Dirty Money (A Chase Adams FBI Thriller Book 5)

by Patrick Logan

  She didn’t even notice him.

  Stitts ignored the clerk at the front desk and then sprinted to his car.

  “Go,” he told himself. “Put the fucking key in the ignition and leave. Go back to Director Hampton, tell him that Chase isn’t interested in her job back. Tell him that you want a new partner.”

  As he pulled another cigarette out and pressed the lighter in the dash, his eyes fell on the folder on the passenger seat.

  He almost burned it; when the cigarette lighter popped, he almost put it to the folder instead of his cigarette.

  Instead, he lit his smoke and then opened the folder.

  Inside were all of Chase’s MRI exams, past and present.

  Stitts knew then that he couldn’t do both; he couldn’t tell Chase about what Beckett had said and ask her back into the Bureau.

  I promised never to lie to her again, but last time the truth nearly broke her. What would it do to her this time?

  He closed his eyes tightly, letting the tendrils of warm cigarette smoke drift up his nose. To his surprise, an image of his father, teary-eyed as he’d never seen him before, came to mind.

  As did the man's words.

  If you really love someone, don’t ever let them go.

  "Fuck it," he said, shoving the folder into the glove box. Before slamming it closed, he grabbed another folder and Chase’s badge and gun and pulled them out.

  Stitts stepped back into the rain and flicked his spent cigarette butt.

  “Fuck it,” he said again as he started back toward Grassroots.

  As he made his way back to his partner.

  Chapter 18

  Chase never even heard him coming. She was so engrossed in the book, that it wasn't until the figure blocked part of the light from the doorway that she raised her eyes. Her first instinct was that it was Louisa.

  But when she saw his perfectly coiffed hair and the boyish grin, she knew better.

  "Stitts?" she exclaimed, leaping to her feet. "What the fuck—what the fuck are you doing here?"

  She went for a hug, but Stitts's hands were behind his back.

  “Nice to see you, too.”

  Stitts laughed.

  “I just came to congratulate you,” he said, bringing one hand forward. “You’ve graduated.”

  Chase gave him a look and then took the folder from him and opened it. It took her all of three seconds to realize what it was. It was an FBI file describing an assassinated Senator, and it was dated an hour ago.

  She looked up.

  "What the fuck is this? Stitts?"

  Stitts pulled his other hand from behind his back and showed her badge and gun.

  “Dr. Matteo gave me a call, told me how well you were doing. I managed to pull some strings—well, it wasn’t all me; your rich sugar daddy in Vegas had something to do with it—so I come bearing good news: if you want your job, you’ve got it. If a cat has nine lives, Chase, you’ve got a million."

  Chase suddenly stopped smiling.

  This was… unexpected, to say the least.

  She’d turned a corner on her old life. With Dr. Matteo’s help, Chase was able to move on and the prospect of starting over had become a potential reality. This was in part fueled by the fact that she’d burned so many bridges that going back was impossible… or so she’d thought.

  "Chase? Are you okay? I didn't mean to—"

  "They'll really have me back?" she asked.

  It seemed unbelievable, even with Stitts and Stu Barnes’ influence. She’d lied, she’d cheated, she’d broken not just FBI rules but the law—federal and multiple state laws.

  “How? Why?”

  Stitts shrugged and grinned.

  "A million lives, Chase. A million lives."

  Chase tapped the badge on her palm and lowered her gaze.

  A million lives but I'm stuck living the same one over and over again.

  Stitts sighed.

  "Chase, I didn't mean to barge in on you like this. If it's too much, I completely understand. I mean—"

  Chase looked up at her partner. His expression was serious.

  I tried to exercise control by sleeping with men, injecting heroin, and throwing myself at my job, she thought, rising to her feet.

  “Promise me one thing?” she said.

  Stitts nodded.

  “Anything.”

  “If you call me ma’am or try to protect me, even once, I get to punch you in the dick.”

  Stitts grinned so widely that his entire face almost split.

  “You got it,” he chuckled. “So long as you keep on those gloves. What’s with those things, anyway?”

  Chase shrugged.

  "I'm channeling my inner Madonna and Michael Jackson."

  Before he could ask any more questions, she reached out and hugged him tightly.

  Stitts hugged her back.

  "I missed you," he said in her ear.

  Chase pulled away and crinkled her nose.

  "I didn’t miss your old man cigarette stench.”

  Stitts laughed again and started out of the room. Chase followed, only to hesitate in the doorway and look back.

  I used to have sex with men, inject heroin, throw myself at my job.

  With a sigh, she hurried after her partner.

  "Two out of three ain't bad, Chase,” she said under her breath. “Two out of three ain't bad."

