His gaze went back to Calvin lying motionless on the wet grass. The perfect target. Dammit. Dominic couldn’t leave the guy exposed like that. The distant scream of sirens sliced the air.
He looked around and locked gazes with Ava Kanas who had drawn her weapon. She tipped her head toward Calvin. Dominic nodded, tucking his weapon back in its holster before sprinting from behind the headstone, expecting a bullet for his trouble.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kanas dodge from one tree to another, hopefully drawing the shooter’s attention away from him for a few precious moments. His ragged breath and the loud beat of his heart reverberated in his ears. He hauled Calvin up and over his shoulder, never hesitating even as a bullet bounced off a grave marker nearby.
Dammit.
Dominic ran for cover, holding tight to the man, hoping like hell he wasn’t doing more harm than good. He laid Calvin carefully on the ground behind the engine block of the nearest vehicle.
Another shot rang out, splintering wood inches from where Ava Kanas sheltered. She raised her Glock and took aim, but whoever was firing the long gun was well out of range, and Kanas resisted returning fire and potentially injuring innocent civilians.
Cool under pressure. He admired that.
He turned his attention back to the wounded man. Calvin didn’t seem to be breathing, and there was a bullet hole on the right side of his chest close to his heart. It looked bad, and the basic first aid Dominic knew wasn’t nearly sufficient enough to deal with this situation.
“Let me through.” One of the mourners crawled toward him. “I’m a trained RN. Let me in.”
Dominic tapped the man crouched beside him on the shoulder. “What’s your name?”
“Richard.”
“Help the nurse, Richard. Try to keep this man alive until the ambulance arrives.”
The man nodded, and the nurse started working to stem the blood flowing from the wound, before moving on to chest compressions.
Calvin had lost a lot of blood.
Dominic scanned the area. Most people were keeping safely out of the line of fire. There had been a short lull in the shooting. Dominic didn’t know whether the gunman was waiting to pick off anyone foolish enough to give them a clean target or if he was making his escape. It all depended on the shooter’s endgame.
A few agents closer to Van’s casket were working their way gingerly toward where the shots had come from, but they were going to be hampered by a wide-open piece of ground they’d have to cross to get there. Dominic glanced at Calvin’s blanched features. Blood covered the man’s shirt, and Dominic’s. The clock was ticking for his survival, and the bastard who shot him might be getting away.
“Stay down until local police tell you to move. I need to make sure the shooter is no longer a threat before the ambulance will be allowed in.”
As he spoke, Agent Kanas took off sprinting down the road behind him, using the line of parked vehicles as some measure of cover.
Shit.
Dominic ran after her, half expecting a barrage of gunfire. Neither of them had body armor, but there was no way he’d sit around while another agent attempted to tackle the gunman alone.
She was fast, but he was faster. He caught her as she reached the road, and they raced across four lanes of traffic together, dodging oblivious drivers who honked their horns at the two handgun-wielding lunatics. He heard the screech of brakes and hoped the shooter wasn’t poised in a position to take out innocent civilians who stumbled onto the scene.
The idea of being in the crosshairs pissed him off, but not as much as having one of his colleagues shot in front of him.
“Did you see where the gunshots came from?” Dominic shouted at Kanas as they sprinted full out.
He glanced at her face. Blood dribbled down her cheek. His mouth went dry. She’d been only inches from death.
“I saw muzzle-flash on the roof of a low, yellow-brick apartment block two streets over.”
“You okay?” he asked quickly.
“Yeah.”
Dominic concentrated on doing his job. Ava Kanas was a trained professional same as he was. Still running, he hooked his creds on his belt not wanting to get nailed by a local cop mistaking him for the gunman. Kanas did the same.
They hit the main street, dodging pedestrians.
“Active shooter,” Dominic shouted. “Find somewhere to shelter and don’t come out until the cops tell you it’s safe.”
“This is it.” Kanas’s lungs were bellowing by the time they reached a century-old building.
“Get behind me.” He held his pistol high and waited for Kanas to fall into position with her gun barrel pointed at the ground. They went through the apartment building’s unlocked front door, falling back on basic training to start clearing the area—training Dominic hadn’t used since transferring to the Crisis Negotiation Unit five years ago.
“You take the stairs, I’ll take the elevator.” Kanas’s voice was hoarse. At least he wasn’t the only one out of breath.
“No. We stick together and take the stairs.” The idea of being trapped in a tin can while someone opened up on them with unknown firepower… Nightmare scenario.
Her eyes narrowed in disapproval, but he was the senior agent on the scene and she had to follow orders. Another reason he loved the FBI. They cautiously opened the door to the stairwell and went quickly up, clearing each flight, fluidly covering one another against potential threats.
At the top of the stairs, they paused at the door that led onto the roof. His heart hammered, sweat slick on his body, as he deliberately slowed things down to prepare for whatever lay beyond. It could be anything, from an innocent bystander to a terrorist, to a person experiencing a mental breakdown to a gangbanger with a grudge. This whole scenario might be a trap to lure law enforcement officials to their death. He glanced at Kanas. He did not want to lose another agent today.
