Had the results come in from tox screens yet? She didn’t know who to call to ask. Sheridan? It seemed like an imposition when she didn’t know if he was in a coma or worse. Texts were one thing, a phone call something else entirely. And if the tests confirmed narcotics in his bloodstream what was she gonna say? Sorry I helped destroy your career?
Should she call his boss? Hers?
Her cheeks burned at the thought. What right did she have to ask about his medical condition? What would they think?
Dammit. She smacked the steering wheel in frustration. She’d have been this concerned about anyone who’d been in a serious accident. She looked at her phone. The fact he was attractive had nothing to do with her worry, and she didn’t want anyone misinterpreting her concern. She closed her eyes, frustrated by her own indecision.
She put the Nissan in drive and headed back to the bar to see if anyone there remembered anything. After that, she’d head to the hospital and check on Sheridan’s condition. Because that’s what colleagues did.
* * *
The business card was handed over along with a fierce kiss.
“Two Feds were asking questions about that guy from last week. So, I slipped a cap of Liquid E into their drinks and passed the wreck of their car on the side of the road.”
Bernie’s fingers ran over the embossed circular shield on the business card. United States Department of Justice, Federal Bureau of Investigation, Critical Incident Response Group, Dominic S. Sheridan. The name “Dominic S. Sheridan” was printed in bold letters.
What did the “S” stand for?
A strange mixture of rage and grief hit. Questions raced. Heart pounded. “They’ll know it was you.”
“I created a distraction.” Caroline started undoing the buttons of her fitted black shirt and smiled as Bernie watched. Caroline was hot enough to melt glass and fucked like a rabbit even without GHB. “And I’m a very good liar.”
Caroline was a good liar. She was also horny. She was often horny when she came over at two in the morning. Bernie didn’t mind. Caroline thought she was the smart, streetwise one in the relationship, and Bernie didn’t mind that either.
The fact the FBI had started asking questions about Van Stamos’s last movements was concerning when there were three people still on the list left to kill. Perhaps they weren’t as dumb as they seemed.
“Are you sure he’s dead?”
“No.” Caroline undid her pants to reveal a matching lace thong. Hot as fuck. “But even if he’s not, he’s not going to be asking questions anytime soon.”
“You said two agents. Who was he with?”
Caroline shrugged. “Some woman. Didn’t get her card or her name.”
Stupid bitch.
Caroline had proved very useful, first as a fuck-buddy, and then with information that mobsters were running drugs out of the back of the bar where she worked. Bernie had let her stick around, spending more and more time here. Getting comfortable. Too comfortable.
“Ricky got pretty spooked when he found out they were Feds.” Caroline laughed.
Ricky was the manager of the bar. If the guy had a brain it was so small and so far up his ass it would probably be mistaken for his tonsils.
“He and the boys were going to move the coke tonight. Idiots. They should have cleared it all out last week after the other Fed blew his brains out.”
At Bernie’s request, Caroline had called Van down to the bar with the lure of information about the drugs. Then she’d slipped something into his beer.
Caroline’s glance turned sly. “Did I mention I came over last Tuesday night but you weren’t around?”
So Bernie’s CCTV camera had shown.
“I had a business meeting out of town.”
Caroline snorted. “Sure. You asked me to drug the guy but you never told me why. And then he turns up dead the next day…”
This was how shakedowns began.
Caroline held her hands high. “But I didn’t ask any questions.”
“I like women who don’t ask any questions.” Bernie ran a finger down the center of Caroline’s chest, hooked the black lacy pushup bra, and pulled her closer. A long, deep kiss had Caroline rubbing her whole body against Bernie’s.
Bernie pulled back. “How about I run you a nice hot bath so you can soak your poor aching feet. You did good tonight. I want to show you how grateful I am.”
Caroline’s smile was wide and sultry. “Only as long as you promise to join me.” She pouted prettily.
“I was planning to.”