  PART II – Assassination

  Chapter 19

  Chase flipped through the file on her lap as Floyd sped down the streets of Washington, DC.

  Senator Tom DeBrusk, shot twice in the chest, dead before he even slumped to the ground outside a Dunkin’ Donuts. In broad daylight no less, with more than two dozen witnesses, none of whom saw anything other than a low flying drone.

  "I'm guessing that ATF is already going to be there?" she said, pulling her head out of the file.

  Stitts nodded.

  "The ATF and the Secret Service," he said glumly. “Plus, Homeland and the DoJ can’t be far behind.”

  Chase nodded, recalling a story her partner had told her about his past difficulties with multi-agency cases.

  Something about a bank robber with a bomb wrapped around his neck.

  "Great. None of the witnesses know where the shots came from?" she asked.

  "Nope. They didn’t even hear them, they just saw him slump to the ground. Like it says in the file, there was a drone really close to the scene, but it’s been confirmed that the bullets didn’t come from it."

  Chase raised an eyebrow.

  “Seriously? These drones can fire bullets? I mean, I know the military has them, but ones that people can just buy?”

  Stitts shook his head.

  “No, but I wouldn’t put it past some nutcase to modify one so that it can fire.”

  "A-a-a-gent A-a-adams?" Floyd said from the driver’s seat.

  Chase raised her eyes from the folder and stared at Floyd in the rear-view mirror. Having him around was a breath of fresh air and she was incredibly grateful that the man had responded to Stitts’s call.

  They’d only spent a couple of days together in Alaska, but that was plenty long enough for her to come to a decision about him: the man was honest, dependable, and a decent human being. All of which seemed in short supply these days.

  It was a no-brainer for her to ask the man to come along and lend a hand.

  "Yeah? What’s up?”

  "There's a strict no fly policy for drones over W-w-w-washington. In fact, most ma-ma-major cities have restrictions."

  Chase nodded, noting that Floyd’s stutter was almost non-existent when he spoke about mechanical objects. She’d noticed this in Alaska, too, when he spoke about trains.

  She flipped through the folder until she came across a grainy image taken from a local CCTV camera. She turned it around and showed Floyd the drone.

  "Even something like this? Looks like a toy."

  Floyd looked up.

  "Well, it is kind of a t-t-toy, but a real eh-eh-eh
-expensive one. That’s a top of the l-l-line personal drone. Costs almost two-thousand dollars. It can fly up to fifty miles and hour and has a range of more than five miles.” than 5 miles."

  Chase looked over at Stitts, an eyebrow raised.

  Stitts shrugged.

  She knew that Floyd knew trains, but she hadn’t known that he was a wealth of knowledge about drones, too.

  Floyd must've picked up on the exchange in the backseat because he suddenly flushed.

  "I-I-I l-l-liked trains and hel-hel-helicopters as a b-boy. D-drones are like the best of b-both worlds.”

  Chase was about to leave it at that, especially considering that they were approaching a state trooper wearing a yellow vest when she thought of something.

  "Floyd, can you do me a favor? What I know about drones, I can fold into a blade of grass… are these things registered? Like with the FAA or something? Do the owners have meetups, that sort of thing?"

  "I d-don’t know about registering, but there are a bunch of online clubs and groups.”

  "Think you can look into that for me? See if there are any local groups around here? I'm sure the ATF is already on it, but just in case."

  Floyd's face lit up.

  "Yes, of c-c-course, A-a-agent Adams. No p-p-problem."

  Stitts offered her curious expression but didn’t say anything. The state trouper knocked on their window, and Stitts rolled it down and flashed his badge.

  The trooper nodded and indicated to a parking spot just inside the taped-off area.

  "Secret Service and ATF have been waiting for you. They’ve set up a mobile command center right over there.”

  Stitts frowned and tapped Floyd on the shoulder.

  “You get that?”

  “Yep,” Floyd said, pulling into the designated spot.

  “Alright, here we go,” Chase said under her breath as she stepped out of the car and attended her first crime scene in more than six months.

  Chapter 20

  "You really think that's a good idea? Getting Floyd involved like that?" Stitts asked as they flashed their badges and ducked under the crime scene tape.

  Chase shrugged.

  "Why not? It’ll give him something to do. Besides, Dr. Matteo said I needed to start asking others for help, letting someone else take control for once.”

  Stitts rolled his eyes.

  "Yeah, I don't think that's what he meant."

  "There you go again, Armchair Psychologist, Dr. Jeremy Stitts."

  Stitts opened his mouth to say something, but Chase hustled ahead and held out her hand the first man in a suit that she came across.

