Don't Look Back

by Christie Craig

  “Who’s shot?” Brie asked, but Connor, glued to the conversation, didn’t answer.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  We’re almost there.” Connor hung up and pushed the gas pedal harder.

  “What happened?” Brie asked.

  He saw the hurt and angst in her expression, most of which he’d put there. “There’s been a shooting.”

  “Rosaria?”

  “I don’t know. The officer I spoke to wasn’t at the scene. When the unit drove by, they heard gunfire. All he knows is that there’s one casualty and one being transported to the hospital.”

  “Fracking Hades!” She slammed her palm against the dash. “I should have driven up here myself. I could have made it here sooner. If she’s dead—”

  “No, you shouldn’t have. And don’t assume the worst.” He pushed the gas harder and cut the eight minutes in half.

  Four police cars, lights blaring, were parked in front of the house. As he pulled up, he looked at Brie warily. “It’d work best if you let me handle this.”

  “’Cause you think I can’t?”

  “No. Because…” He hadn’t finished his thought, hadn’t even turned off the car when Brie bailed out. “Because they don’t like FBI,” he muttered. But she already knew that, hence the reason her back was already up.

  He rushed to where an officer had stopped her at the yellow tape. She’d already flashed her badge. He stopped beside her.

  “What happened?” Brie’s tone matched her don’t-fuck-with-me expression.

  “Why is the FBI involved?” the officer asked.

  Brie leaned in. “Can you please just tell me what happened!”

  “We’re still taking statements.”

  “Then tell me what you know!”

  “We’re told there was an intruder. The homeowner grabbed a gun and shot the person entering the house. They exchanged gunfire. One person is dead. The other was taken to the hospital.”

  “Was one of the victims a woman?”

  “You don’t have the authority to—”

  She looked at the man’s nametag. “Officer Malory. Is one of the victims Rosaria Altura? Answer me!”

  Connor saw the guy flinch. And he didn’t blame him. Brie wasn’t playing softball. Her emotions hung around her like a cloud, and he felt for her. After what had happened to her informant, protecting this woman was instinctual.

  “The deceased, the intruder, and the person shot are both men. There are two female witnesses, but they’re being questioned.”

  Brie’s shoulders dropped with relief. “Where are they?”

  “I just said. They’re being questioned,” he repeated, as if suddenly deciding he’d told too much.

  “Thank you.” Brie stepped over the yellow tape.

  “You can’t do that.” He grabbed her arm.

  Brie looked the officer right in the eyes. “Let me go!”

  The officer dropped his hand. Brie kept walking.

  Frowning, Officer Malory yelled to another officer to stop Brie.

  “Hey.” Connor pulled his attention back to him. “Is the body of the intruder still here?”

  The officer lifted his gaze. “You FBI, too?”

  “No, I’m Detective Pierce with the Anniston Police Department.” He shifted his coat back to show his badge.

  “You’re the one who called?” the officer asked.

  “Yes.” Connor saw Brie talking with a different officer at the door.

  “Look,” Connor said, “we have information about the case. We need to talk to whoever is in charge.”

  “That’s Detective Samson. He’s inside.”

  “Can you call him and tell him that if he’d like to know what’s going on, to step out and talk to Detective Pierce and Agent Ryan.”

  The officer spoke into his lapel mic. Connor crossed the tape and moved in beside Brie, who was giving hell to the uniform blocking the door.

  The front door opened and a man in his late fifties, wearing a rumpled suit and tie, walked out.

  He looked at Connor, seeming to purposely ignore Brie. “Detective Pierce?”

  “Yes,” Connor offered his hand. The detective didn’t take it.

  “You brought the FBI with you?”

  “I’m Agent Ryan.” Brie inserted herself into the conversation.

  Samson glanced at Brie, then focused back on Connor. “What the fuck is going on? Why bring this little lady?”

  “Sir,” Brie spoke up.