He wiped his brow on the shoulder of his jacket, forcing himself to ignore the stark reality of Calvin Mortimer’s blood vivid on his white shirt.
They used hand signals to communicate which direction to go. Dominic eased open the heavy fire door, but stood clear. The most important thing was to get through the portal quickly as it made them easy targets. It wasn’t called a fatal funnel for nothing.
He and Kanas exchanged a look as they waited. No shots were fired. He couldn’t hear anything beyond the sounds of traffic and distant police sirens.
Dominic counted down with his fingers and stepped through the doorway, hooking right as he swept his gaze and weapon over his section of the rooftop. Kanas simultaneously went left and did the same. They moved swiftly, circling the heating vents and maintenance hut, working in formation as if they’d practiced together for years. They made a good team, seamlessly following each other’s lead.
The roof was clear.
Neither of them dropped their guard. They scanned nearby rooftops in case they were mistaken about where the bullets had originated or the sniper had moved.
There was no one to be seen, but then snipers weren’t always obvious.
“You sure this was the place?” Dominic asked finally, catching his breath.
Kanas bristled. Clearly the woman did not like her word being questioned.
“I’m sure.”
That was good enough for Dominic. “We need to call in uniforms to help canvass this whole area.”
They walked to the southwest corner of the roof—the area with the best view of the graveyard.
Both kept their eyes peeled for footprints or other evidence but the gritty surface of the flat roof revealed no obvious evidence.
Sunlight gleamed off something brassy on the ground beside some litter.
Dominic photographed the bullet casing with his phone before popping it into a plastic evidence bag. The sooner they got that to the lab the better.
He dialed an agent on the ground. “Shooter’s in the wind. We need this building cleared and secured. The other rooftops in the area al
so need to be checked, roadblocks set up. Send an evidence response team to this roof.” He waved his arm in case they didn’t know his exact position. “How’s Calvin?”
The answer made him close his eyes and draw in an unsteady breath. He hung up without saying another word.
“He didn’t make it?” Kanas asked.
Dominic ran his hand over his face and shook his head. Calvin had a wife and two kids in high school.
“You were friends?” she asked.
He nodded again, the lump in his throat expanding until it was too big to talk around.
“I’m sorry.”
She was beautiful close up, her expression warm with concern, skin smooth and fine—except for the cut on her cheek with its ugly smear of blood. He raised his hand to check the wound, and she flinched away, arms coming up in instinctive defense.
They both froze.
His gaze narrowed and lifted to the scar that rode the delicate arch of her right eyebrow. She held herself with poised readiness. Not just the wariness of a law enforcement professional, but the hyperawareness of someone who’d been a victim.
“You’re bleeding.” He was careful to keep his tone neutral as something hot and virulent surged through his blood. He wanted to ask what had happened, but it wasn’t his business and this wasn’t the time.
She raised her hand to her cheek. “It’s just a scratch.”
He nodded, and they both pretended she hadn’t given away something important. They holstered their weapons, and he watched her out of the corner of his eye as she rested both hands on her hips, staring intently at the tiny figures in the graveyard a quarter of a mile away.
“I told you there was something hinky with Van’s death,” she said as they watched as ambulances arrived on scene.
He frowned. “This might not be connected.”
Her expression raked him with so much scorn he almost laughed. Almost. Because a few minutes ago someone had opened fire at his best friend’s funeral and shot dead a good man, endangering countless others.
Someone had murdered a fellow member of the FBI, and there was nothing even remotely funny about that.
Chapter Two
Peroxide seared the small cut on Ava’s cheek. The fumes made her eyes sting and her brain hurt. She’d come close to dying today but hadn’t had time to process that yet. She’d been too pumped up on adrenaline. Too focused on doing her job. The aftermath left her shaken, but she didn’t have time to fall apart—that could come later when she was alone in her apartment.
The paramedic paused before applying a butterfly bandage to her cheek.
“You okay?”
She nodded.
He smoothed the bandage over the ragged edges of the cut and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Looks clean. I doubt it’ll scar. You’ll be fine.”
Ava forced out a shaky laugh. “I hope so. Death by splinter. The FBI would kick me out for sure.”
“Where’d you get this one?” He indicated the small puckered scar on her right eyebrow. It was the second time today someone had noted that childhood injury.
“Kickboxing.” She touched it. The image of flying across her father’s office flashed through her mind. “Didn’t move fast enough.” At least that part was true.
“You were fast enough to dodge that bullet today.”
“Ha. Got lucky I guess.” Training was one thing, but not enough to outrun a bullet. Being shot at definitely wasn’t her favorite feeling in the world, but she hadn’t had time to be scared on a conscious level. She’d just wanted to make it stop. “Thanks for the patch job. Be sure to tell your colleagues how much we appreciate their hard work.”
The EMT smiled slightly as he finished cleaning her up.
It was a miracle Calvin Mortimer had been the only fatality here today. Others had been hurt in the chaos and rush to safety. Twisted ankles. Nasty gashes. One woman had suffered a suspected cardiac arrest.
Ava sympathized. Her own heart had pounded so hard she’d thought it was going to explode.
