Percy wondered what he’d been thinking to get involved with Erickson in the first place. He knew the answer, though. Greed. At least if anything was to happen to him, his family would be taken care of. He had set up everything to ensure they would live comfortably for the rest of their lives. With all the money he would leave his wife, she could return to Italy, her birthplace, and live lavishly rich. Or she could buy her own damn island if that was what she wanted. And just so the feds wouldn’t try to confiscate anything, he’d transferred everything into a Swiss bank account.
He glanced down at the package in his hand. It was the final piece to the puzzle he needed to take care of. To be on the safe side, just in case someone was onto him, he had put a plan in place, one he hoped would work. The package in his hand was a fake. He’d hired a courier to make sure the real thing got to its intended destination.
He stepped out of his office and the first person he ran into was Special Agent Felton. Damn, just his luck. It seemed the man had been too visible lately, asking questions and making Weaver wonder if perhaps Felton was onto him. The last thing Weaver needed was to start getting paranoid. Felton had no reason to suspect him of anything. As far as Felton was concerned, Weaver was one of the good agents.
“Going someplace, Special Agent Weaver?” Felton asked, noting the package in his hand.
Why had Felton called him by his full title today, not Agent Weaver or just Weaver? Was it deliberate? “Yes. My wife wants me to mail this off to her parents in Florence.” Just in case he was stopped for some reason, the package was addressed to Leigh’s parents in Italy, just like he’d told Felton. Inside the package were souvenirs Leigh would send to them on occasion.
“That’s nice of her.”
Weaver forced a smile. “I have a nice wife.”
“Yes, you do,” Felton responded, looking at him strangely. “Tell Leigh she hasn’t invited me and Harriet to dinner in a while. The four of us should get together.”
“I’ll make sure I tell her that. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m in a hurry to get to the post office before they close.”
“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Sure thing.”
Weaver left the FBI building and kept glancing over his shoulder as he walked to his car in the parking garage. He had opened the door and slid in the seat when a text message came across his phone. He checked it. It was a reminder from Leigh to pick up a dozen eggs on the way home.
He put on his seat belt and started the ignition. The moment he did so, he heard a strange sound. When he realized what the sound meant, it was too late. Within seconds, the car exploded.
* * *
“PACKAGE FOR J. B. SWEET.”
Manning Carmichael looked up from the stack of papers to stare at the young man standing in front of his desk. “I’ll sign for it.”
“I was instructed to make sure J. B. Sweet gets it.”
“And she will. I’m her personal assistant. I can take care of it.”
The courier shook his head. “Sorry, pal. I got strict orders to hand this to J. B. Sweet and only J. B. Sweet. No one else. I got a big tip to follow those orders, and I intend to earn every cent.”
Manning rolled his eyes, thinking this guy better be glad he was in a good mood today. Otherwise, he would tell him just what he could do with his delivery. “Fine, have it your way.” He smiled. At least it would give him the chance to interrupt whatever was going on in his boss’s office. Her husband, Dalton Granger, had arrived over an hour ago and hadn’t left yet. Knowing those two, Manning’s imagination was running wild as to what was going on behind the locked office door.
He pressed the intercom and couldn’t hold back the chuckle at the annoyed voice who answered, sounding breathless. “What is it, Manning?”
“Sorry for the interruption, Jules,” he lied, “but a courier is here to deliver a package that he claims he can only put in your hands.”
He heard the expletives that came from Dalton and the giggles from Jules as she tried shushing her husband. “Okay, give me a minute and I’ll be right out.”
Manning clicked off the phone and looked up at the courier. “You might as well take a seat. It will probably be more than a minute.”
Fifteen minutes later the door to J. B. Sweet’s office opened and Jules Bradford Granger walked out. Manning figured that most people were surprised to learn that J. B. Sweet was a woman. Since a majority of people preferred having a man handle their investigative work, Jules had come up with the ingenious idea to use her first and last initials as well as her mother’s maiden name for her business; hence the moniker J. B. Sweet.
“Hello,” she greeted the young man with a huge, bright smile.
Manning shook his head, knowing the effect Jules had on most guys. Manning would be the first to admit his boss and good friend was gorgeous. The young man was all but drooling and couldn’t keep his eyes off Jules while she signed for the packet.
“Thanks!” the courier said, smiling like a dimwit.
“No problem.”
The young man walked out of the office, whistling like Jules had made his day.
Jules studied the packet and then noticed Manning was staring at her while shaking his head. “What?”
Manning was surprised she had to ask. He figured she must not have noticed her hair was all mussed up, making her look like a hot, sexy goddess.
“Pardon me for saying,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “but since you and Dalton are married, can’t the two of you take it home?”
Jules smiled as if she didn’t have one shameful bone in her body. Then she reached out and playfully pinched his cheek. “Oh, Manning, yes, we could and eventually we will. If you’re feeling jealous, then I suggest you seriously start looking for a partner.”