  Samson stared down at Brie. “Missy, you can—”

  “My name’s Agent Ryan!” Brie’s face reddened. “If you’ll listen, I’ll tell you what the fuck is going on.”

  Okay, she could obviously lose the fracking when she wanted to.

  “Rosaria Altura is a witness in an old case. I think I know who is behind the shooting. I’d appreciate it if you’d let me see her right now.”

  “Sorry. The female subjects in the house are being interviewed. And I’m not—”

  Brie’s shoulders tightened. “Look, Detective, you don’t want to piss me off.”

  “No, you look, missy. It’s four in the goddamned morning. I was supposed to go fishing today. Instead, I got a dead guy with no ID, a case I don’t want, and an FBI agent who looks like she should be in high school instead of trying to order me around.”

  “One more time! My name’s Agent Ryan.” She gave the man’s tie a yank. “And I don’t give a flying fuck if you missed out on fishing! I’m—”

  Connor shot between her and the detective. “We can stand here and measure each other’s dicks, or we can help each other. Agent Ryan and I—”

  “I’m not letting you contaminate my scene.”

  Connor saw Brie take her phone out and start punching in numbers. He caught her arm. “Not yet.” Then he yanked his own phone out and focused on the asshole in front of him. “Is this your dead guy?”

  Connor found the surveillance image of the man Brie had chased from Olvera’s hotel and held it out.

  Detective Samson squinted, then his eyes widened. “What’s his name?”

  “We’ll give you everything we’ve got. But you need to work with us.”

  The detective frowned. “Let me make a few calls.”

  As soon as the detective walked back inside, Brie frowned at Connor. “The same guy who shot Carlos tried to kill Rosaria. That’s proof it’s all connected to the Sala case. And that the leak has to be from the FBI.”

  Connor nodded. This is what Brie had been trying to prove all along, but confirming it still had to hurt. He knew what it felt like to be betrayed by the people you worked with, people you trusted.

  Brie pulled her phone back out and started punching in numbers again.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Calling Agent Calvin. He can make them turn the scene over to the FBI. Or at least work with us.”

  “Hang up.” When she didn’t, he said, “Listen to me!”

  She stopped and looked up.

  “I know you don’t think Agent Calvin is behind this, but you don’t have proof of that. At the very least, he’s stood in your way of this investigation. Doesn’t that make you suspicious? Let’s see what we can get from this scene before you call him.”

  “That’s just it. We’re not getting shit. Detective Samson isn’t going to hand over any evidence to us.”

  Connor frowned. “I hate to say this, but the biggest problem is you.”

  “Me?” Her blue eyes shot fire at him.

  “Not you personally, but you being with the FBI. Small-town cops and FBI are like cats and dogs. Let me contact my department and see if we can call in a few favors with the Willowcreek PD. All I’m asking for is a little time.”

  * * *

  “It’s your guy. But it ain’t pretty,” Detective Samson led them inside the house as he explained that the homeowner, José Hernandez, shot an intruder, then took a bullet.

  Connor’s plan of getting his superiors involved had worked. Samson was cooperating.
>
  Still, Brie felt almost disloyal for not calling Agent Calvin. Not so long ago, she’d thought she’d take a bullet for anyone at the agency. She’d considered them like an extended family. Now the only one who mattered to her, the only one she trusted, was Carlos.

  “I warned you it wasn’t pretty,” Sampson repeated as they entered the living room. “Shotgun, close range, to the gut. Most of his intestines are on the wall over there. Good news is, he kept his face, so we can identify him.”

  Brie forced herself to look at the dead man. The detective was right. He’d kept his face. It was definitely their suspect. The man sprawled out on the living room floor had a hole the size of a football dead center of his torso, and parts of his intestines were hanging out.

  “Damn,” she heard Connor say.

  Don’t puke. Don’t puke. Do not puke. “Do you have his weapon?” Brie forced the words out and looked away.

  “It’s been bagged,” Samson said.

  “A forty-five?” Her stomach turned.

  “Yup,” Samson said.

