His eyes hardened, but he didn’t look intimidated or contrite. He looked irritated. This was not going how she’d anticipated.
“I want to identify the woman who claimed Lanny Gardner hit her. I can get a subpoena and a full team down here to go over the footage in the morning if you’d prefer. Your choice.”
The men exchanged glances. She knew immediately it had been the wrong play. Their stances shifted.
Bo stood, wooden stool creaking ominously, and moved behind her. He ran the tip of his finger across the nape of her neck, and she repressed a shudder. “Anyone know where you’re at, sweet cheeks?”
“I’m an FBI agent, Bo.” She derided him. “What do you think?”
“I’m thinking you’re bluffing. I think you came down here on your own on a mission to save some whiny little bitch. That’s why your sidekick isn’t with you.”
“He’s sitting in the car outside.” She forced herself to breathe normally. To show no fear.
Bo shook his head. “He isn’t.”
What the fuck? What did he know?
“Anyone gonna miss you if you disappear, sweet cheeks?”
She used one hand to grab his wrist and ducked under his shoulder, bringing his arm behind his back and one-handedly driving him to his knees. She planted her foot on his back, exacerbating the bite of the angle, then smoothly pulled her Glock left-handed and pointed it straight at the manager who’d started to bring up a shotgun.
“Raise that one more inch, and you’ll be wearing a 9mm slug between your eyes.”
He hesitated.
“Put it down! Get around here and on the floor. All of you. Get on the floor.” A light sheen of sweat formed on her brow. Holy crap. How had things gone south so fast?
The three other men eased onto the floor, watching her for an opening. If they found one, they’d kill her, she knew it the same way she knew her own face.
Did they kill Van?
“Hands on your head,” she shouted. “Spread your legs. Wider.”
“I thought that was my line.” Bo gave a dark chuckle that crawled over her nerves, and she gripped his wrist tighter.
“No talking.” Obviously, these guys were involved in something illegal.
Duh, Ava, ya think?
Had they drugged Sheridan? Was that why they knew he wasn’t outside waiting for her in the car? She cuffed Bo behind his back, making sure the metal bracelets were snug. For the others she pulled out the cable ties she kept coiled up in her jeans pockets in case of emergencies. She jerked the plastic teeth firmly into place, forcing the manager’s wrists close together so he couldn’t twist free.
She had the third guy contained before calling dispatch.
“This is Agent Kanas out of the Fredericksburg Resident Agency. I need immediate law enforcement assistance at—”
The fourth guy slid his hand under his plaid shirt at the back of his waist band.
“Keep your hands where I can see them,” Ava yelled.
Too late. He pulled a gun and rolled onto his back, bringing the weapon up and aiming it at her, pulling the trigger, but not fast enough. Ava swerved to the side and fired three times at his center mass, the noise enormous in the vast space.
The men on the floor were swearing and shouting, but she stepped away from them, keeping her back to the one wall in case the gun shots brought someone else in from the back.
She realized the dispatcher was still talking to her.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m all right. Yeah. Send a bus.” She gave them the address with a shaky voice. “One of them pulled a gun on me. I’m all right, but he’s wounded. Maybe the EMTs can save him.”
* * *
It was easy to be invisible in a hospital. Just sit around and look tired and worried with a coffee cup near anxious fingers, or pace the corridors with clasped hands and tight lips. It was, however, more difficult to get answers to questions like whether or not Dominic Sheridan was alive.
Caroline had fucked up.
It didn’t matter.
As soon as the next agent died—hopefully sooner rather than later—even the FBI would figure out the connection and realize they had a serial killer on their hands, hunting them like the animals they really were.
How surprised they would be.
Was Sheridan dead? Bernie hoped not.
Extreme pain and suffering would be acceptable, but not dead, not yet, and not by someone else’s hand. Bernie wanted him to eventually figure out why this had happened and who was responsible before dying an excruciating death.
What about the female agent who’d accompanied Sheridan? Who was she? What had happened to her?
