Cold & Deadly

by Toni Anderson

  Next to Sheridan, the female cop was the most important target to destroy. Without that slut, Peter would never have been caught. Bernie had already set that plan in motion. Fernando Chavez was going to have to wait for now, be put on hold.

  He lived in a log cabin in the woods though. Perhaps some gasoline and matches could be arranged. It was a hot, dry summer. The fire would grow fast and consume everything in its path. The perfect sort of vengeance—painful, terrifying.

  Bernie didn’t even need to see the man die. It just needed to happen. All those responsible for setting up Peter needed to stop breathing on a permanent basis.

  After ten hours of aimless driving the small, private airstrip came into view. It was almost tempting to go to Peter. To be with him again if only for a short time, but there was much to do.

  Revenge was time-consuming. Soon it would all be over. Soon it would be done.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ava had tried to talk to Dominic again in the hallway before going into the negotiation area for his shift, but she could tell from his countenance he wasn’t in the mood to hear anything she said. She chickened out and instead sat in the corner plugged into the ethernet cable so she could download her emails. All wi-fi and cell service had been blocked so the hostage-takers couldn’t communicate with anyone except the negotiators in this room.

  Ava was beyond mortified she’d admitted that she was okay with Dominic touching her. When she thought about it, her head wanted to explode. He’d been shocked and taken aback. He was probably placing her on his list of female stalkers, the ones who mooned after him and wanted him in their beds and wouldn’t leave him alone once they got him there.

  Ugh.

  She wasn’t shy about asking men out on a date, but even that tiny admission to Sheridan had shattered her confidence. She was such an idiot. He was effectively her boss right now, and she was supposed to be watching his back, being that extra pair of eyes so he wasn’t caught unawares. He’d basically apologized for a sleepy, innocent touch and she’d told him, hey, that’s okay, Boss, touch me again, any way you want.

  Ugh. She squeezed her eyes shut the same way she gripped the pen she was making notes with. She had to tell him about her connection to Gino, but unless she wanted to yell the sensitive information across a crowded room it was proving completely impossible.

  She opened the file Mallory Rooney had sent. Apparently, Lincoln Frazer had finally persuaded the task force investigating the Mortimer shooting in Fredericksburg that the deaths of the six other FBI and former-FBI agents from the NYFO might be related. Members of the task force were double-checking the details to determine if they were truly accidental or natural. Linked or not. The agents at the BAU-4 had agreed to read Ava in on any relevant information that might be useful when figuring out who this UNSUB was. They were emailing Dominic too, but he wasn’t even opening the messages any more. He was focusing on this prison siege situation and not allowing any distractions.

  Including her.

  Humiliation washed over her once again. How could she have said that to him? She pushed the churning thoughts away and also blocked out Gino-the-snake’s bellicose voice making his crazy demands. A helicopter and fifty thousand dollars. Each.

  Did he really believe he was getting out of here?

  Mallory Rooney forwarded an email about the dead waitress. At the time of Van’s funeral, Caroline Perry had not been at the bar nor the university. No one could place her anywhere which meant they couldn’t rule her out as the shooter. She had been working at the Mule & Pitcher when Van had eaten there and the Feds found capsules of Liquid E in her bedroom of her shared apartment, suggesting she was probably responsible for drugging and nearly killing Dominic. Had she drugged Van and staged his death? ME’s tests were inconclusive, but GHB metabolized out of the body fast.

  No long gun. No evidence she’d ever owned or even fired a rifle, but they were still looking for the waitress’s car.

  Had she finished whatever she’d set out to do? Maybe she thought Dominic was dead in that car wreck? Had she committed suicide rather than go to prison?

  ME said she’d probably drowned but hadn’t been absolutely certain. They were waiting on lab test results. And DNA results.

  DEA were immovable on sharing their video footage. Boy, were they ever pissed with her for ruining their op. Lincoln Frazer’s team was doing its thing creating a profile. Alex Parker had examined Van’s cell phone data and discovered her friend and mentor had received a call from a burner the morning of his death. The call had lasted fifteen minutes.