  “We’ll need ballistics run on that.” Brie turned away from the body. She should be happy the piece of crap was dead, but it left so many unanswered questions.

  “How serious is José Hernandez wounded?” She fought her gag reflex.

  “Not serious. Flesh wound.”

  The copper smell of blood, the stench of human waste, filled her nose. She swallowed hard. “You running his prints?”

  “They’ll do that at the morgue. They’ll be taking him in shortly.”

  “How about his phone?” Connor asked.

  “He didn’t have one.” Samson eyed Connor. “You know I’ve heard about you and your partners. The Three Musketeers.”

  “Don’t believe everything you hear,” Connor said.

  “I heard you treat rules like suggestions and have problems with authority.”

  “And yet I still work with the department,” Connor muttered.

  Samson laughed. “I also heard you were a damn good cop.”

  “Can I go in to see Rosaria now?” Brie asked, the need to puke passing.

  “Yeah. She’s pretty shaken.” Detective Samson led Brie and Connor into the back bedroom. “Her sister is on the way to the hospital to be with her husband.”

  When Rosaria saw Brie, the pretty woman gasped. She stood up, and pain, rage, and a number of other negative emotions filled her expression. Brie hadn’t known how Rosaria would react to seeing her, but she wasn’t prepared for this.

  “You! You killed him!” She charged at Brie. Connor and Detective Samson moved in front of her. Connor caught the woman by her shoulders.

  “Let her go,” Brie said.

  Connor released her. “She’s here to help you.”

  “The way she helped Pablo?” Rosaria asked.

  “I didn’t kill Pablo, Rosaria.” Brie met the woman’s eyes, and the guilt and blame she continuously tried to push down came rushing back.

  “But it might as well have been you.” Rosaria stood, clenching and unclenching her fist. “He trusted you. He said you were his friend!”

  “I considered him a friend, too,” Brie admitted.

  Rosaria looked at Connor. “They’re going to end up killing me, aren’t they?”

  “No,” Brie answered. “Look at me. I swear, I’m going to protect you.”

  Rosaria dropped onto an unmade bed. “Pablo said the FBI would protect him, and it turned out to be one of them who killed him. Then Agent Olvera finds me and promises to protect me if I tell him everything, and this happened. I need to go back to Mexico before anything else happens. I should have never come here.”

  “Agent Olvera was shot. He’s in the hospital in a coma. That’s why he wasn’t here to protect you. And just so you know, I looked for you. For months I tried to find you. To protect you. But I swear, if you’ll help me, I won’t let anyone hurt you or anyone else.”

  Rosaria didn’t answer. She looked away from Brie.

  “What did you see, Rosaria? What did you tell Agent Olvera? If you don’t tell me, they’ll get away with it.”

  “What difference does it make? Pablo’s dead.”

  “I know. But we can make sure the person responsible rots in jail. Please help me catch them.”

  She looked out the window, tears sliding down her cheeks.

  “Talk to me. Please.”

  Rosaria closed her eyes for a second, then opened them and looked at Brie. “We were at the mall when someone from the FBI called him. He told Pablo he was at our RV, looking for him.”

  “Who called?”

  “I don’t know. I could hear it was a man, but that’s all I know.”

  “What else did he say?”

  “That Pablo needed to get home. When he hung up, he told me to stay at the mall. I told him if he was worried, he shouldn’t go. But he said he trusted the FBI because of you.”

  A knot formed in Brie’s throat. Rosaria swiped a hand over her face to brush off the tears. “He said he’d come back for me. But he didn’t. I went home and found him. He was dead.” She made a soft moan. “There was so much blood.”

  Brie knelt down in front of her. “I’m so sorry. I swear, I wasn’t behind that.”

  She met Brie’s eyes.

  “I left for Mexico.”

  “Why didn’t you come to me?”

  “The FBI killed Pablo. I didn’t know who I could trust!” She shook her head. “I should’ve stayed in Mexico. They shot José, and now they are going to kill my sister and me.”