A flurry of activity stirred around the door to a private room. A group of FBI agents marched past, huddled around Sheridan’s tall, lean figure like secret service bodyguards.
Sheridan was alive. Good.
The Fed looked pale and gaunt. Bruises darkened his eye sockets and there was a cut across the bridge of his nose, probably from the airbags in his fancy Lexus. He wore sweats and a plaid shirt, and his right arm was in a sling.
Hopefully it fucking hurt.
No sign of the woman he’d been with last night. Maybe she hadn’t been in the car. Or perhaps she hadn’t made it.
Hopefully he cared for her and the pain of her death would eat him alive until it drove him insane with grief.
Was his daddy involved, yet? Must be nice to have a politician for a father, but not nice enough to stop what was coming. Nothing would stop what was coming.
Oh, yes. It was good he wasn’t dead yet.
This was far too much fun for it to be over so quickly.
* * *
“What the hell do you mean ‘she’s been put on administrative leave’?” Dominic closed his eyes against the throbbing pain in his head and the news he’d just received about Kanas.
His boss had wisely waited until they were alone in the car before updating him on the latest developments.
“She was investigating Van’s death explicitly against her boss’s orders. She went into a dangerous situation without backup, not once but twice, and the second time she ended up killing a man.”
“She was following up on what happened earlier at the bar. Trying to figure out if someone drugged me.” And someone had. The results had come back positive for GH-fucking-B.
“She should have told her boss. She should have followed procedure and not gone in alone—”
“At two AM? On a hunch? Agents often work alone in small Resident Agencies, you know it. If it had been me following up on a crash involving Agent Kanas would you think I’d been foolish to go alone to get what she thought were witness statements? Isn’t that what we’re trained to do?”
“We’re trained to follow procedure.” Savage shot him a glare. He was driving Dominic home, with orders from the doctors to make him rest. Sure. Dominic didn’t have any serious injuries except for the shoulder they’d reset. The sling he’d been told to wear was already a royal pain in his ass. Thankfully he was left-handed and it was his right shoulder which had been injured. The biggest problem was he wasn’t allowed to drive for at least a week and his house was rural with just a couple of close neighbors.
Dominic couldn’t see himself getting much rest, especially knowing Ava was in trouble. None of this would have happened if he hadn’t involved her in the case again.
No wonder she had a giant chip on her shoulder if this was how she was treated. “You said she facilitated a massive drug bust.”
“Which would have been great had the DEA not already had the place under surveillance.”
Shit.
He sat up straight. “Do they have any video tapes? From last night or last week?”
Savage grunted.
“Do the DEA at least have evidence of these assholes spiking my water?”
Savage overtook a tractor trailer hauling hay. Dominic held his breath and tried not to envision a horrific death. He’d come damn close last night. Only the fact his car was
packed with safety features had enabled him to walk away from the accident without major injury.
“Not that they’ve given us yet. They’re still pissed we crashed their party. It makes sense though. You’re in the bar asking questions, and they have a half ton of coke in the back room. Maybe they thought you were onto them.”
“Seems like a weird way to throw Feds off the scent—drugging us. Why not split with the coke?”
“No one said these guys were geniuses.”
Dominic drummed his fingers on his thigh. “You know, without Ava Kanas we might never have figured out what happened to me. I’d be in the hospital, and you’d all be checking my blood panels for narcotics and alcohol and giving me censorious looks until they came back negative. The docs might have missed the GHB altogether.”
Savage’s fingers tightened on the wheel. “She’s also the one who came up with the theory Van was murdered and dragged you into something that almost got you killed.”
Dominic’s lip curled. “Because I’m so easily led.”
“Doesn’t mean her actions weren’t indirectly responsible for you ending up in the hospital.” Savage shot him another look and swerved around a dead skunk on the road.
“I’m the one who called her.” Dominic’s fingers dug into the dashboard. “And slow the hell down. I’ve had enough excitement for one day.”