  Alex was trying to find out when and where that burner had been bought and used. Maybe they could catch the UNSUB on surveillance images somewhere.

  If this was an intricate plot designed to kill a specific group of FBI agents then Ava doubted the UNSUB would be sloppy enough to be caught on camera. Planning had been too detailed, too thorough. Even figuring out the names of the agents on the squad would take work for someone outside the Bureau.

  Could they have hired an investigator?

  Ava looked up as some sort of scuffle broke out on the TV monitor. The sound was on very low so the headset Joe—the guy doing all the talking—was using wouldn’t pick it up or produce feedback. The hostage-takers had their phone on speaker.

  Gino had grabbed the lone woman in the room—the warden—who cried out as the mobster dragged her by her bound arms across the floor into the center of the room.

  “What’s happening in there, Gino?” Joe kept his voice calm even though the tension in the room felt like something was about to shatter.

  “Nothing’s happening, you fucking prick. That’s the fucking problem. We want out of here. Do you get it yet?”

  Joe closed his eyes and seemed to be mentally bracing himself. “I’m sorry, Gino, that this is taking some time, but how am I supposed to arrange that helicopter when I don’t have the assurance from all three of you that you won’t hurt the hostages?”

  Dominic pressed his lips together. Although he was still in his seat, he looked animated and full of energy. And handsome. Those bruises were faded to pale gray now and did not detract from the outer package.

  And did you? Want to be touched?

  Ava closed her eyes and looked away before he caught her staring.

  “How about this, Joe? How about if we don’t get a helicopter in the yard in the next thirty minutes then I’m going to slice this bitch from throat to snatch.” Gino’s voice oozed venom. “But only after I’ve had a little fun.”

  Gino tore the warden’s shirt open, and everyone in the room froze. The woman had maintained a brave front until that moment, but now her face crumpled as Gino ran the edge of the knife across her flesh, leaving a thin red welt in its wake.

  Joe didn’t look up at the screen.

  “Gino, talk to me. You know that if anything happens to the hostages it won’t look good and the chances of the higher ups delivering that helicopter gets increasingly less likely—”

  Suddenly the third hostage-taker, the one who’d sat in the corner sharpening his knife and refusing to communicate for days, stood and walked over to where Gino held the trembling warden.

  Milo Andris spoke quietly into the receiver. “You have my assurance that none of us will hurt any of the hostages, as long as you provide us with a helicopter as my colleagues have requested, by noon tomorrow. Now you can move forward.” And then Milo took the warden gently by the arm and sat her on the floor in the corner beside him, and he carried on sharpening that damned blade.

  Gino grinned like Milo’s reaction had been his intention all along and went to rummage in the refrigerator, but Ava didn’t buy it. Gino wasn’t smart enough to pull off that level of manipulation, but he didn’t want to look foolish or take on the other guy.

  Serial killers even freaked out mobsters.

  A man knocked on the door of the negotiation room and entered. Joe muted his mic.

  The newcomer wore old jeans and a t-shirt with a beer lo
go on the front. “Hi there, I’m Dr. Jones. The prison psychiatrist. Just got off the plane from Lisbon so apologies for looking like this. What can I do to help?”

  Dominic hustled the guy over to Ava’s side of the room and sat in a chair so close to her his knee brushed her thigh. She tried not to react.

  “Tell me everything you can about Milo Andris,” Dominic asked the psychiatrist. “Especially his relationship with the warden.”

  * * *

  The area was remote and densely wooded. A couple of hikers had reported finding the car, seemingly abandoned, ten miles upstream of where they’d pulled Caroline Perry out of the Rappahannock River.

  Mallory stopped to take a breath.

  “You okay?” Alex asked, taking her elbow.

  “Junior is kickboxing my lungs, a favorite pastime, and I’m roughly the size of a hippopotamus, but apart from that…”

  “Take it slow. The vehicle isn’t going anywhere.”