  Brie took Rosaria’s hands in hers. “I promise you. That’s not going to happen.”

  Rosaria looked up. “I gave him his phone.”

  “Gave who what phone?”

  “Pablo’s phone. I gave it to Agent Olvera when we had lunch together. I’d dropped my phone in the pool the day before we went to the mall, and since mine wasn’t working, Pablo left his new phone with me and I was supposed to call when I finished shopping.”

  “No. Pablo’s phone was found with his body,” Brie said. “I know because I found it.”

  “That was his old phone. We’d gotten new phones on a family plan. My sister, him, and I. The new phone had the call on there—the one from the FBI. I took it with me, but I was afraid they might trace it, so I removed the battery.”

  “But how would this agent have gotten Pablo’s new number?”

  “He must’ve told someone. He was giving it out so he could shut down the other phone.”

  Connor looked at Brie. “Who would he have told?”

  “He worked closest with me and Agent Bara because we spoke Spanish.” Suddenly something occurred to Brie. “The phone must be what our dead guy was looking for in Carlos’s hotel room.”

  * * *

  Five minutes later, Brie walked out of the bedroom. Her guilt over Pablo’s death rose up in her chest until she couldn’t breathe. Connor followed her. Without thinking, she stopped in the middle of the room and looked at the dead man again.

  The smell, the blood, all the…her stomach turned.

  Connor took her arm and guided her out the front door, past the crowd of officers, all the way across the street to his car.

  Cold wind hit her face. She tried swallowing. It didn’t help.

  He stared at her. “Breathe.”

  She attempted to pull in air, but right then Rosaria’s words echoed in her head and in her heart. He said you were his friend.

  She bent at the waist and puked. Twice.

  When she stood up, Connor held out some napkins. “Here.”

  She wiped her face. Leaning against the car, she stared into the darkness. It was several minutes before she trusted herself to speak. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She met his eyes, but he didn’t say a thing. Nothing soft or caring. Not asking her if she was okay. Not even a jab at her for losing it. He just stood there. Solid. Strong. Somehow supportive.

  Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them b
ack. “We have to find Pablo’s phone. As long as whoever hired that guy thinks it’s out there, he’ll keep coming for Rosaria. I have to protect her. I let Pablo down. I won’t let her down, too.”

  “We won’t,” he said.

  Something about the “we” touched her heart.

  “I got a text from Juan. He wants to know Pablo’s phone number, the new one, and if it’s still in service.”

  “I’ll ask her.” Brie started back toward the house.

  “Wait. You feel like a walk?”

  “A walk?”

  “I saw a white Camry parked about a block up the street in the driveway of a house with an overgrown lawn that looked empty. Remember the car we saw in the surveillance video?”

  She looked back at the house, obviously worried about Rosaria.

  “She’s got a half-dozen cops around her. She’s safe.”

  “Then let’s go for a walk.”

  “Let me get something first.” Connor went to the trunk where he opened a duffel bag.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “Evidence bags and gloves. Judges are funny about things like that.” He smiled. “I learned that the hard way.”

  “Such a Boy Scout,” she teased.

  He pulled out a long metal tool—a slim jim—used to break into cars.

  “Okay, so maybe not a Boy Scout.”

  He smiled—one meant to soothe and chase away the bad memories. And it worked. Their eyes met. Held. How could Connor Pierce be such a stand-up guy one minute and so not the next?

  Glancing over his shoulder she saw the eastern sky had a golden hue to it. The beginning of a sunrise. “It’s almost morning,” she muttered and closed her eyes a second.

  When she opened them, he’d moved in and shoulder-bumped her. “We’re gonna get whoever hired this creep. I promise.”

  The brief contact sent a spiral of warmth running through her. For some reason, it was more touching than a hug. “Stop,” she said without thinking.

  “Stop what?” He shoved the bag back into the trunk.

  “Being nice. I don’t want to like you that much.”

  He looked up, a soft smile pulling at his lips. “I feel the same way about you. Fracking sucks.”