“It’s what we do.” The paramedic’s eyes held an amused sort of interest. He was good-looking in a dark, smoldering kind of way and reminded her of a boyfriend from her beat-cop days. Another time and she might have asked him out on a date, but she had other priorities.
“Thanks again.” She ditched the gauze she was holding and searched the crowd for Supervisory Special Agent Dominic Sheridan.
There. Standing beyond Van’s casket. She hopped off the step on the back of the ambulance and headed toward him. Sheridan was speaking to her boss, Ray Aldrich, and a bunch of suits while Evidence Recovery Technicians combed the area for slugs embedded in the ground or in tree trunks.
She eyed Sheridan as she skirted around the crime scene tape to the high-powered huddle. He was an attractive guy in his mid-thirties. Tall with brutally short, dark hair, and a strong jawline. It was his eyes that grabbed her. The irises were a rich indigo that saw way too much. She cringed at what she’d given away on that rooftop that morning—things she never revealed to anyone. Things she’d spent most of her life trying to hide. He’d caught her at a weak moment. She’d be better prepared in the future.
Van had always sung Sheridan’s praises, but she doubted he’d been talking about the broad shoulders, slim hips or brooding persona.
Van…
Her lungs squeezed, and the pain in her heart was a reminder he was never coming back. Van Stamos had been her idol and mentor, the person who’d inspired her to join the Bureau. More importantly, he’d been her friend. He’d had faith in her abilities and in her strength of character. He hadn’t cosseted her. He’d pushed and let her push back. Challenged her to be her very best.
Thanks to Van’s support, she had more experience and arrests to her credit than any of her graduating class in their first office assignments. He’d given her that. Given her an advantage within the Bureau because he’d believed in her. He’d always believed in her.
And today he was being buried in a furtive rush as if the world was ashamed of him. The man deserved a heroic sendoff befitting a veteran agent who’d dedicated his whole life to the FBI with unfailing loyalty. Instead he got this dismal dirge.
Kill himself?
Van would never kill himself, and she intended to prove it. He’d been there for her when she’d needed him, now she’d be there for him. She wouldn’t let him down.
Ava strode toward the higher ups, determined someone was going to listen to what she had to say even if it made her unpopular.
She was used to being unpopular.
A headache was starting to grow, gnawing at her energy reserves but if she didn’t do this now, she’d lose momentum, not to mention her nerve. She approached the group, doing her best to be inconspicuous, but these people were all high-level FBI personnel. They stopped talking as soon as she came within earshot and waited as SSA Sheridan introduced her.
“This is Agent Kanas.” His voice was soft and dark and caressed her skin like a velvet fingertip.
Get a grip, Ava.
“She spotted the shooter’s firing position and created a distraction at great risk to herself while I tried to…hmm.” Sheridan’s voice cracked. “…tried to move Calvin to safety.”
He’d braved the line of fire while others had hidden in fear.
“Good work,” said the man standing closest to her right.
“Thank you.” She looked up and her eyes widened. “Sir.” She was standing a few inches from the Director of the FBI. “I-I was just doing what I’d been trained to do, sir. I wish we’d caught the guy.” She glanced at Sheridan. If he’d let her take the elevator, they might have cornered the shooter on the roof.
Sheridan calmly held her gaze as if he could read her mind. It wasn’t a feeling she appreciated.
“He won’t get far,” the director assured her. “We have the full weight of the FBI behind this. Teams of agents are scouring the area for evidence and canvassing the neighborhood. Hopefully traffic cams can h
elp us identify all the vehicles in the vicinity and we can get a name.”
Ava braced her hands on her waist. “Could the shooter have anything to do with Van Stamos’s death, sir?” She eyed the coffin sitting in the sunshine. Van would have been amused by his front row seat at the proceedings. One final case in his illustrious career.
The director frowned and Ray Aldrich jumped in. “Stamos’s death was deemed accidental.”
The headache pressed against Ava’s forehead, but she ignored the pain. No one believed it was “accidental.”
A third man Ava didn’t recognize mused. “Maybe the shooter saw Stamos’s obituary and figured it was a prime opportunity to take aim at the FBI, knowing other agents would be in attendance?”
“Or maybe Calvin Mortimer was targeted specifically,” said another man.
Ava clenched her hands into fists, holding back emotions that wanted to leak.
One of the men standing there, a classically handsome, chisel-jawed superior, watched her with a keen, icy blue gaze. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t place him. From the academy maybe? A heavily pregnant brunette stood beside him, resting a palm on her swollen abdomen. She was armed.
Ava wished she knew who these people were but could hardly demand they identify themselves. Technically, for the next few weeks, she was still a rookie, while these guys probably had over a hundred years’ service between them.
The director nodded. “We can’t afford to rule anything out at this stage.”
To Ava, that sounded like a brush off. She opened her mouth to share her theory about Van’s death when a sharp tug on her jacket sleeve stopped her.
It was Sheridan. She glanced at his face, but he wasn’t looking at her. The guy was subtly trying to tell her to stay quiet. Dammit, this might be her only opportunity. She didn’t have a direct line to the director and doubted she’d ever again be this close to him in the flesh. She wasn’t going to waste this chance because someone she barely knew thought she should shut up.
Dangerous To Love Page 2