Savage took his foot off the accelerator. “Sorry.”
“You have to admit something weird is going on. Van commits suicide after going to that bar. A shooter kills an FBI agent at his funeral. I get roofied and almost die in a car wreck…”
“They might be completely unrelated.”
Dominic’s laugh was unamused and even more so when pain sliced through his ribs. He grabbed his side with his good arm. He hated to think what he’d feel like without a seatbelt or airbags. Dead, no doubt. “What happens now?”
“You go home, rest, and keep away from Agent Kanas.”
“To the investigation.” Dominic ignored the jab about Ava.
“You know you can’t be involved in any way—”
“Some fucker tried to kill me. I am already involved.” Dominic rarely raised his voice. It wasn’t a great negotiation tactic, but they all had their off days.
Savage made a visible effort to control his own temper. Too many strong-willed males in an enclosed space, but Dominic was not in any mood to back down.
“Maybe you should take some time off. Go on vacation. Take a break.”
“You need me in the office.”
Savage’s mouth thinned. “I’m not compromising your health—”
“Stow it. I’ll be in tomorrow.”
“Thanks.” Savage cleared his throat. “We need you, but you look like shit. I asked headquarters for enough money to fund another five full-time negotiators at CNU, which would take some of the pressure off us. They said they’d think about it.”
Dominic grimaced. “Don’t hold your breath.”
Savage pulled up in Dominic’s driveway in front of his three-car garage. The place was way too big for one person but had a pool, good security and a large fenced back yard for Ranger to patrol. Talking of his dog, there was Charlotte opening the door and holding Ranger on a leash. The dog practically dragged her down the steps when he saw Dominic.
He pushed open the door, holding onto the plastic bag of belongings, swearing as his damaged shoulder screamed. Nothing was broken, he’d heal, but in the meantime, he’d need to lay off the chin-ups.
Ranger ran towards him, tail wagging, tongue out. The dog shoved his nose into his junk—ugh—and they both whimpered pathetically.
“He’s definitely okay?” Dominic asked Charlotte, not liking the fact he kept looking over her shoulder waiting for Ava Kanas to appear. How pissed was she gonna be with him?
What could he do to fix it?
“Ranger’s fine. Vet checked him over, and Agent Kanas dropped him off at CNU this morning.”
Dominic bit down on asking how Kanas had looked. Was she okay? What the hell had happened last night? Had she discovered anything about Van’s final moments? Had she been hurt? But his boss was watching and would not approve of his interest.
Interest?
Yeah, that’s what the cool kids were calling it nowadays.
“I bought you some groceries and brought over some home-made soup from my freezer. Put it in your fridge for when you get hungry.” Charlotte often house-sat when he was away so she had a key. She winced at the state of his face. “You should, you know, hire someone to buy food for you. You already have a cleaner and a gardener. It’s just one more step.” She laughed and rubbed her hand down his good arm in a maternal way.
He blinked. He wasn’t used to anyone taking care of him. The Sheridans weren’t that kind of family.
“I think you should go the whole hog and hire a live-in housekeeper,” Charlotte joked.
“Or a nanny,” Savage muttered scathingly under his breath.
“You’re just jealous,” Charlotte told their boss with a grin.
“He has a freaking cinema in his basement. Of course, I’m jealous.” Savage grinned.
Dominic gave Charlotte a one-handed hug. “Thanks, Char. I appreciate your help.” Already overcome by fatigue, he petted his dog, and they shuffled tiredly toward the house.
“You sure you’ll be okay?” Savage asked. The guy didn’t miss much. It was that innate perception and attention to detail that made him so good at his job.
“I can stay if you like.” Charlotte looked anxiously at his battered face. “I don’t like the idea of you being out here alone. I could work in the basement. You wouldn’t even know I was here.”
He kissed the top of her head affectionately. “I’ll be fine, but thank you.”
