by Trish Loye
A skinny man in a bike helmet put his bike on the sidewalk before approaching her. “Are you okay? I’m sorry, but you came out of nowhere.”
She leaned around him. She couldn’t see the man in black anywhere. “Fuck.” She’d lost him.
The bike-man stepped back and raised his hands. “Look, I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to hit you.”
She glared at him, curses sitting on her tongue waiting to be fired, until she realized he stared at the Glock gripped in her hand.
“It’s okay,” she said in as calm a voice as she could muster. She tucked her gun away in the holster under her hoodie. “I’m one of the good guys.”
The man just nodded and kept backing away.
She must look crazy. People were stopping on the sidewalk and watched their interactions. One lady was on the phone, talking urgently and staring straight at Sutton.
It was time for her to leave. She was covered in scrapes and bruises; blood dripped down her arm and off her hand. She probably looked as if she’d just been on a homicidal killing spree.
She crossed the busy road again, headed back to the alley. She zipped up her hoodie all the way, thankful the dark color didn’t show bloodstains like her white T-shirt did. She redid her ponytail, though she groaned with the effort of putting her arms over her head. She’d worry about her bleeding arm later; for now, she just put pressure on it through the sleeve.
She wanted to get back to Mark’s place and report his murder. She wanted the asshole who’d done it caught. And truth be told, she wanted to search Mark’s apartment before the cops showed up and pushed her out of the crime scene.
Mark.
She couldn’t believe he was dead. She walked back through the alley, holding her ribs, the pain hitting her hard now that her adrenaline faded. She pulled out her cell and dialed Tony. He answered on the second ring.
“What’s up? Did you find that asshole? Is he faking being sick again?”
Her voice caught on the words. He’s dead. She couldn’t speak.
“Sutton?” Tony’s voice sounded rough with concern. “You okay?”
She forced the words out. “He’s dead, Tony. He’s dead.”
“What?” She heard scrambling through the phone. Papers or something moving. “Are you sure?”
“Someone...someone strangled him. He was dead when I got there.”
“Fuck, no.” His breathing was harsh in her ear. “What do the cops say?”
“I haven’t called them yet. The killer was still there.” She shook her head, knowing he couldn’t see her, but she couldn’t stop herself. “I tried to stop him, Tony. I tried.”
“Are you okay? Where are you?”
“I’m headed back to his condo. I’ll call the cops when I get there.”
“Do that. In fact, call them right the fuck now. They need to be looking for that asshole.”
“You’re right.” She should have called them first, but the situation had screwed up her thinking.
“Damn straight, I’m right. And get yourself seen. I can fucking hear the pain in your voice.”
“Wilco.”
“And Sutton?” His voice was calmer. “Call me back ASAP. And for fuck’s sake, be careful.”
She hung up and pulled up the keypad to dial 911. Flashing lights ahead of her drew her attention. Two police cars had pulled up in front of Mark’s building. In the distance, more sirens wailed. Apparently someone had already called the police.
One officer spoke with the elderly couple who she’d run past on the way out. She moved in their direction when another officer blocked her path.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. This area is a crime scene. You’ll have to stay back.”
She opened her mouth to speak when she heard the elderly couple’s words.
“It was a blonde woman. She had a gun and ran off. She looked dangerous.”
Sutton stepped back in surprise and the cop in front of her moved on. Blonde hair and a gun? Had they only seen her? What about the guy in the balaclava? She stayed where she was, her side and arm throbbing as she listened.
“Describe her to me, please,” the officer said.
“Just above average height. Long blonde hair. Dark clothing.” The woman shook her head. “I’m sorry, Officer. It happened so fast. I focused on the gun and getting out of her way.”
Oh no. No. No. No.
They couldn’t think she was the killer. She took another step back without realizing it, before she stopped herself. No. She had to put a stop to this. They couldn’t think she’d had anything to do with Mark’s death. He’d been one of her friends. She’d go over to them and tell them Mark had been dead when she’d arrived. And that she’d been chasing the killer out of the building, which was why she’d been running.
She stopped before she’d even taken one step.
She was covered in scrapes, bruises, and blood. Her blood and fingerprints were all over the condo. And she had a weapon on her that had been fired recently. Even if she was innocent, no cop would just let her walk away from this scene. No matter whether she was a CIA agent or not. They’d want to take her down to the station for questioning. It would be hours before she would be released.
She mentally shook her head at the thought. That wouldn’t work. She needed to be free to help her team to find Mark’s killer. No way was she leaving this to the police.
She took a step back.
And another.
I’ll find out who did this, Mark. I promise.
She pulled up her hood and walked away.
3
Sutton got in her car and drove away from Mark’s building. She shook from the adrenaline crash. Driving probably wasn’t the best idea, but she had no choice. She called Tony.
“Sutton,” Tony said in a low voice. “You were supposed to call me back ASAP.”
“I’m calling you now. Why are you whispering?”
“Things are crazy here,” he said, still in a quiet voice. “What did the police say about Mark?”
