by Mary Stone
“You know Agent Ming well enough, but at the same time, neither of you are friends of hers. You’re close enough to her to pick up on any little cues or oddities, and you’re far enough away from her that you won’t be biased by your own perceptions.” Ramirez laced her fingers together. “I’m not saying with one-hundred-percent certainty that the killer is Agent Ming, but what I am saying with one-hundred-percent certainty is this…”
Blood roared in Noah’s ears as the ADD leaned forward.
“We can’t rule her out. She might be one of us, but we’ve known from the start that was a possibility. And until we can rule her out as a possibility, I need you two to be on your toes.”
15
The calm air and the cozy scent of coffee and baked goods was a stark contrast to the wariness that simmered in Aiden’s mind.
He still didn’t know why Cassidy Ramirez had called on him after she’d parsed through personnel records to establish the likelihood that Sun Ming was involved in the deaths of Mitch Stockley and Tyler Haldane. Did Ramirez think that he held a grudge against Sun and that his distaste would lead him to take a particularly critical view of her actions? Did she think he wanted revenge?
To be sure, the end of his and Sun’s relationship was far from amicable. There had been plenty of four-letter words and threats, but in the end, Aiden and Sun were professionals. Their vendetta with one another had not bled over to the FBI office, even when their dynamic was at its worst.
And now, after more than two years, enough time had passed since the messy split that he could say with some confidence that he was indifferent toward Sun. Whether or not the attitude was shared, he was unsure.
He doubted that Ramirez had been motivated by such a petty sentiment. Cassidy Ramirez was also a professional, not an angsty teenager. The ADD had needed an expert in human behavior, and that was why she had called him, not due to a lingering misgiving about Sun Ming.
And now, he needed an expert in human behavior.
Sun Ming had not gone rogue; he was sure of it. Or, at least, he wanted to be sure of it. She was ambitious, but he knew that becoming a vigilante wasn’t on her list of job prospects.
As he took a tentative sip of the chai latte he’d ordered, he glanced up to where the newest patron pushed their way through the glass double doors.
Some of her hair had been pinned back with a shiny clip, and the rest fell over her shoulders in loose waves. Though it had been less than a week since he last saw her, he could tell that her hair was a darker shade of auburn.
He’d never fully understood people—men and women alike—who dyed their hair, but when he thought of Autumn’s response to the question, he felt the faintest hint of a smile tug at the corner of his mouth.
“Why does anyone do anything for their appearance?” she had said, fixing him with a matter-of-fact look as she held her hands out to the side. “For vanity, duh. Why do you always dress like you’re headed to the Oscars? Seems like a band t-shirt and a pair of cargo shorts would take a lot less effort. You’d cut twenty minutes off your morning routine, easy. Not to mention all the money you’d save at the dry cleaners.”
With the same hand he now raised in greeting, he had tipped an invisible hat to her logic.
He had gone on to speculate about how he should handle casual Fridays at the FBI office, much to her amusement. Self-deprecating humor wasn’t in his usual sarcastic repertoire, but it never ceased to elicit a laugh or a smile from her.
She waved back before she gestured to the counter and the barista.
At half-past eleven in the morning on a weekday, there were only a handful of people seated throughout the open space. He’d picked a table in the far corner, well out of the range of any curious listeners.
As he waited for her to receive her drink, he checked his phone for any new communication.
Winter and Noah were on their way to Newport News, and Winter had assured him she would keep him updated with any pertinent details as they arose.
He had considered calling off the last-minute meet up with Autumn in favor of personally viewing the newest crime scene, but he’d shot down the idea almost as soon as it formed. He was the SSA for the Behavioral Analysis Unit, and there was much more to a murder investigation than just the examination of physical evidence.
If Ramirez wanted to label Sun Ming a suspect, then he would leave no stone unturned, no avenue unexplored.
Not because they had a history—if anything, their sordid past would have dissuaded him from making the effort—but because she was a tenured federal agent who had taken a bullet in the line of duty. The victims so far might not have warranted going above and beyond the normal investigative expectations, but the ADD’s alleged suspect was a different story entirely.
Pocketing the smartphone, he snapped himself out of the contemplation as Autumn picked her way across the room.
For only the second time since he’d met her, he didn’t feel overdressed. The light green of her patterned, button-down shirt matched her eyes, and the gray cardigan matched her flats. He pulled his gaze away from her black slacks, away from where the fabric clung to her hips and offered her a smile.
“Hey,” she greeted.
He didn’t miss an unfamiliar wariness in her eyes. Was it hesitance, or suspicion? Or was it lingering nerves from the interview she’d only just finished?
“Hey,” he replied. “You seem edgy. How’d the interview go?”
There was only one way to approach Autumn Trent, and that was to be straightforward. Any time he had tried to subtly prod her for information, she had seen right through the words.
As she sipped at her drink, she nodded. “It went well.”
“Seems like a pretty fast turnaround. You just got your Ph.D. like five minutes ago, right?”
