“Does that include a scenario in which this shooter deliberately staged Van Stamos’s murder as a suicide so they could target mourners at his funeral? And the Bureau missed it?”
Sheridan coughed, dropping his hand away, cutting himself loose from any association.
“Kanas,” Aldrich warned.
She sent him a mutinous glare. Aldrich was an okay guy, but Van had been worth ten of him as an investigator.
“You think someone is actively targeting federal agents?” the man she thought she recognized from the academy asked.
“Any evidence of this?” This from the director.
She shook her head. All the evidence suggested Van had blown his own brains out, but she knew that wasn’t true. “No, but as you said, sir, we can’t afford to rule anything out.” She parroted the director’s own words back at him, hoping for a positive reaction. “We should definitely investigate every avenue.”
The expressions were all skeptical, except for the pregnant woman and the icy blond. Sheridan wore a slight smile. He could afford to, his career wasn’t on the line. The others looked annoyed. She’d broken protocol and upset the patriarchy.
The director gave her a look that told her how close to the line she was getting, but his words also gave her hope.
“It is a possibility we can’t afford to ignore,” he agreed. “Aldrich, go back over the files regarding Van Stamos’s death and look for anything suspicious. Submit your report directly to me. I will coordinate with the task force being set up to investigate this shooting.”
Ava doubted Aldrich would do more than a cursory investigation whereas she’d turn the world inside out and upside down looking for answers.
“I’d like to be the one reviewing the case, sir.” Ava winced, knowing it was a mistake as soon as the words left her mouth.
“That will be up to your supervisor, Agent Kanas,” the director said sharply, taking a step away from her. The FBI was all about procedure. He checked his watch. “I need to brief the president.” He stared hard at her then. “I do not want to hear your theory on any media channel or Twitter account. Am I clear, Agent Kanas?”
“Of course, sir.” She stood stiffly. Pissed. She was no more likely to leak the suggestion than anyone else here. Less, considering even the thought of Twitter made her gag. She was too antisocial for social media, not to mention too busy actively working cases.
The director nodded brusquely and stalked away, most of the suits following him in a swarm as he headed to his big black car.
Sheridan, the blond-haired man, and the pregnant woman remained behind. The woman held out her hand in greeting. “Agent Rooney. Nice to meet you, even though the circumstances suck.”
Ava pressed the other woman’s fingers in a firm grip. She’d heard of Mallory Rooney. Almost everyone in the Bureau had. Rooney was married to some shit-hot, ex-CIA dude, and worked for Lincoln Frazer, the legendary profiler from the Behavioral Analysis Unit—and Ava finally identified the blond man at Mallory’s side. Assistant Special Agent in Charge (ASAC) Lincoln Frazer had taught Ava all about the grisly aspects of serial murder during the blur of New Agent Training.
“What makes you think Van Stamos was murdered, Agent Kanas?” Frazer wasted no time on pleasantries.
“The fact he was a devoted Catholic who wanted to go to Heaven?”
Frazer looked unimpressed.
How did she articulate what she couldn’t explain herself? “Van believed he’d see his wife again in the hereafter. No way would he kill himself and deny himself that eternal happy ending.”
It sounded sappy, but it was true.
“So, no actual evidence?” Frazer’s gaze was assessing.
She straightened her spine. “Except the fact he was enjoying retirement and talked about visiting Italy and writing a book. Also, we were supposed to meet for coffee the next day.”
“People who commit suicide often make plans.” Frazer wasn’t known for his tolerance of foolish ideas, but she was disappointed he wasn’t more open.
“Van wasn’t depressed,” she said stubbornly.
“That we know of,” Sheridan put in.
She swung toward him. “He wasn’t, and you’d have known that if you’d bothered to pick up the phone occasionally.”
Sheridan’s lips tightened in irritation, but screw him.
“Van wouldn’t have done this to his daughters.” He wouldn’t have done it to me.