Bernie arranged olives and a plate of cheese and crackers on a tray. Poured two glasses of Bollinger, adding a little something extra to Caroline’s glass.
Inside the en-suite of the master bathroom the mirrors had steamed up. Bernie turned the lights low.
Bubbles frothed everywhere as Caroline lay back against one side of the enormous tub. Bernie put the tray on the side. Within arm’s reach.
“Oh, my god, I could get used to this.” Caroline took the drink Bernie handed her. Then Bernie stripped, slowly, making it good and hot how women like Caroline liked it. Caroline watched with lust dancing in her eyes.
Bernie climbed in and straddled the naked woman. Their skin was slippery against one another.
Bernie picked up the other glass, and they chinked glasses and drank the lot in one go, laughing. Bernie poured more Champagne and dribbled liquid over Caroline’s shoulders and breasts. Licking it off was exactly the sort of attention Caroline craved. Bernie’s fingers dove lower, between shaved lips that were as hungry as Caroline’s mouth.
It didn’t take long to get her off. They both knew how the other liked it. Rough, fast, unrelenting.
“This is so good. I think I could do this all night.” Caroline sounded drunk now.
Bernie started over, giving her another orgasm before pulling her to lie stretched out on top. She jerked suddenly.
“Relax. I’ve got you.”
It took a few minutes for Caroline to go completely slack, her thighs floating in the water.
“So good,” she murmured as her mouth slid beneath the surface.
She struggled when she inhaled, but Bernie wrapped strong arms around her chest and pinned her legs. It wasn’t too hard to hold her securely beneath the bubbles.
After five minutes, Bernie got out of the tub and dried off.
Killing was the easy part. Getting rid of the body was always the challenge.
* * *
A steady “beep, beep” brought him slowly back to life. Dominic groaned and tried to raise his hand to his aching head, but someone gripped his wrist. He cracked open an eyelid and saw his boss standing there.
“Why don’t I get the good-looking nurse?” His voice bounced around in his throat.
“Some people think I’m good-looking.” Savage’s piercing gaze was intent on his face. “Rip out the IV and I’ll beat you with it.”
“Didn’t know you cared.” He huffed out a soft laugh and winced as pain radiated from his nose along his cheekbones. “I thought you were in DC? What happened?”
Savage pressed a button, presumably calling for the nurse. “You were in a car accident so I came straight back.”
“Car accident?” He had a vague recollection of loud noises and lots of pain.
“Tell me what you remember.”
Every time Dominic inhaled, he tasted blood. Nausea swirled in his stomach but the last thing he wanted to do was vomit in front of his boss. “Can’t this wait?”
“No.”
Damn. Dominic mentally ran through his day. He remembered going to Van’s house. Finding the footprints. Going for a drink with Ava Kanas at the bar Van had visited a week ago. He remembered arguing with Kanas, but couldn’t remember about what. Getting in his car… His eyes shot open. “Ranger. Is he okay?”
He tried to sit up, and pain exploded in pulsing waves along every nerve fiber. He fell back against the pillows in agony.
“Ranger is fine,” Savage assu
red him. “Agent Kanas took him to an emergency veterinary clinic to get him thoroughly checked. He’s still there I believe.”
“Kanas?” Dominic frowned in confusion. “She was at the crash scene? What was she doing there? Is she okay?”
“She said the two of you had met for a drink in a bar to talk about Van Stamos as you were both close to him.” Savage’s tone suggested he knew there was more to it than that. “On her way home, she heard on the scanner that a black Lexus had hit a telephone pole on 17. She swung around to make sure it wasn’t you. Unfortunately, it was. What do you remember?”
Dominic wasn’t sure. “Driving home and suddenly feeling really sleepy. Being barely able to keep my eyes open. I think I tried to pull over. Then nothing.” Maybe that was a blessing. Panic shot through him. “Did I hit anyone?”
“What did you have to drink?”
Drink? “Nothing.”
“Not even one beer?”