She tucked the packet under her arm, went back into her office and locked the door behind her.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“I LOVE IT HERE,” Margo said, as she and Striker took an evening stroll around the cabin. He had taken her hand in his as they walked down a wooded path. The weather had turned somewhat cold, but the wool jacket she was wearing kept her warm. And then there was Striker’s heat that seemed to flow through her, keeping her warm as well.
“But I wish I was here for another reason,” she added. Although if she had been there for another reason, she wouldn’t be here with Striker walking by her side.
“It is nice, isn’t it?” he agreed, and when they came to a bench, he said, “Let’s sit a spell. That’s a beautiful view.”
She sat beside him and followed his gaze to the meadow below. In the center of it was a huge geyser with water gushing upward toward the sky. It was simply breathtaking. The cabin was a place of peace and solitude, a place she had escaped to...to hide. For how long she still wasn’t sure.
When she had finally awakened that day, it had been past noon. She had gone downstairs to find Striker sitting on the sofa, as if he’d been waiting for her. That had prompted her to cross the room and curl up in his lap, wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him. She was certain that particular kiss would have led to something a lot more intimate if her stomach hadn’t decided to growl. That was when he’d picked her up in his arms and actually carried her into the kitchen and set her down in a chair at the table. He then proceeded to serve the meal he’d cooked—the most delicious vegetable soup she’d ever eaten, along with the tastiest turkey-and-cheese sandwich on wheat bread. Afterward, he suggested they put on their jackets and walk around the property for a while.
“Did I tell you how much I enjoyed lunch?” she asked him.
He chuckled. “Yes, you did. Twice, in fact. Glad you enjoyed it.”
At that moment his phone rang and Margo didn’t have to wonder who was calling. She’d gotten pretty used to the ringtone.
“Stonewall? What’s up?”
Margo could tell from the expression that appeared on Striker’s face that it wasn’t good news.
“Okay. Keep me updated.” Striker clicked off the call.
Margo stood, concerned. “Striker? Is anything wrong?”
He looked over at her and nodded. “According to Stonewall, there was a car explosion and the person inside the vehicle was an FBI agent. Even though it’s not his usual MO, the authorities think it’s the work of the assassin again.”
She raised a brow. “Had the agent been in the courtroom that day?”
Striker shook his head. “No.”
Margo frowned. “I don’t understand. Why would Erickson want him dead? What’s going on?”
Striker rubbed his face and said, “I think it’s a foregone conclusion Erickson had insiders’ help in carrying out this crazy plan of his. It’s believed the dead agent was one of Erickson’s men.”
“An FBI agent?”
“Yes. A cop was also killed yesterday.” Striker then told her about the female police officer and how it was believed she was also connected to Erickson.
“Do you think Erickson has abandoned his plan to kill everyone who was at the courthouse and has new targets? His own people?”
“Not sure how Erickson’s mind is working right now. Until we know what’s going on and why, we stay in hiding and stay alert.”
* * *
JULES BRADFORD GRANGER watched her husband as he slid back into his pants. Manning had left for the day, and by rights, she should have, too, but she and Dalton were still here. They had a perfectly good bed at home, but for some reason, he liked the sofa in her office. “I need to put an end to your drop-in visits, Dalton.”
He glanced over at her as he straightened his tie. “Why?”
She was about to give him a list of reasons when her cell phone rang. She smiled, recognizing her sister’s ringtone. “Shana? How is my nephew?” Her sister, Shana, was married to Jace Granger, Dalton’s brother. The third Granger son, Caden, was married to his childhood sweetheart, Shiloh.
“He’s fine. Starting to sleep through the night and that’s a good thing. Jace and I wanted to know if you and Dalton would like to join us for dinner. Caden and Shiloh will be here, and so will Dad and Mona and Sheppard and Carson.”
“Um, what’s the occasion?” Jules asked, leaning back against her desk as she continued to watch her husband re-dress.
“The architect dropped off the final house plans, and Jace and I can’t wait to show them to everyone.”
Jules heard the excitement in her sister’s voice. Shana and Jace had made the decision to build a home on Sutton Hills, the Granger estates. Sutton Hills encompassed over two hundred acres near the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. A thirty-minute ride from Charlottesville, the area consisted of the most beautiful land anywhere.
Each of the three Granger sons had inherited ten acres. Caden and Shiloh were thinking about building a home on the Granger estates at the end of the year. However, Jules and Dalton weren’t in a hurry. They enjoyed living in their condo in town, which was close to restaurants, nightclubs and a number of other hot spots they frequented. “Dalton and I would love to come to dinner. Do you need us to bring anything? I’m still at the office and can make a pit stop if you need me to.”
“You’re still at the office? Then you’ll probably be delayed because of the explosion. A lot of the streets are closed, which means there’s a lot of traffic in town.”
Jules raised a brow. “What explosion?” She noticed her words got Dalton’s attention, so she put her sister on speakerphone.
“It seems that an FBI agent’s car was rigged to blow up the moment he started the ignition,” Shana said. “And I heard he was someone working the Erickson case.”
“Was he in the courtroom that day?”
“No. And that has people wondering why he was murdered.”