He liked his own company. Having lots of rooms meant it was easier to avoid his family when they occasionally descended on him. And that thought reminded him he needed to respond to his father’s phone messages, even though Savage had given the governor a medical update earlier. Great.
“I’ll take another pain pill and sleep like the doctor ordered. Thanks for everything. See you at the office tomorrow.” He shut the door on Charlotte’s exclamation of distress. Let her lecture Savage on time off and recovery. Dominic had a hunch he needed to check out. A thought that kept niggling at his brain and wouldn’t go away. He picked his personal cell phone out of the plastic bag, dialed a number and listened to it ring.
Eventually she picked up.
“Kanas? Get your ass over here.”
Chapter Eleven
Ava sat in her little Nissan in Sheridan’s huge driveway. It was nearly two o’clock in the afternoon, and the sky was full of dark clouds that threatened to rupture at any moment.
What was she doing here?
After the shooting at the bar last night, she’d called Ray Aldrich to give him an update. Aldrich had been more worried the incident made him look soft than the fact she’d almost died. She’d told the guy she’d been following up on what had happened to Sheridan while memories were still fresh, but as soon as he’d discovered she and Sheridan had chosen that particular bar because it was the last place Van had been seen alive, he’d freaked and put her on indefinite leave.
The fact he hadn’t supported her after she’d been forced to kill a man in self-defense made the anger inside her froth and boil and scratch at the back of her eyelids with watery claws. While she was glad Sheridan hadn’t been disciplined considering he’d almost died in a car wreck, the differing standards were staggering.
So, she’d been shocked to hear from Sheridan. Shocked he’d been released from the hospital with only minor injuries. Shocked he wanted her to come over to his house to discuss what had happened.
She’d come, but she wasn’t sure why.
He was a Supervisory Special Agent and at this rate she’d be lucky to graduate probation.
It was an impressive-looking house. Huge and gorgeous with classic stonework on the lower level a
nd an upper story clad with siding painted a warm gold. Pinky-red shutters flanked the multi-paned windows. It was a color combo that shouldn’t have worked but did, making it appear even more sophisticated to her design-challenged eye. The building was L-shaped with three separate garage doors on the left-hand side and white painted Doric columns supporting a covered entrance straight ahead. Cozy chairs were tucked onto the veranda. Elegant and original, fitting the man completely.
Her fingers gripped the wheel. She couldn’t get out of the car.
The DEA were pissed she’d steamrollered their case, but the criminals hadn’t given her much choice. Turned out they’d been distributing coke out of the back of the premises for months. Was that why Van had been there? Had he received some sort of tip off? Had somebody in that bar killed him because he’d found them out?
She didn’t know and was off the case even though it had been her arrest.
FBI had given the case back to the DEA. DEA had apparently held off raiding the place, wanting to nail the top dog. They suspected the Russian mob, but the kingpin was a slippery bastard who’d so far evaded capture. The guy she’d killed had been traveling on a Ukrainian passport, but he was probably just the link man. She shuddered as she remembered the moment she’d pulled the trigger. No amount of training could prepare you for killing another human being, but she wasn’t sorry. She had too much of a strong desire to live to be sorry.
She understood why the DEA was angry. She would have been furious if it were the other way around. If she’d known they had the bar under observation, she would never have gone near the joint. But she hadn’t. DEA might have surveillance footage, but the chances of them sharing it with her now she’d busted open their op? Better chance of smashing the glass ceiling and becoming the first female FBI Director.
A tap on the window had her jumping in her seat. She jerked around, and Dominic Sheridan stood beside her car, dressed down in a pair of gray sweats and a blue plaid shirt with the two top buttons left undone. He was barefoot.
He looked awful. Both eyes were black, and an ugly gash split the bridge of his nose. Right arm rested in a sling. Her heart gave an unsteady thump at the sight of him, probably because he’d startled her. He still looked too handsome for her peace of mind, but she’d always been attracted to bad boy types, so the battered features actually worked for her more than his clean-cut side did.
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