“Water.” He wanted water now as his throat was sore. The fact he’d woken up with a hangover that morning was why he hadn’t consumed any alcohol at the bar. He wasn’t a saint, but he did not drive while over the limit. He shook his head and tried to quench the resulting queasiness that swirled in his stomach.
“Drugs?”
What the fuck? “No, Quentin. You know me. I am not a drug user. Tell me no one else was hurt tonight. Tell me I didn’t hit anyone.” He didn’t think he could live with himself if he’d crashed into someone and injured them—killed them.
Savage pressed his lips together before replying. “You know I have to ask. No one else was involved in the accident, but the fire department had to cut you out of your vehicle. Your Lexus looks like someone took a giant can opener to it.”
Dominic didn’t care about the car. He could feel cuts on his legs and remembered the sound of a saw. Panic raced through him as he looked down and wiggled his toes. Relief surged inside when he saw them respond under the blankets.
His heart pounded.
A nurse entered the room. Flirted with Savage, took a few readings, adjusted his IV, and left again. She didn’t give them any answers.
“So, how bad am I?” Dominic asked.
“You were lucky.”
Dominic did not feel lucky.
“No broken bones, no internal injuries. A dislocated shoulder which they already re-set. Mild lacerations. Bruising—you are going to hurt like a sorry sonofabitch tomorrow.”
He hurt like a sorry sonofabitch today.
Savage frowned. “Like the nurse told you, doctors are running tests to rule out a brain aneurysm, but you seem okay to me and it strikes me there would be a lasting impact on your motor skills and cognitive abilities if you’d suffered that kind of trauma.”
Savage sat heavily in the single chair in the room. “Agent Kanas had another theory—one that she insisted the doctors run blood panels for immediately, so I hope to god you’re telling the truth about the alcohol and drugs.”
Dominic gritted his teeth. It seemed Ava Kanas had more faith in him than people he’d worked with for years. He was thirty-five years old and a respected federal employee. He wasn’t an asshole although those things weren’t necessarily mutually exclusive.
“Kanas thinks someone roofied your water at the bar.”
What?
“She said there was a fight?”
Dominic tried to clear the fog from the memory. “I maybe remember breaking up a bar fight.”
“Kanas thinks it might have been used as a distraction.”
Could she be right? Had he been drugged? It would explain the sudden onset and severity of the fatigue as well as the fact he was now awake with relatively minor injuries. He was thirsty. His voice was scratchy. He hurt like a bitch, but he was talking and his limbs more or less worked.
“Why would someone roofie my water?” Dominic asked.
“Why would someone roofie your water?”
“Don’t use that shit on me, Quentin. I’m too fucking tired and sore to deal with it right now.”
“Why were you really at that bar?”
Dominic closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. “I asked Agent Kanas to find out Van’s last movements.” Not technically true, but his career could weather a lot more storms than Ava’s could. “The bar was the last place he visited, that we know of, before he died, so we checked it out.”
“You’re investigating his death.” Savage’s tone was clipped.
“Double-checking some aspects. I also found footprints outside the window to his office and suggested to Ray Aldrich at the Fredericksburg RA that he get the Evidence Response Team out there again.”
“Why’d they miss it in the first place?” Savage asked.
They shouldn’t have. “Probably because it was such an obvious suicide, and no one wanted to list it as such. I don’t know,” Dominic said tiredly.
“Why would someone target you?”
“I don’t know if they did.” The pounding in his head wasn’t making it easy to think. “I identified myself as a Federal Agent to the waitress hoping she had information about Van. And again, to break up the bar fight. That’s the only time my drink was out of my sight. Perhaps someone in the bar didn’t like Feds.”
“It seems a lot of people lately don’t like Feds,” Savage observed. He was talking about Calvin Mortimer’s murder.
