Backlash

by Rachel Dylan

  Zane walked Cass up to her house. They’d gone back and forth about a DEA safe house, but for tonight, Cass had stood her ground and wanted to go home. That meant Zane needed to check it out and satisfy himself that it was secure. There was no way he’d be able to sleep tonight without making sure his partner was safe.

  “I’ll be fine, Zane. I appreciate your concern, but it appears Layla is target number one.”

  He grabbed her arm before she opened the door. “Wasn’t Diaz target number one?”

  She frowned. “Yes, and I didn’t mean to diminish his murder. My only point is that they don’t seem intent on killing me and you. At least not yet.”

  “Let’s keep it that way, okay?” The words came out harsher than he’d intended, but she didn’t say anything else as she unlocked the front door.

  Cass walked over to the alarm keypad. “That’s strange. The alarm isn’t on.”

  “Are you sure you set it?” he asked.

  “I thought so, but maybe with everything on my mind, I forgot.”

  He pulled her back toward him. “We can’t take any chances. We’ll clear the house room by room.”

  “Split up?” She pulled her gun.

  “No. Stay together.”

  Her eyes locked on to his. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  His heartbeat sped up as his senses screamed to him that there was something wrong. “Does anything look out of place?”

  She shook her head. “Not yet.”

  They moved into the living room and then into the kitchen and office.

  “Clear,” she said.

  “Up the stairs. You have multiple bedrooms up here, right?”

  “Yeah. Mine is the one on the left.”

  He’d been to Cass’s place many times, but he usually stayed on the first floor. They reached the top of the stairs. He was intently focused on what was in front of him, expecting danger at any moment. He readied himself to go into the first bedroom on the right.

  But when he heard Cass scream, he spun around. Someone must have been lying in wait in the bedroom on the left.

  The man had his beefy arm wrapped around Cass’s neck. She was thrashing about, but it wasn’t doing much good.

  Zane rushed toward the attacker, feeling confident that he could take him in hand-to-hand combat.

  But then the man pulled out a gun and pushed it into Cass’s ribs, causing her to scream in pain. “Put down your gun or she’s dead.”

  Zane wasn’t playing this game. Not with his partner and friend’s life. There would be no bartering. Yes, it would be nice to take this guy alive and interrogate him, but Cass’s life was the most important thing to him.

  “You’re going to kill me anyway.” Cass’s eyes widened in fear. She was trying to send him a message.

  “No. I need you alive. Diego wants to talk to you,” the assailant said.

  “Talk about what?” Cass asked with a strained voice.

  “Diego isn’t going to rest until he finds the person who killed his brother.”

  With that admission, Zane knew he had no other choice. If he laid down his gun, he would most likely be killed, and Cass would be taken and tortured. Something he couldn’t allow under any circumstance. He had to take the shot.

  Zane squeezed the trigger twice and hit the assailant in the head.

  Cass let out a shriek as the man flopped to the floor. “Zane!”

  “I wasn’t going to negotiate with him. I couldn’t let him take you.”

  She threw her arms around him, and he pulled her in close. Her body shook in his arms.

  “It’s okay. He can’t hurt you now.”

  After a moment, she stepped back. “He came out of nowhere.”

  Zane squatted down and checked the body for ID, but there was nothing. “Let’s call this in.”

  “Zane,” she whispered.

  He looked up. “Yes?”

  “I think I’m ready for that safe house now.”

  Layla and Hunter had just gotten a disturbing call from Zane about an attack at Cass’s place, letting them know she was being moved to a DEA safe house. According to Zane, the man specifically said that Diego wanted to question Cass.

  Layla couldn’t dwell on it too much right now. Since Cass was safe, they had other immediate business to attend to.

  “We should be there soon,” Hunter said.

  Layla had told Hunter about Keith Hammond, and she’d reached out to Keith to set up a meeting. Keith had been friendly enough on the phone, but Layla hadn’t revealed why she wanted to talk to him. He’d probably acted out of professional courtesy, since they were both employed by the Agency.

  They’d decided to meet at a coffeehouse in Arlington at nine that evening. Given there was a possibility that Keith was working for the cartel, Layla was glad Hunter was with her. There were no good reasons to play the lone wolf right now. Although it would be nice to get a break in the case, she hoped Keith was clean—it would help restore some of her fragile faith in the Agency and its operatives.

  “Let’s talk Keith Hammond,” she said to Hunter, ready to tackle the mission at hand. They’d gotten his file from Mason. She didn’t have full access to CIA files right now, but Mason had been able to go through one of his contacts to get it.

  Hunter glanced at her. “He’s been with the Agency for fifteen years. He was recruited right out of college.”

  She’d committed Keith’s background to memory. “Fluent in Spanish and Portuguese, he was placed in South America from the get-go and has spent his entire career working in the region—including a long stint in Honduras.”

  “Service record is impeccable. He’s received several commendations. No disciplinary actions,” Hunter added.

  “Were you able to check his finances?” she asked, always thinking about monetary motive.

  “Yes. From what I could find, it all looked good, but someone with his experience and connections could probably do a good job of hiding money if that was the goal.”