  "FBI Special Agent Chase Adams and this my partner Special Agent Jeremy Stitts," she said. The man, a thick fellow with a pink face and broad features, looked at her gloved hand curiously and then glanced over at Stitts. Eventually, he shook Chase’s hand.

  "Special Officer Tanner Pratt, Secret Service,” he introduced himself with a flat affect. The man’s hand was so big that it completely swallowed hers. She pulled it free and then looked past him.

  In the distance, she could see where the Senator's vehicle was parked and noted that both the front and rear doors were open. She could also see a trail of loose sheets of paper leading from the car to a slumped form covered in a white blanket up against a Dunkin' Donuts.

  "Agents, we’re setting up small mobile command center over here. I can debrief you inside. The press is already all over this.”

  Chase ignored SO Pratt and started toward the crime scene. The man’s large hand shot out, blocking her path.

  "The command center is over there," he informed her.

  Chase stared at the man’s hand until he eventually pulled the back.

  "It's best if you just let her go," Stitts said quietly. “Trust me on this one.”

  SO Pratt raised an eyebrow.

  "Yeah," Stitts continued as Chase made her way towards Senator DeBrusk’s body, "You're better off just letting her do her own thing."

  ***

  As she moved, Chase’s eyes drifted all about, taking in the scene, paying particular attention to the sky where the drone had been spotted.

  Based on just the limited information that Floyd had shared about drones, she knew that it had a role to play in this. She had no idea what role but didn’t get bogged down on the details.

  Instead, she just let her mind wander, allowed her subconscious to take in the entire scene.

  Most of the papers on the sidewalk had a bullet hole in the center, but she didn’t bother reading them. Chase had to do a little dance to make sure she didn’t step on them as she made her way to the body. There were maybe a half-dozen Crime Scene techs milling about, but they didn’t seem to notice her. She moved so fluidly among them that it was almost like she was part of the scene itself.

  There was blood on the sidewalk; two individual splatter patterns that were indicative of blowback. Judging by the size of the spray, Chase ascertained that a high-caliber rifle was probably the murderer’s weapon of choice.

  She didn’t go directly to the covered body. First, she walked up to the glass and observed the interior of the Dunkin' Donuts. It was well lit, and there were dozens of half-empty coffee mugs and donuts sitting on tables, and there were jackets and purses strung over the back of chairs, but there was nobody inside.

  Secret Service must've taken them out the back door, she thought. A quick glance to her left revealed that Senator DeBrusk had collapsed in front of the door, blocking the exit. It would have taken only seconds before those trapped inside panicked thinking that a masked gunman was going to descend on them.

  They must have left out the back and once the police arrived, what was left became evidence.

  She doubted if the Crime Scene Unit would find anything of value inside the Dunkin’s.

  Chase looked skyward one more time, and then sucked in a deep breath. The air was surprisingly clean and crisp, suggesting that the area that the police had cordoned off was substantial. She realized that she could barely hear any cars, let alone smell them.

  Having gotten all that she could from the surroundings, Chase finally turned her attention to the sheet covering Tom DeBrusk. She was already wearing gloves, but they wouldn’t do in this situation. After peeling off the right one, she took a purple lab glove out of her pocket and gripped it in her hand like a cloth. Then she reached out and pulled the sheet off Senator DeBrusk.

  There was no telling how many dead bodies Chase had seen in her time. Two dozen, maybe three. And yet, every time she saw one, she still got a sickly feeling the pit of her stomach.

  Tom DeBrusk was a large man, with receding brown hair and ears that stuck out from his head.

  He might have been one of the most powerful men in Washington DC when he was alive, but here, in this pose, with his mouth slack and his chin tucked into the chest, he looked like everybody else. A common folk.

  Death, the ultimate equalizer.

  Chase teased the white sheet down another foot until she saw the two blooms of blood, one on his suit jacket just below the chest pocket, and one on his dress shirt.

  The fingers on the man’s right hand were curled as if he’d been holding something at the time of his death, but they were now empty.

  She closed her eyes and pictured the images she’d looked through from the local CCTV camera. Sure enough, she recalled that Tom DeBrusk had been holding a folder to his chest when he’d been shot, which would explain the sheets of paper on the ground around her.

  Where that folder went, was another question.

  Chase took a deep breath and then put the purple lab glove back in her pocket. But instead of replacing the one she’d taken off, she reached for the senator with her bare fingers.

  A second before Chase touched his skin and transported herself into Tom DeBrusk's world, a hand came down on her shoulder.

  Chase withdrew pulled back and looked up at a young man sporting gold-rimmed spectacles and blond hair that was slicked to his scalp. />
  "Two rounds, probably Lapua Magnum," the man said without even bothering to introduce himself. "If I had to guess the gun? I’d put my money on an M24 Sniper."