Dominic grunted. Was it possible the FBI was really that unpopular? With criminals and politicians maybe. Most law-abiding citizens were glad to have the Bureau’s assistance fighting bad guys. Did seem like a hell of a string of coincidences, or incredibly bad luck, or something else entirely…
“What about Agent Kanas? Do you trust her?” asked Savage.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“She’s ambitious. She could have been the one to drug your drink and then follow you home, waiting to act as savior—assuming you survived…”
“Ava Kanas couldn’t care less about being anyone’s savior.” She was driven by the love of a good man and a determination to get to the truth. “I trust her.” Dominic tried to open his mouth to defend her further, but his tongue refused to cooperate. The nurse must have given him another dose of sedative. That pissed him off. He drifted off wondering how Ranger was and whether or not Kanas was okay. He hoped so. He really hoped so.
Chapter Ten
Lights were on inside the Mule & Pitcher. Despite the “closed” sign in the window, Ava tried the front door and was surprised to find it unlocked. All the stools were up on the tabletops, and the floor was wet after a recent mopping.
Three guys sat drinking at the bar. The manager was at the till, the machine spitting out totals. He looked up at her with an “oh, shit” expression.
“I thought that door was locked.” He raised his voice over the din the register was making and gave one of the men sitting at the bar a glare. “What can I do for you, Agent…?”
The atmosphere grew increasingly tense as Ava slid onto a bar stool. Finally, the cash register finished churning out data and silence reverberated around the room in the aftermath. “This a private party?”
“A couple of friends are keeping me company while I cash out,” the manager answered.
“Huh.” This might be the leverage she needed to get him to hand over the surveillance tapes for tonight and a week ago when Van had come here.
“What’s your name?” She turned to one of the men peering into his beer. She watched him debate whether or not to tell her the truth.
“Bo.” He had a deep voice. Nice enough face.
“You know Lanny Gardner, Bo?” she asked.
He shrugged one lean shoulder. “Lanny? Sure. He’s a regular.”
“He beat up all his girlfriends?”
Bo huffed out a laugh and shook his head, but she didn’t trust his pretty blue eyes. “I don’t know anyone who beats up women.”
“Is that a fact?” She raised one thoroughly disbelieving eyebrow. One of her mother’s boyfriends had once casually punched her
in the face before holding her against a wall and sticking his hand down her pants. Fingering her as if he had the right to do whatever the hell he wanted to her body. As if he’d owned her.
She’d been thirteen.
He’d been too drunk to do anything worse. She’d waited for him to fall asleep on the couch and then held the sharpest knife they owned against his throat. Every time he’d exhaled it had bit into his flesh. It had taken him a long time to notice, to wake up. By that time blood was running down his neck in rivulets and had soaked the collar of his shirt.
She’d told him which part of his body she’d cut off in his sleep if he ever touched her again. He’d run out of the apartment, screaming that she was insane.
Afterwards she’d told her mother, and her mother had called Van. He’d arranged to have an FBI agent pay the guy a visit. Van had been watching out for Ava for a very long time.
The bar manager put an open bottle of beer on the counter in front of her with a heavy clunk. Ava eyed it warily. Everything about this felt wrong. At Feldman’s she’d been reacting to preconceived notions and pop culture fear. Here her instincts were crawling all over her nerves and screaming that she’d screwed up. She hadn’t told anyone where her next stop was going to be after she’d questioned Feldman. She hadn’t expected anyone to still be working in the bar much less for the front door to be open.
It crossed her mind that the waitress could have spiked her and Sheridan’s drinks, and that the bar fight could have simply been a distraction so Caroline wasn’t the only suspect.
Ava hadn’t finished the beer she’d left on the table. Sheridan had finished his water when she’d been over talking to Lanny Gardner.
Had the manager seen them questioning the waitress? Did he have something to hide? Had Van suspected the bar was the site of something illegal? Was that why he’d been here in the first place? Had these people been involved in his death?
Lots of questions and no answers except for the beads of sweat starting to form between her shoulder blades.
Ava wrapped her hand around the neck of the bottle wishing she weren’t so impulsive. Van had tried to curb the habit, but she’d never quite got the hang of caution. Apparently, she only learned lessons the hard way.
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