Sheridan’s stare grew too intense for her to hold his gaze. She looked away, but Frazer was watching her with the same hawk-like focus, silently dissecting her argument and abilities.
It reminded her of the way Sheridan had stared at her on that rooftop that morning. Like he could read her life experience from the lines on her face and memories scrawled behind her eyes. She’d given herself away to Sheridan, but she didn’t intend to make the same mistake again.
She forced herself to hold still under the scrutiny.
“Contact me at the BAU if your boss finds any discrepancies in the circumstances surrounding Stamos’s death, Agent Kanas. He was a good man. He didn’t deserve this and neither did Cal Mortimer.” Frazer squeezed Sheridan’s shoulder like they were buds. Mallory Rooney shot her a wry smile, then she and Frazer headed off to their car.
Ava was suddenly alone with Sheridan. They both stared at Van’s casket, the hot sun making her cheeks heat. The funeral was on hold until the crime scene was processed.
“You realize you could have handled that with more tact if you’d been driving a bulldozer?” Sheridan said softly.
She shoved her hands in her jacket pockets. “Because I said what I was thinking rather than sucking up to the big bosses?”
That slight smile touched his lips again, suggesting she amused him. Well fuck him.
“Because you made your boss look like a jackass who can’t control you and he’s gonna be pissed.”
She raised a brow as they eyed one another. It was beyond obvious Aldrich was a jackass and couldn’t “control” her.
“I only want the truth.” Ava crossed her arms over her chest, and he took in her body language with a sweeping gaze that saw everything she wasn’t saying. That she was pissed and frustrated and hurting. And maybe she was being too hard on her boss. Aldrich was harmless. He might be angry, but he wouldn’t screw with her career even though she’d just screwed with his.
Dammit.
Sheridan shifted even closer until his breath stroked her ear. “You need to be careful, Ava.” Her name on his lips sent a shiver of awareness down her spine. “Pulling a stunt like that in front of the director is going to get you a reputation as a blue flamer and that will lose you a lot of friends.”
Was he testing her for a reaction after what had happened on the roof? She lifted her chin, and they stared at one another. So close she could smell the scent of his skin and count the dark lashes around his eyes.
“The FBI is a team, and in this business, we need all the friends we can get—Van taught me that.” His gaze never wavered from hers.
“Kanas!” Aldrich shouted as he strode up behind them, making her startle. “What the hell was that? Are you trying to make me look like an imbecile?”
She winced.
Dominic Sheridan murmured again next to her ear. “Told you.” And then he turned and walked away. She watched him cross the road and climb into a black Prius, driving down the road and taking a right turn out of sight. Aldrich’s words bounced off her like hard rain. She looked over at Van’s coffin baking in the sun. What would her mentor have done if he’d been here? A small smile touched her mouth. He’d have done exactly what she’d done.
“Are we finished, sir?” She touched her injured cheek. “I’m feeling a little woozy.”
The man threw his hands in the air. She’d played her trump card, and he knew it.
“I want you in my office at eight o’clock tomorrow morning to talk about this, Ava. I’m serious. Do not be late.”
She almost snorted as sh
e walked away. Late? He was the one who kept bankers’ hours.
Circling the enormous crime scene took time and only increased the feeling of sweaty isolation she felt from her colleagues. Why was no one else buying the idea Van had been murdered? Was she deluding herself? Had they known him so much better than she had? Were her instincts nothing but heartbreak and wishful thinking?
She hadn’t been lying to Aldrich about feeling woozy though. She climbed into her Bucar and drank out of the water bottle she kept in the cupholder, placing a hand on her stomach which gurgled and groaned. The headache had grown and stabbed her brain like a knife in her skull. She popped a couple of pills from her purse with another mouthful of water and squeezed her eyes closed for a few seconds’ respite.
Another glance at the Evidence Recovery Technicians searching on their hands and knees through the wet grass made her more determined than ever to figure out the truth. Van hadn’t believed in coincidence. She saluted the coffin with a sad smile. “Don’t worry, Van. I’ve got your back.”