Already Dalton had crossed the room to turn on the television to the news channel. “Okay, Shana, Dalton just put on the news. Let me see what’s up.”
“Dalton is there with you?”
“Yes, he’s here.”
“Hmm. Interesting,” Shana said. “Jace mentioned he never returned to work after lunch. Now I know why.”
Dalton gave Jules one of those I-don’t-care-who-knows-I-enjoy-fucking-my-wife kind of smiles. “Whatever. Dalton and I will see everyone later.”
Jules crossed the room to stand beside Dalton and watched the newsbreak.
“This is Connie Moore reporting live near the FBI building in downtown Charlottesville. If you’re just tuning in, we are reporting the car bombing of an FBI agent. The victim has been identified as Special Agent Percy Weaver. It is believed that Agent Weaver’s death was the work of the same assassin who has been targeting those involved with the Murphy Erickson trial. Agent Weaver was working on the Erickson case, but law enforcement is wondering why Weaver was targeted when he was not in the courtroom the day the jury reached a verdict.”
The hairs on the back of Jules’s neck stood up. Percy Weaver. Where did she know that name from? She frowned, trying to remember.
“Hey, baby, you okay?” Dalton asked her, reaching out and caressing her bunched brow.
“I know that name, Dalton. Percy Weaver. Or I’ve seen it somewhere. Recently.” She slowly turned and stared at the package on her desk. The one that had been delivered that day. “That’s it! He sent me a package.”
“Who?”
“Percy Weaver,” she said, quickly moving toward her desk to pick up the package. She looked over at Dalton. “Yes, that’s it. This package is from a Percy Weaver.”
Dalton crossed the room to her. “Do you think it’s the same person?”
“I’m not sure, but there’s only one way to find out,” she said, tearing open the package. Inside was a letter addressed to her that was taped to another smaller package. She opened the letter and read it out loud.
Ms. Sweet, I read about you in the newspapers and admired the way you handled the Sheppard Granger investigation. I am sending this package to you with instructions not to open it...unless you know for certain that something has happened to me. I am a special agent for the FBI and if I am killed, make sure you take care of this and get it to the right people. Be careful who you trust in the Bureau and in the police department.
I am also enclosing a sealed envelope containing a letter to my wife, Leigh. Please make sure she gets it. Thanks. PW
Jules handed the letter to Dalton, who quickly read it. “He’s right, Jules. You need to be careful who you trust.”
Jules nodded. She was a former police detective and knew that not everyone in law enforcement was honest. She wondered what category Percy Weaver fell into. More than anything, she wanted to know what was on the disk he’d sent her.
“I’ll call Marcel.” FBI Agent Marcel Eaton was a family friend who’d worked with Jules’s father, Ben Bradford, when Marcel and Ben had been police officers in Boston. And more recently, Marcel had been the FBI agent who’d worked on the case that had resulted in Sheppard Granger’s exoneration.
Dalton nodded. “Contacting Marcel is a good idea.”
* * *
LEONARD SMALL WATCHED the news program and sweat broke out on his forehead. He should have seen it coming, should have known Erickson couldn’t be trusted. First Alyson Blackshear and now Percy Weaver. He hadn’t known either Blackshear or Weaver personally and definitely hadn’t known that, like him, they’d been on Erickson’s payroll. Erickson took great pains to make sure none of his informers were aware of each other.
Now Blackshear and Weaver were dead and rumors were going around that they’d been Erickson’s informers, killed by that damn assassin. If that was true, why? Was Erickson now turning on those who’d assisted him in pul
ling off the hits he’d ordered? Small admitted he’d been paid well, but what good was money when you were dead?
Speaking of the dead, Small knew of one man who would be glad if something happened to him, and that was Jerry Franklin, who worked in the technology development department of the FBI. With Small dead, Franklin wouldn’t get blackmailed into sharing all his high-tech creations anymore. Like the one used at the courthouse that day.
Small stood and walked to the door. He had a plan. If he was targeted, then he would make sure he wouldn’t be the only one going to the grave.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
JULES GLANCED AROUND her office. After listening to the tape that Percy Weaver had sent, Jules had contacted Marcel, who had contacted Special Agent Felton and police chief Harkins, in turn. Harkins arrived with Detective Joy Ingram and another woman, Dr. Randi Fuller, who was a psychic investigator assisting on the Erickson case. From what Marcel had told Jules and Dalton, Dr. Fuller had fingered Officer Alyson Blackshear and had also said there were two others working on the wrong side of the law with Erickson.
Special Agent Percy Weaver had been one of them, and he’d confessed as much on the tape. He’d also named the third person involved, Leonard Small, who was a US marshal assigned to the courthouse where Erickson’s trial had been held. According to Weaver, Leonard Small wasn’t aware Weaver had known about him. But for security measures, Weaver had made it his business to know who else might have been working on the wrong side of the law. Small was the only person whose identity Weaver had managed to obtain. He did not know anything about the assassin or Officer Blackshear’s role.
After listening to the tape with the others, Agent Felton had ordered that US Marshal Small be picked up immediately and taken to FBI Headquarters for questioning.
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