  “How did your questioning of the other DEA employees go?” Layla asked. He’d conducted several interviews without her.

  “Nothing as illuminating as our talk with Darnell. Most people claim to know nothing, and they also have very high opinions of their colleagues.”

  “I get that. No one wants to believe that the people they trust and work with every day are playing on the bad guy’s team.”

  “I’m sensing a but here,” Hunter said.

  “This entire experience has led me to question a lot of my basic assumptions about my work.”

  “Pretty soon you’ll be just as cynical as me.”

  She smiled. “I sure hope not.”

  The tension between them seemed to be easing as the importance of the case was elevated above her feelings about the past—and the present. Although she hated the fact that when she looked at Hunter, she still felt butterflies. Major ones.

  It reminded her of when she had first met him at law school orientation. They’d locked eyes, and she just knew she had to meet him. When he’d introduced himself and they found out they were in the same section of classes, it was like her world was falling into place. Even after everything they’d gone through and the pain he had caused her, he still affected her like no other man ever had.

  “Here we are.” Hunter pulled up and found a metered parking spot on the street.

  She pointed. “I see Hammond waiting outside.” She recognized him from his file.

  They got out of Hunter’s SUV and started walking toward the coffee shop. As they waited for the light to change so they could cross the street, a car whizzed by them.

  Layla had taken one step into the crosswalk when gunshots pierced the night.

  She started running toward the coffee shop with Hunter by her side, and together they reached the horrific scene.

  Keith Hammond lay on the sidewalk—his lifeless body riddled with bullets.

  CHAPTER

  TWELVE

  The next morning, Hunter st
ill couldn’t believe the turn of events. He and Layla were at his office, waiting for Mason to arrive. She’d been visibly shaken after witnessing the shooting, but he had been as well. One minute Keith Hammond had been standing in front of the coffee shop—unassuming, waiting for what he believed was just a routine meeting with an Agency colleague—and the next, he was violently gunned down in cold blood.

  “Do you think the cartel killed him so he couldn’t speak to us?” Layla asked.

  “That seems like a plausible explanation, but how could the cartel have found out about it?” Hunter asked.

  Layla bit her bottom lip. “Maybe he was under surveillance, and they heard our phone conversation. I identified myself to him. That would’ve been enough for the cartel, even if I didn’t bring up the reason I wanted to meet with him.”

  Hunter hadn’t slept much last night as he replayed the events in his head. “If he was dirty, why would the cartel have wanted to kill him? Wouldn’t they have wanted to keep him in play?”

  “That’s a good point. Unless they thought he was about to turn on them, and they decided to take him out.”

  Mason walked in a few minutes later. “How are you two doing?”

  “All things considered, okay,” she answered. “Unfortunately, we can’t say the same for Keith Hammond.”

  “FBI is taking the lead on the murder, but we’re being read in because of the suspicions raised about Hammond’s allegiance.”

  “Any updates?” Hunter asked.

  “Good thing you got the license plate, Hunter. We were able to run that, and it was a stolen vehicle. Given the tactics used, we are operating under the assumption that this was a cartel hit, but we can’t say at this juncture whether Keith was working for them and what the motivation was for the hit. FBI is going through all his electronics now, and if they find anything, we’ll be notified.”

  “If he was the mole, that would mean the cartel has lost their inside man,” Layla said.

  “That would be a good thing,” Mason responded. “But I’m not ready to call this open and shut. For one, we’re not sure he was the mole, and on top of that, we can’t guarantee that he was working alone if he was. That’s why I wanted to talk this through. Hunter, keep doing your work. If Keith wasn’t involved and just got caught in the crossfire, then we still have someone out there working against our interests. There’s too much riding on this one to be wrong.”

  “No cutting corners,” Hunter said.

  Layla cleared her throat. “If Keith wasn’t dirty, given his extensive time in the region, he still had to be a known player to the cartel. When I reached out to him, maybe they got spooked.”

  Hunter hated to think about that, because he knew Layla would obsess over her role in his murder even though it clearly wasn’t her fault.

  Mason frowned. “That’s one of the many questions the FBI will be looking to answer. We can’t do anything about their investigation. The process has to unfold, but we can make sure that we’re doing everything we can to identify the true traitor.”

  “Understood,” Hunter said. “There is still a list of people I’m working through on the DEA side.”

  Mason nodded. “Keep up that work, and I’ll let you know if I hear anything from the FBI. And be extra vigilant. Layla, you still have Agency security at your condo, right?”

  She nodded. “Believe me, they aren’t going anywhere. They’re watching me like a hawk.”

  “Good. I’ll be in touch.” Mason exited the room as abruptly as he’d appeared.

  “I guess we have our marching orders,” Layla said.

  Izzy was trying her best to hold it together. It helped that Piper had a death grip on her arm as they walked toward the main precinct for Arlington PD late Thursday morning. She’d known she would have to deal with the assault forever, but now that the sergeant had been killed, it put a whole new spin on things. She was just trying to take it one step at a time, but her footing was uneasy.

  At least she’d never have to face that brute again. He was dead. He couldn’t hurt her, but his memory still threatened her entire well-being.