  “Unless the local sheriff tows it.”

  “He won’t tow it,” said Alex. She hated how reasonable he sounded. “Not when it belongs to a suspect in Tuesday’s shooting.”

  Mallory pulled a face. “I suppose.”

  She was grumpy and irritable. Her back ached. Alex was nothing but supportive, but she was still hugely pregnant and waddling like a freaking duck. At this point she wanted it all to be over with, but she also wanted a healthy baby.

  Alex rubbed her lower back with a prescience that sometimes amazed her.

  “I’m still terrified I’m going to be a lousy mom,” she muttered quietly as if that would somehow minimize her fears.

  “You are going to be the most incredible mother in the world.” That’s what he always said.

  “What if I’m not? What if I yell at the baby?”

  “Mom’s yell. It’s a thing.”

  “But—”

  “You,” he stopped and looked down at her, smoothing her bangs to one side. “Are going to be an amazing mother. And”—he interrupted her again before she could argue—“you will also sometimes make mistakes. It’s allowed. You don’t need to pretend to be perfect.”

  “You’re perfect,” she muttered. He always knew what to say to make her feel better.

  Alex laughed. “That is a lie, but I intend to give everything I have to you and our family.” The gray of his eyes was warm silver. “Together we will figure this baby thing out.”

  He grinned as she batted his stomach with the back of her hand. “Baby thing?”

  He took her hand and kissed her fingers.

  Married life had been considerably easier than everything that had come before. Even if Alex was right it didn’t mean she worried any less. Worrying was part of her nature, but a part she was usually more able to partition off and deal with. Ever since she’d gotten pregnant her hormones had gotten the better of her and made her weepier and more battle ready. It was a scary, unnerving combination but there wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do to protect this child, or this man. She squeezed her husband’s hand, knowing he felt the same way.

  Up ahead she caught sight of a sheriff’s deputy in a brown uniform. She and Alex approached the small, silver sedan making sure neither of them walked in the tire tracks along the lane.

  Looking at the dirt, Mallory noticed a few faint shoe impressions in the dust.

  Alex saw them too. He crouched for a moment at the side of the track. “Looks like a man with small feet or a kid with big feet. Could also be a woman.”

  That narrowed it down.

  “Let’s get the evidence techs to put down markers and follow them out as far as they are able. They might match the ones found at Van Stamos’s place.”

  “Or it could be someone out for a hike,” Alex suggested.

  “Let’s collect the evidence.”

  Alex looked up from his crouched position, and she could barely see him over her enormous belly. “Yes, Boss.”

  She grinned as she turned away. As agreeable and amenable as Alex Parker was, every single day, there was never a doubt as to who was the real “boss.” His skill with weapons, cybersecurity, and computers was legendary. His life experience made him the consummate reader of potentially dangerous situations. Whenever he was around, she always felt one hundred percent safe. It was when he was gone, she got nervous. About the past. About the future. About the uncertainty of parenthood and the fear of messing up.

  They planned to be geographically close for the next few weeks so he’d be with her for the birth. She needed his strength for what lay ahead.

  The sheriff’s deputy held out his hand to Alex first. “Deputy Ortez. You must be Agent Rooney?”

  “Mr. Parker is a consultant for the BAU and is also my husband so I asked him to accompany me.” The deputy shook her hand and stared at her midsection.

  “How far along are you?”

  “Nearly thirty-eight weeks.” And counting down the days.

  “Your first?” Ortez asked.

  Mallory nodded.

  “Your life is about to undergo a seismic shift,” the officer said with a smile.

  “Can’t wait,” Alex replied.

  “I’ve got three of my own so I have some experience in an emergency, should it be required.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind.” Mallory had no intention of having her baby beside a river in the dirt. She’d be in a hospital with every expert and medical machine available to man.

