on?”
The little smirk on her lips was just short of wicked, the glint in her eyes mischievous.
He’d never seen her wear such a look before. In fact, he realized he’d never seen any remotely flirtatious side of the stoic woman at his side. Until now, he wasn’t even sure she knew how to come across as playful, but he liked it.
He really liked it.
He and Winter hardly had enough time to get settled at their desks before they were summoned to a meeting with the Associate Deputy Director, Cassidy Ramirez. On their way up to the woman’s office, they were both quiet, and Noah could only assume that the same litany of scenarios was running through Winter’s head too.
“Probably one of the people we got in touch with over the past few days,” he suggested, his voice an octave lower than usual.
Winter’s blue eyes snapped over to him, and she nodded. “Probably.”
“But being called up to a meeting with the ADD isn’t exactly my preferred way to start the day,” he muttered as an afterthought.
“Could be something to do with the press too,” she put in. “Maybe the media coverage of this thing is ramping up, and the bureau needs someone to look pretty for the camera.”
“Man,” he said with a quiet snort of laughter. “You’re really on a roll today, aren’t you?”
As a light chime sounded out, she flashed him a knowing smile.
The rest of the journey was made in silence, and as soon as they neared the doorway of Ramirez’s office, any air of amusement that might have survived was snuffed out by the woman’s grave countenance.
To the side of her polished mahogany desk, Aiden Parrish stood with his arms crossed over his chest. As his icy blue eyes flicked from him to Winter, the man’s irritation was plain to see.
Whatever the purpose of the unscheduled meeting, Parrish was none too happy about it.
“Agents,” the Associate Deputy Director greeted with a slight smile. “Close the door behind you, please.”
Nodding, Noah eased the glass and metal door closed behind himself. When he turned, Ramirez waved a hand at the two squat chairs in front of her spacious desk.
“Have a seat.”
He and Winter exchanged glances before they accepted the offer. There was so much strain in the air, Noah almost thought he could taste it. If Ramirez or Parrish didn’t start talking soon, he was sure he might lose his mind.
“Thanks for coming on such short notice,” Ramirez finally said, folding both hands atop the desk in front of her. “I’m sure you’ve already been able to pick up that the reason you’re here isn’t necessarily one that’s chock-full of joy.”
When neither he nor Winter replied, a ghost of a smile passed over Ramirez’s face as she nodded. “Fair enough. Let’s just get right down to it, then. You guys have been working for Max for a while, so I’m sure you’re used to his no-nonsense approach to meetings. He and I started with the bureau around the same time, and I can tell you he’s always been like that.”
She paused, seeming to expect some comment. “Yes, ma’am,” was all Noah could think to offer.
It seemed to be enough because she went on. “He was a Marine before he joined the FBI, I don’t know if you two knew that or not. We worked together for quite a while before we took on our respective leadership positions, but he never mentioned any more about his service than that.” She paused, pursed her lips, and then laughed quietly. “I’m sorry. I just said I wanted to get right down to the point, and then I went off on a spiel about something else.”
Noah forced an agreeable expression to his face.
Someone needed to say something. Now.
“It’s about our case,” she said. “And I’m sure neither of you are real optimistic about a surprise meeting with your ADD, so I’ll nip that in the bud right now and tell you that neither of you have done anything wrong. This isn’t a reprimand. Actually, it’s pretty much the farthest thing from a reprimand.”
Noah relaxed. “That’s good to hear.”
Ramirez smiled. “You two have done excellent work in the short time you’ve been here. I know you’ve heard me say that, and I don’t doubt you’ve heard it from Max too. You’ve been working hard on this case, the Haldane and Stockley case, and that’s why you’re here.”
Noah’s ball sac tightened. They were getting to the point, and the point wasn’t good. Shit. What had happened now?
Ramirez didn’t make him wait for long. “This morning, a housecleaner arrived for work at the same place she’d been working for the last six years, and she found the homeowner dead.”
“And you think it’s related to Haldane and Stockley?” Winter surmised.
The ADD nodded. “We know it is. It’s the same weapon, and based on the trajectory of the bullet, or at least what they’ve been able to analyze so far, he was shot from a distance of about a half-mile. No one heard it, so there’s a possibility they used a sound suppressor. Then again, the house was pretty isolated, so that’s not necessarily set in stone.”
Noah nodded his understanding, but he knew they wouldn’t be in a meeting with the ADD just to go over a new crime scene, even if the scene was affiliated with the same person who had killed Haldane and Stockley.