She could feel blood dripping from the cut on her arm. It needed bandaging, sooner rather than later. She decided to head to her apartment to do that because it was closer than work.
“Sutton?”
“I didn’t speak with the police.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“Some neighbor saw me running from the place with my gun in hand.”
“So what?” Then he sighed. “Shit. You’re a suspect?”
“Looks like it. But don’t worry. I’m sure Edworthy can clear it up. We have to get on this now.”
Tony didn’t say anything for a minute. “Maybe you should go back and talk to the police.”
“Are you kidding? I’d be stuck in the station for the next forty-eight hours while they processed all the information.”
“But they—”
“No,” she said. “No fucking way. I’m the best chance there is to find Mark’s killer.”
“Ego much, Sutton? You don’t think the police can handle this?”
She knew the police could handle it. But it was Mark. Her friend. She wanted to handle it. Needed to handle it. “I’m just saying that I can be way more helpful out here than sitting at some police station.”
“Okay,” he said. “Fine. I probably would have done the same thing.”
“Thank you,” she said, with maybe a touch too much sarcasm.
“Crap, you’re a pain.”
“Love you too.” She made a turn to head into her neighborhood. “I’m heading home before I come in. I need to fix myself up.”
“How hurt are you?”
“Nothing serious. But I’ve got a cut that needs attention. Then I’ll be in and we can get started on finding this asshole.”
Tony hummed for a moment. “I don’t think that’s going to be our team’s priority. You might be flying solo on this.”
“What the hell are you talking about? Mark is dead! We have to find his killer.”
“Easy, Sutton.” Tony sighed. �
��Look, the interdepartmental team is forming today to find the leak.”
She clenched the steering wheel. “This is more important.”
“Maybe,” he said gently. “But maybe not. Some new information has come to light.”
“What information?”
“The Cyber Intelligence Unit found, through their computer magic, that a list of agents and assets’s names had been copied yesterday morning.”
She frowned. “Copied? And what...smuggled out of HQ?”
“Exactly. The agents are all undercover in Russia. Thirty of them.”
The implications roared through her. If the Russian government found those agents and assets, they’d be tried for spying and executed. “That’s...” She didn’t want to admit it. “Fuck. That is a priority.”
She could almost see Tony nodding. “So let the cops handle Mark.”
“But you don’t understand, Tony. This wasn’t a random burglary gone bad. He’d been tortured. Someone wanted something from him. The asshole who did it was still there. It meant he was looking for something.”
Tony sighed. “So what are you going to do?”
And now it was decision time. Her sister was a detective on the police force. Sutton could give her all the information she knew and let Amelia take care of things.
Sutton pressed her lips together. She knew how overworked all the police were. They tried their best, but they just didn’t have the resources she did.
“I’m going to investigate,” she said finally. “Just give me twenty-four hours. I’ll come in tomorrow and help with the leak.”
“What do you want me to tell Edworthy?”
Ah fuck. “Nothing is going to make him happy. Tell him Mark is dead. Tell him...I’m distraught and need time. I’ll be in tomorrow.”
“And what are you going to do now?” he asked quietly.
“Fix myself up and then make some calls and do some research. Don’t worry. I’ve got a plan.”
Again she heard his chair creak as if he leaned back. “You know it’s okay to just take the day,” he said. “Mourn Mark. Rest. Let others find justice for him.”
Her throat closed up. She concentrated on driving until the feeling subsided. “I have to do this.”
“Understood. Stay safe and keep me informed.”
“Roger that.”
Sutton parked her car in the underground lot of her building. She didn’t know much, but she was going to find Mark’s killer. Fortunately, the police wouldn’t have much beyond a vague description of her. It would take them hours to process the scene for fingerprints.
She groaned when she got out of the car. That bike had added a whole set of aches to the ones from the fight. Anger surged through her. She’d almost had the asshole. He must have been looking for something in the victim’s apartment—she had to think of Mark impersonally or she’d break down.
She’d known Mark since she’d become an operative in the Special Operations Group. He’d almost always been an analyst on her team. He’d had her back and knew how to make her laugh, even at the shittiest times. The man was brilliant. Had been brilliant. She choked back a sob and punched the elevator button that would take her to the third floor.
Why would anyone want to kill him? What did he have that someone would want? He was an analyst who worked on background information for their missions. Had he been working on anything that had gotten him in trouble?
She needed his laptop.
On the third floor, she opened her door and locked it behind her. In her bathroom, she grabbed gauze, antiseptic, and ibuprofen from her first-aid kit. She grimaced as she pulled her hoodie off; the sleeve, wet with blood, stuck to the cut. After laying out the supplies, she dialed Amelia’s cell, putting her on speaker. She started to clean the wound. At least it wasn’t deep, just a shallow slice. No stitches needed, but it would leave a scar. Good thing she didn’t care about scars.
“McRaven,” her sister said.
“Hey Mel,” she started. How was she going to tell her this without her sister wanting her to come down to the station? She ripped open a gauze pack with her teeth and one hand. She laid it out carefully and then slathered on antiseptic cream.