He’d tell her to keep digging until everything began to make sense—and right now nothing made sense. Not Van’s supposed suicide, not the shooter at his funeral, not the seeming indifference of his fellow agents, especially the one with intriguing dark blue eyes.
* * *
The Chief Negotiator of the FBI and his immediate boss, Unit Chief Quentin Savage, looked up from the report he was reading when Dominic walked into his office late that afternoon.
“Heard about the shooting.” Savage’s gaze was thorough and assessing. “Did you know the victim?”
Dominic sat heavily and rested his elbows on his knees. He’d showered and changed into a spare shirt and suit he kept in his go-bag. He’d thrown the bloodstained clothes in the garbage. “We were friends at the New York Field Office. The guy was married with kids.”
“I’m sorry.” Savage leaned back in his chair. “Do they have any idea as to the shooter’s identity or motive?”
Dominic shook his head. So far, they had a big fat zero. “I’d like permission to work the case.”
“Denied.”
Dominic looked up. “But—”
“I need you here, Dominic. We’re already overstretched, and you’re one of our best negotiators. Let the street agents deal with the murder investigation and if they need our services, they’ll call.”
Dominic opened his mouth to argue but then closed it again. Savage was right. The Crisis Negotiation Unit was highly specialized and perpetually overstretched. There were never enough agents. Never enough time.
“I understand if you need to take some personal days…” Savage let the statement hang even though he’d just made it impossible to ask for time off.
“I’m fine.” Dominic would have been more fine if some asshole hadn’t just shot dead one of his friends at his mentor’s funeral.
“Hey.” Charlotte Blood poked her head around Savage’s door, her expression a mass of sympathy. “I heard you’ve had a terrible day. You need anything?”
Dominic shook his head, knowing questions and concern were inevitable, but not ready to talk about what had happened or how he felt about it. He’d go see the Bureau shrink and do the mandatory hot wash and talk about his feelings. He’d tell the doc what she wanted to hear and get the all-clear. God knew, he’d visited a lot of shrinks growing up. He knew the drill.
“A bunch of us are going to grab a beer and dinner after work. You guys wanna join us? It might help to be around friends.” Charlotte was the bleeding heart of the unit, one who could bring stone-cold killers to their knees with a bit of active listening and emotional labeling. She’d honed empathy to the sharpness of a 14th Century Samurai blade and wielded it ruthlessly.
Quentin smiled at Charlotte, and she smiled back. She was somehow impossible to resist. If Dominic was ever in a tight corner that required a negotiator, he’d want Charlotte doing the talking. He pitied the guy she fell for because he wouldn’t stand a chance. For some inexplicable reason, his mind flashed to the image of Ava Kanas on that rooftop looking so isolated and aloof—the opposite of Charlotte’s all-encompassing warmth. He pushed the image aside. The inexperienced rookie was her own worst enemy.
“Unfortunately, I have to write my keynote for that conference in Indonesia next week,” Quentin grimaced. For all he was considered one of the best in the field of negotiation tactics, he did not enjoy the spotlight.
“What about you, Dominic?” Charlotte asked again.
“Not tonight, Char,” he told her. “I have some case files to catch up on.”
Quentin frowned at him. Charlotte’s smile dimmed.
“We’ll be there for a while. It’s Eban’s birthday. Join us if you get hungry or want company.” She sent him a worried look before she left which made him feel warm and guilty all at the same time.
Yup, the woman knew how to twist the heartstrings. And the fact she genuinely cared was why she got away with it, even with the most hardened criminals and hard-assed FBI personnel.
Dominic stood to leave.
“Where are we on the Alexander case?” Savage asked quickly.
The Alexanders were a retired couple whose dreams of sailing round the world had been shattered when they’d been kidnapped in the South China Sea five months ago.
It reminded Dominic he wasn’t the only person in the world having a bad day. “No new updates as of last night. The negotiator we have in the embassy in Jakarta has another week before his rotation ends.”