Teeth grated together, a forced countenance of neutrality on his face, he waited for Ramirez to drop the bombshell. To tell them why they were really there.
“I know what’s been established about those shots,” Ramirez advised. This time, her dark eyes flicked over to Aiden. “That the person who fired them had to have been trained by either the military or law enforcement. And, Agent Black, Agent Dalton, that’s why you’re here. You’re here because we think the person responsible is involved in law enforcement.”
Jaw clenched, he merely nodded. He’d known all along there was a real possibility that the killer of Tyler Haldane and Mitch Stockley was a disillusioned law enforcement agent. The bombshell was close, but that wasn’t it.
“When we consider that, and we consider that all three of the victims we’ve got now are local to the state of Virginia and that Stockley and Haldane’s crimes fall within our jurisdiction, we can’t rule out agents in this office.” For emphasis, Ramirez jabbed her index finger at the surface of the wooden desk.
“This office?” Noah echoed. “Like who? You think one of us might’ve done this?”
The ADD nodded slowly. “Look at the shot that killed Haldane. It was made from a distance of over three-fourths of a mile in a light breeze. The weapon used was a Barrett Model 98 Bravo sniper rifle. I know I don’t have to tell you two that’s a military-grade weapon. There aren’t even very many law enforcement agencies that use M98Bs, but when they do, they’re usually handled by a designated marksman.”
“A sniper.” Noah managed a quick glance to Aiden Parrish.
The look of distaste on the man’s face had only deepened. What the hell kind of announcement had they walked into, anyway?
“A sniper, right.” Ramirez tapped her fingers on the desk. Just once, then she appeared to catch herself and folded them together again. She was nervous, Noah realized. He’d never seen her nervous before. It caused his own anxiety to rachet up.
She cleared her throat. “We have several skilled marksmen in our tactical team, but other than them, that only leaves a few others who are capable of the kind of shot that killed Haldane. You were in the military, weren’t you, Agent Dalton?”
He kept his expression blank as he nodded. “There was always more math involved in that sort of thing than I cared for.” Was he a suspect? Sweat bloomed in his armpits as he forced a lazy drawl to his voice. “Lot of off-the-cuff trigonometry. Not exactly my scene.”
“Don’t worry,” she replied, the faintest hint of mirth in her dark eyes. “You weren’t on the short list. No, other than the tactical folks, there’re only four others who have a documented history of being able to land a shot like that. One in organized crime, but we can rule her out because she’s been out in Chicago for the past few weeks. Another in white collar crimes, but he was here when Haldane was shot, so that rules him out too.”
Beside him, W
inter leaned forward. Noah could practically hear her heart beating.
“Then there’s Agent Weyrick in Violent Crimes. He works the night shift, so aside from this case, you might not have had a lot of previous interactions with him. He was in the military for six years before he joined the bureau, and I remember one of his recommendations mentioned what a skilled marksman he was. But he was here when Haldane was killed, and he was here when our most recent victim was killed too. That leaves us with one.”
When Noah dared another look at Aiden Parrish, he swore he could almost hear the man’s teeth grind together. “Agent Ming,” he grated.
“Sun Ming?” Noah echoed, furrowing his brows. “I knew she’d won a lot of awards for marksmanship, but you really think she would’ve up and killed three people?”
“It’s not a matter of what I think, or even what I feel,” Cassidy replied with a shake of her head. “It’s a matter of where the evidence leads us. And at this point, a great deal of it is pointed in Agent Ming’s direction.”
Winter looked as stunned as he felt. “How so?”
Ramirez glanced at Aiden, but he didn’t open his mouth.
With a look of consternation, the ADD spelled it out. “First, Agent Ming doesn’t have an alibi for the Haldane murder, and she was in Norfolk yesterday to follow-up with a victim. The man who was shot last night was in Newport News.”
The silence that settled in seemed to permeate every crack, every crevasse, every pore. It was suffocating, and the only reason Noah spoke was so he would not drown under its leaden weight. “What else?”
“The most damning at this juncture is how vocal Agent Ming has been regarding what she considers to be a grievous miscarriage of karmic justice that both Kent Strickland and Tyler Haldane lived while so many perished or received a permanent injury, including herself.”
Noah swallowed the bile that wanted to backtrack up his throat. He had no love for Sun Ming, but she was a fellow agent. He hated this. “Why us?” he asked.