“Well.” She paused to look thoughtful. “Not really. A lot of Ph.D. candidates have jobs lined up before they even graduate. They did the interview so quickly because they need someone soon. Their work is really specialized, so it can be hard to find replacements on short notice.”
“Replacements? So, you’re replacing someone?”
Her eyes flitted away from his as she shrugged. “Yeah, they lost one of their people recently.”
“Lost?” he echoed. “As in?”
“They died.”
“Wait, what?” he managed. She had explained the risk of a career as a forensic psychologist while she had been under the protective supervision of the bureau, but even though he believed her, he hadn’t expected the dangers to hit so close to home so soon. “One of the psychologists at this firm was killed recently, and now you’re going to take their spot?”
She was already shaking her head before he finished. “No, not murdered. She killed herself.”
He felt a pang of guilt for the relief that came with the short explanation.
Though he hadn’t figured out what to do with his affinity for this redheaded beauty, he couldn’t deny its existence. Even in the limited time since they had been introduced, he had discovered more common ground with her than anyone he’d met in recent memory. Hell, she even shared his secret love of Code Red Mountain Dew. Unlike him, however, she openly admitted it.
At the absolute least, he hoped she would be a long-term professional colleague. Aiden had worked damn hard to get where he was, and that included all he’d learned about psychology and criminology, but he could admit when someone knew more than him.
Autumn Trent had been granted her Ph.D. without the usual request that she revise or otherwise change parts of her dissertation. Between her unquestionable intelligence, her intensive field of study, and the unnerving ability she had to see straight through someone, he figured he couldn’t ask for a better consultant for behavioral questions.
“I’m not going to get murdered,” she said, breaking a spell of quiet. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he spoke, but her green eyes were back on him.
With a slight smile, he took a drink of the chai latt
e. “I know. Someone already tried and failed.”
“But,” she took a sip of her drink, “they did offer me the job. I haven’t told anyone else yet, but I filled out the regulatory hiring paperwork before I left to come here. I also got a chai, and you’re right. It’s delicious. Thanks for the recommendation.”
In truth, he wasn’t surprised by the announcement. She was brilliant, and any employer would have to be inept to turn her away.
“In that case,” he said as he extended a hand to her. “Let me be the first person to say congratulations, Dr. Trent.”
As he had hoped, a wide smile brightened her face, but the expression seemed to dim when she accepted the handshake. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. For that, and for the chai recommendation. Just so you know, though, not every place makes good chai. You’ve been warned.” He pushed her sudden wariness out of his thoughts and offered her a quick smile before he straightened in his chair.
“Fair enough.” She chuckled, but he thought the sound didn’t hold the joy it usually did. “So, what’s up, Aiden?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why did you want to have coffee, or chai, I guess, with me?” She arched an eyebrow and took another long sip of her drink.
“To tell you congratulations. I mean, you just got a Ph.D. That’s a pretty significant event, isn’t it? Seems like something worthy of a drink. I would’ve made it alcoholic, but we’re inundated with work right now.” He feigned an innocent look and shrugged.
Christ, it really was pointless to try to be anything other than straightforward with her, wasn’t it?
“Uh-huh.” The corner of her mouth moved into a hint of a smile as she rolled her eyes. “A congratulatory meetup where I’ve got to buy my own latte. Seems legit.”
“I can give you five dollars,” he replied with a smirk.
The joy in her laugh was back. “No, it’s fine. I’m fine, thank you.”
He slowly reached to his pocket as he met her gaze. “Are you sure?” he prodded.
“Fine,” she huffed, reaching out to wave her fingers expectantly. “Cough it up, Parrish.”
The smirk turned into a full-blown grin. “I don’t have any cash.”
“You are the worst.” With a cross between a snort and a laugh, she stacked her arms over her chest and shook her head.
“I can go to an ATM.” He made a show of glancing around the café. “If they don’t have one here, I saw one outside the place next door.”
“I’ll send you an invoice.” She waved a dismissive hand. “But you’re lucky today. I’m actually not busy, so I’ve got time for whatever the real reason you asked me to meet you here is.”
Nope. He couldn’t get anything across this woman.
“Honestly? I was curious what you were going to be doing now that you graduated. I heard Winter mention it, or at least mention that you had an interview with a private firm. I do have something I wanted to ask you about too.”
“Efficiency,” she surmised with a slight smirk. “I can respect that.”
“Plus, it seemed like a good opportunity to double-check to see if you’d consider a career at the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
“Efficiency and persistence. I can see why you’ve made it so high up the FBI’s food chain.”
Though her wink was mostly sarcastic, there was another sentiment hidden behind the casual gesture. In that moment, he wished he had her uncanny knack for reading people. If he kept trying to puzzle over her motives, he would only drive himself insane.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he replied instead. “You’re going to be doing a threat assessment, right?”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “Workplace violence, recidivism, sexual assault, things like that. It’s similar to what you do, I guess, but it’s usually proactive versus reactive. And, hey,” holding out both hands, she flashed a wide smile, “the partners at this firm said that they get contracted to do work for the government, and that includes the FBI. So, pretty soon, these Q-and-A sessions will be on the clock.”