  “Keep doing the deep breaths,” Piper reminded her.

  They walked through the front doors that she’d been through many a time. But as her foot crossed the threshold, she flashed back to the last time she’d been here. The sergeant winking at her. Touching her shoulder. She had recoiled in disgust . . . and wished him dead.

  “Izzy, did you hear me?” Piper asked.

  She hadn’t heard a thing. “No. I’m sorry.”

  “I asked if you wanted to go to the restroom before we head into the meeting.”

  “No. Let’s just get it over with.”

  They were greeted by two detectives in the main lobby. “I’m Detective Stewart,” the tall, older woman said. “And this is Detective Bryant.” A shorter, younger man with a shaved head offered his hand.

  It didn’t surprise Izzy that they had a female detective involved in the questioning. That had to be by design. To Izzy, though, it didn’t matter whether the detective was male or female—the pain was still the same for her to have to relive. She understood more than ever why victims of sexual assault didn’t come forward. Being questioned and prodded about the most personal and intimate details of your life came at a huge price. But given that this was a murder investigation, she didn’t really have any say in the matter.

  “Thank you for coming in,” Detective Stewart said.

  Before Izzy could answer, Piper jumped in. “My client is here purely as a courtesy. I hope you’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Of course,” Detective Stewart said.

  They didn’t take Izzy to an interrogation room but instead led them into one of the conference rooms. Izzy had wondered how they were going to play it, and so far they were following the good-cop routine. How long that would last was the big, open question.

  Everyone took their seats around the large conference room table. Piper sat next to Izzy, as she had expected. Piper was her lifeline and had made it clear that she was going to be her protector today. Izzy couldn’t imagine for one second doing this alone.

  Detective Stewart’s beady brown eyes homed in on her. “You understand, Agent Cole, that you’re here regarding the murder investigation of Sergeant Henry Tybee. We’ve got some questions that we’re hoping you can help us with. Okay?”

  “All right.” At hearing his name, apprehension filled Izzy’s body. She kept trying to take deep breaths like Piper had instructed. She worried that soon all her preparation was going to fly out the window.

  “Let’s start at the beginning. Do you have any idea why you’re here today?”

  Izzy remembered Piper’s instructions. She wasn’t supposed to speculate. “It would be helpful for you to tell me.”

  “What do you know about Sergeant Tybee’s murder?”

  She paused as she’d been taught, but when Piper didn’t interject, she answered. “All I know is that he was killed. That’s where it stops and starts.”

  Detective Stewart shot Detective Bryant a look before she turned her attention back to Izzy. “Sergeant Tybee was shot. It appears a struggle ensued, based on wounds on the sergeant’s body, and he was killed with his own weapon. We think maybe he was killed in self-defense.”

  Ah, and they were looking into women who might fit the bill—Izzy included.

  Detective Stewart looked at her notepad. “How did you know the sergeant?”

  “I worked with him.” Short, simple statements. Just like she’d practiced with Piper.

  “Did you leave Arlington PD because of him?”

  Talk about not much of a windup. But Piper had also instructed Izzy that she had to be truthful at all costs—even on the difficult topics—because if they caught her in a lie, they would use it against her. “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  She sat silently, not sure how to answer.

  Piper touched her arm. “Detective Stewart, let’s not dance around the issues here. If yo
u have a direct question to ask my client, then please do so.”

  Detective Stewart nodded. “Very well. What I’m about to tell you is disturbing, but it’s not my intent to upset you. Do you understand?”

  A wave of unease rushed through her in anticipation. “Yes.”

  “When we searched the sergeant’s home, we found these.” Detective Stewart opened a manila folder and slid it across the table.

  Izzy leaned in and scanned the pictures spread out in front of her in bright vivid color. Pictures of her. Candid shots—her at the grocery store, coffee shop, jogging. Her breath caught as she started to see dancing stars in front of her eyes. She might be sick.

  Piper noticed her reaction. “Take a deep breath, Izzy. Here’s some water. I think she’s going to need a minute.”

  Detective Stewart nodded. “Of course.”

  They sat in silence that hung in the air like a heavy weight as Izzy tried to think through what she was seeing. How long had the sergeant been watching her? When he’d confronted her, she’d had no idea that he’d been lurking in the shadows. Finally, she spoke up. “Obviously I didn’t know about these.”

  Detective Stewart leaned in. “I know this is difficult. Just please bear with us for a few more minutes, okay?”

  Izzy nodded.

  “We’re still combing through a lot of evidence, including electronics, but there’s something I have to ask you about.”

  She knew it. This was about the text messages.

  “Agent Cole, were you violently assaulted by the sergeant?”

  Izzy sucked in a breath. “Yes.”

  “Sexually assaulted?”

  “Yes.” It was like she wasn’t even sitting there answering the questions. Her whole body turned numb as she tried to fixate her gaze on the clock behind the detective’s head. Anything to avoid eye contact during this topic.

  The detective jotted down a note. “So that’s why you left Arlington PD, right?”

  “Yes.” She shifted in her seat, waiting for the next question. They still hadn’t brought up the text messages. Was it possible they hadn’t found them yet?