“See if he can hold off on his return for another week and meet me in Jakarta. I’ll get an onsite brief then. Then call State and see if there has been any update in the security situation in the region.”
“Gotcha.” Dominic was aware what his boss was doing. Keeping him busy. Not letting him dwell on the awful events of today.
He headed to his office two doors down, which he shared with another negotiator who’d just returned from secondment at SIOC at HQ.
Time was always the friend of the negotiator, wearing down kidnappers, stretching their resources, lowering their expectations. But for the hostages and their friends and family, every second of every hour had to be torturous, not knowing if their loved ones were alive and suffering, or already dead.
Dominic got on the phone to the State Department before everyone went home for the day. As he waited to be connected, he thought again about Ava Kanas, the way she’d flinched away from him when he’d gone to touch the injury on her cheek.
At some point someone had hit her hard enough to scar her. Was it an old injury from her childhood or something more recent? It made him furious, but she didn’t seem like the sort of woman who would want his sympathy or his pity.
He clasped the back of his neck as State put him on hold. There was definitely something about her that intrigued him. Maybe it was seeing that vulnerability combined with her bravery…not only when going after the shooter but in voicing her opinion in front of the director. That took balls.
Did she have a Charlotte in her life to make her feel better? Would her boss make sure she didn’t suffer any ill-effects from the shooting? Make her visit the Bureau shrink?
Van would’ve.
Would Aldrich?
Dominic tossed down his pen and rubbed his eyes as he was passed from person to person in Washington. There was probably a boyfriend on the scene to hold Kanas’s hand if she needed comfort. The idea sat sourly. Which was stupid. It wasn’t like he’d see her again and even if he did, he never dated agents and that went double for younger agents.
He laughed at his own ego. Who the hell said she’d look at him twice? She was a beautiful woman and might not even be into guys.
He pushed her out of his mind as he finished with State and then called Savage with an update. Then his cell rang and Dominic looked at the caller ID.
The Governor of Vermont was on the line.
He stared at the screen until eventually the call went to voicemail. Then he stood and grabbed his jacket. Mayb
e he needed that drink after all.
Chapter Three
The piece of paper on the table contained a list of ten names. Two had died of natural causes. One man’s cancer traced to his work at Ground Zero. Sad, yes, but only because he’d gotten off easy. Three names had already been crossed out this year. Each death had been deemed natural or accidental, including Van Stamos, whose suicide had been perfectly staged and made gratifyingly ugly.
A thick green marker was dragged over the name “Calvin Mortimer” with a sense of grim satisfaction. It had been a tossup, who to shoot. Only three names remained on the list, the most important being Dominic Sheridan. It had been tempting to put a bullet in him today, but like the man who’d succumbed to cancer, that would be letting him off easy. Sheridan deserved to suffer the most. The prospect of the slowly dawning horror he’d feel once he realized he was being hunted was extremely satisfying.
Carefully, the green marker was capped, the piece of paper folded and slipped into a desk drawer. Then the drawer was locked.
A phone rang in the distance. Revenge needed to be total, complete. A veritable masterclass in murder. Peter would be so proud.
Chapter Four
“Make Jennifer McCredie out of the San Francisco Field Office your lead negotiator, but don’t put her in first.” Dominic was talking to a police chief of a small town outside Sacramento where a man had holed himself up with his ex-wife, young son, and a smorgasbord of semi-automatic weapons. “Get one of the other negotiators to do some of the preliminary leg work. Get the man talking. Make him feel like you’re listening to his problems and that you care about what’s happening to him and no one is going to get hurt. After a few hours let Jennifer talk to him.” It would take her that long to arrive on scene anyway.
There was a pause on the other end of the line. “The guy shot a waitress at a fast food joint and seems to have a raging hatred of women. What makes you think he’ll want to talk to this Jennifer person?”
Dangerous To Love Page 3