“I’m guessing my five bucks won’t take me very far then, will it?”
“Nope,” she said on a laugh. Her expression softened, and for a split-second, she almost looked vulnerable. “I know I’ve been giving you a lot of shit about it, but I actually like having someone to talk with about this kind of stuff. Someone other than another grad student or a professor, I mean. Someone with real-world experience in the field, someone who’s actually had to interact with offenders on a regular basis.”
He wasn’t sure he could have kept the smile from his face if he tried. There had been an unfamiliar pang of guilt at the half-assed effort to coax her to a coffee shop under the guise of congratulations for her impressive academic feat. He was used to employing whatever tactics were necessary to get the answers he needed to clear a case, but whether it was due to the near disastrous exchange less than a week ago or the strange bond they’d formed, she was different.
“I’m glad. I’d hate for you to start billing me by the hour.”
“If you saw the number that was on the job offer they gave me today, yeah, you really would.” She hugged herself as she laughed this time, delight exuding from every pore. “Really, though, I’m happy to help.” She turned serious again. “What’s up?”
His smile faded as he turned his thoughts back to the Tyler Haldane case.
He could keep up the lighthearted dialogue with Autumn for longer than he could sustain a conversation with most people, but she was right.
“Based on that look, whatever it is, it isn’t good.” Her tone had sobered, and she propped her elbows on top of the wooden table as she fixed her attention on him.
“No,” he replied. “No, it’s not.”
“Does it have anything to do with Tyler Haldane?”
“Yeah, kind of.” In spite of the feeling of trust she invoked in him, he still had to be careful to keep the sensitive details of their case to himself. “In your knowledge, how common is it to run across something like, I don’t know, like Frank Castle, The Punisher? An ex-military or ex-cop who just got fed up with everything and decided to take the law into their own hands, that sort of thing?”
She studied his face, frowned at whatever she read there. “Not all that common.”
“It sounds like there’s more to it than that,” he pressed.
She sighed. “Maybe, but it’s not usually something that cops like to hear.”
“You ought to know by now that I’m not a usual cop,” he advised, his stare unwavering.
“No, I suppose you’re not.”
“Let’s hear it, then.”
Shaking her head, she sighed again. “Based on everything I’ve studied, it’s uncommon because most disgruntled cops tend to find a way to express their anger in their job. They bend rules, break rules, and just generally do shady shit, and a lot of the time that’s enough of a release that they don’t tend to go all Frank Castle.”
“That makes sense,” he replied.
“Well, like you said.” A faint smile flitted across her face. “You’re not a usual cop.”
“Nope,” he answered. “What about the people that do? The cops that go rogue, what’s your take on that?”
As she drummed her fingertips against the table, she took a long drink from the paper cup. “I’m making sweeping generalizations here, and I feel kind of weird about it. I’m sorry, and this isn’t a question of your integrity, but I really don’t like answering stuff like this unless I know the context. Do you think a cop went rogue and killed Tyler Haldane? Or what?”
He glanced around to ensure no one had settled nearby while they conversed. “It’s not just Haldane. They killed another man outside Norfolk about six months ago, and today someone else turned up dead in Newport News. All three were killed with the same weapon, a military grade sniper rifle. Haldane was shot from almost a mile away, and the shooter hit him right between the eyes.”
“Shit,” A
utumn breathed, pausing her fingers mid-tap.
“Whoever the killer is, they’ve got extensive marksmanship training. They’re either ex-law enforcement or ex-military, or both. I wanted to know what you thought might drive a good cop to do something like that, or just a decent person, in the event we’re dealing with someone who’s got military training. And honestly, anything helps me at this point. We’re working off little and less right now.”
“Yikes,” she muttered. “Okay, well, in the absence of a specific suspect, like I said, I’ve got to make sweeping generalizations, which I don’t necessarily like to do. But I’ll throw a few ideas out there for you.”
“That’s all I’m asking,” he assured her, nodding to solidify the words.
“Okay, well, first.” She leaned back in her chair and reached to fidget with the owl-shaped pendant of her gold necklace. “If it’s someone younger, it could be the onset of paranoid schizophrenia. Or even someone older, but that’s less common. In that case, you’d be looking for a genetic predisposition and a recent source of stress to bring on the symptoms. There isn’t always a stressor that cues it, but there is one on enough occasions to make it more or less expected.
“Either way, in this case, if the person just recently snapped, there are going to be some signs. If they’ve become reclusive, if their attendance at work has dropped, or if they’ve been fired altogether. Changes in their personality too. They might’ve started making some dark comments or might’ve become more pessimistic. People don’t usually snap like that without leaving a trail, I think is what I’m getting at.”
“What kind of trail?”
She shrugged. “You look for the event first. Could be a diagnosis of a major, incurable illness like Multiple Sclerosis or cancer, loss of a loved one, a sexual assault, something like that. Then, after that, there would be a variation in their behavior. But…” She raised an index finger as her gaze met his.
“But?”
“And this is important, all right?” Her green eyes were fixed on his, and the intensity of her stare didn’t diminish until he nodded his understanding.