  She eyed the car. She had a bad feeling about this case. Things weren’t adding up. Was Caroline Perry a killer or had she roofied Dominic Sheridan for kicks? Karl Feldman’s police sketch had turned out to look remarkably like Angelina Jolie. He’d clammed up completely once he’d discovered Caroline Perry was dead—or when he realized that law enforcement had discovered her body. He’d lawyered up and shut up.

  Maybe Feldman had been so drunk he couldn’t remember what the woman had looked like. But it was also possible he and Perry had been working together, and he’d killed her and dumped the body. Analysts were digging up everything they could on Karl Feldman. Background checks had so far come up without any obvious links to the dead FBI agents. Mallory wondered if such an enormous man could have tiny feet.

  She didn’t like so many clues pointing nowhere. She didn’t like the lack of clearly attributable motive.

  “There are some shoe prints leading down the track. Did you record them yet?” she asked the deputy.

  The man nodded to a technician in white Tyvek booties who was photographing something on the ground. “There are some beside the vehicle too, but it’s been dry so they aren’t real clear.”

  Mallory walked around the car and looked at the prints and what looked very much like drag marks. “Catalogue and collect everything. I’ll request a bloodhound team to see if they can track the scent back to the road.” Although what that would tell them she wasn’t sure. Did they have an accomplice who’d picked them up? Had they hitched a ride? Walked?

  She peered into the back seat of the sedan. A pile of clothes were tossed on the floor.

  “Find her cell phone?” Alex asked the officer.

  The deputy shook his head.

  “You looked in the trunk yet?” asked Mallory.

  “No, ma’am. As soon as I ran the plate, I got a hit on your flag. Figured I’d wait for you guys to turn up.”

  Mallory nodded. “Appreciate it.”

  She went to the trunk, but Alex stopped her.

  “Let me check it out first.” Alex put on gloves and a very unattractive hairnet. He was hypersensitive about leaving his DNA at any crime scene, for good reason. He opened the rear passenger door and eased the back seat forward an inch and shone a penlight inside the trunk.

  For a full minute he studied the interior of the trunk in meticulous detail. Then he crouched and looked under the vehicle, working his way around the base. “I don’t see any obvious boobytraps.”

  Because even though she was already dead, if Caroline Perry had killed multiple Federal Agents, sh
e’d presumably be happy to take out a few more should the opportunity present itself.

  “Stand over by the trees,” Alex told them, but he was looking at her when he said it.

  She pressed her lips together but decided it wasn’t worth arguing about. She had a baby to protect.

  “Be careful,” she told him before moving thirty feet away. Maybe they should call the bomb squad, but Alex wouldn’t open the trunk if he seriously thought there was a threat. She spread her fingers over the baby bump, feeling the person inside stretch and wriggle.

  “What did you say he consulted about again?” the deputy asked.

  She huffed out a silent laugh as Alex carefully eased open the trunk. “Everything.”

  When Alex turned to face her, she knew he’d seen something of relevance.

  Inside the trunk was a Browning rifle complete with a hunting scope.

  “Is that the rifle used to shoot Agent Mortimer on Tuesday?” Mallory asked Alex.

  “Could be.”

  She’d bet on it.

  The flash went off as the police photographer recorded the evidence. Mallory turned away and walked down to the water’s edge. The opposite bank was reflected in the river. It was wide here, clear and shallow at the margins. Tiny fish darted away as her shadow fell across them.

  If Caroline Perry had killed herself, how had she done it? Got undressed and then walked out into the river and let the current take her? The drag marks suggested otherwise. It suggested the woman had been incapacitated, or dead, before going into the river.

  Mallory called Frazer even though it was a Saturday and he was home relaxing with Izzy. The FBI did not stop on weekends. “We found a rifle. We need a ballistic analysis on it straight away. I’m going to ask the local sheriff about a dog team to track some footprints. Someone should put a tail on Feldman—just in case.” Something about this whole thing wasn’t adding up. Mallory stared at the footprints walking away from the scene. “And another thing, find out what size feet the guy has.”

  Frazer laughed mockingly on the other end of the line. “Yes, Boss.”