“Sutton?” Amelia asked. “What’s up?”
Her throat seized as if someone choked her. No words would come out.
“Sutton? What’s wrong?”
“He...Mark...”
“Shit,” she said softly. “You heard already. I’m so sorry. I was going to call you.”
“He didn’t show up to work,” Sutton said, her voice too quiet, too heavy.
Amelia’s tone turned sharp. “Wait. Did you go to his condo this morning? Shit. Are you the woman with long blonde hair?”
Fuck. This wasn’t going to be good. Sutton took a moment to place thick gauze pads over her cut while she thought how to answer.
“Yes.” She tried for meek, but that had never been her style, so she didn’t think it worked by the way her sister groaned over the phone. “Mark was dead when I got there. Someone was in the apartment. We fought and I chased him out of the building.”
“Describe him.”
Sutton began to wrap her arm in more gauze, securing the pads in place. “Six foot. Solid build, but lean. He wore dark clothing and a balaclava. He didn’t speak.”
Amelia cursed. “Come down to the department. Tell us everything.”
“I will,” she promised, tying off the end of the bandage with one hand and her teeth. “But not yet. I need to get a hold of his personal laptop. Did you find it?”
“Come down to the station and I’ll tell you.”
“Mel, please. He was my friend.”
Her sister cursed again. “What do you think you can do, that I can’t?”
“I’m a CIA agent. My job is tracking terrorists. I can track Mark’s killer,” she said. “And I don’t have to follow the law to the letter like you do. Give me twenty-four hours.” Would the same deal work with her stubborn sister?
“I could lose my job for this.”
“Give me his laptop,” she replied. “I’ll do the rest.”
Her sister huffed. “We didn’t find a laptop. Or a phone. Or any electronic device.”
Shit.
“Twenty-four hours, Sutton. You keep me informed of all your progress. And then you report in to me. If you don’t, then you’ll see how good I am at tracking.” Amelia hung up.
Sutton dragged herself into her bedroom, suddenly so very tired. She’d boasted how she could track the killer, but without that laptop, she had nothing. She needed Mark’s phone records and access to what he’d been working on at the office.
If she went into the office, Edworthy would make her work on tracking the traitor who stole the list. What if she couldn’t find justice for Mark?
Her shoulders slumped from the guilt of not being able to keep Mark safe, and from knowing that she was alone in this, even if Tony was there for her. She sank onto her bed, the weight of the day dragging her down. Two friends gone within a month.
Her vision blurred and a vise seemed to tighten on her chest.
Anna and Mark. Both gone.
She lay back, closed her eyes. Sorrow grew heavy on her like large stones being placed one by one on her chest until she could barely breathe. She would take a moment, like Tony had said, and mourn her friends. Their loss hollowed her out and made her shoulders curve inward. She curled on her side, her breath shuddering out of her, and wept.
At just past noon, Ryan stood across from Silas in his office at the Department of Homeland Security. Silas stood about six three, just a touch taller than Ryan, but Ryan had a bit of muscle on the younger man. His dark brown-black hair dusted with gray had been cut into an almost mirror image of his own. Half business, mostly military.
He shook Silas’s hand. “How’s Maggie?” Ryan asked, mentioning the man’s wife. “Things are going well?”
Silas’s hard face seemed to soften just for a moment. “Maggie’s...good.”
A twist of jealousy hit Ryan. Jesus, he wanted that in his life. He shook off the melancholy. That wasn’t for him.
Silas sat behind his desk, leaned back in his chair, and eyed Ryan. “What about you? Any thoughts of settling down?”
Ryan barely restrained himself from snorting. “Tried it. It didn’t work out.” The image of the woman who’d chosen her career over him sent a pang through him, but it wasn’t quite as sharp or cutting as it once had been. “We both had intense careers.” He tried to shrug it off, but from Silas’s frown, he hadn’t pulled it off. “Anyway, now I’m consulting.”
“You’re teaching leadership to a bunch of suits. I knew flaking on the beach every day would bore you.”
Ryan laughed and shook his head. “Nothing compares to the teams.”
“Isn’t that the truth.”
Ryan looked around the office. Silas had been an exceptional SEAL officer. He’d been medically released after he’d damaged his back. “You seem to have landed on your feet.”
Silas gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I like what I do. It matters.” He studied Ryan. “What about you? Do you like it? Does it matter?”
Silas was asking whether his job fulfilled him. Ryan sighed. “Well, the people aren’t all assholes. And I’m making a hell of a lot more than I did before, but...”
“But it’s not spec ops.” Silas waved a hand. “I get it. You don’t need to say anything else.”
Ryan didn’t want to discuss his personal life or lack of it anymore. “Tell me why you called me in here.”
Silas leaned forward and his gaze lit up with intensity. “I’ve created a covert joint agency task force within the DHS where I can bring operators and analysts from different branches together for missions.”
Ryan thought about that for a moment. “How many different branches?”
