Dawn of Evil_FBI Flashback

by Morgan Kelley

  His pulse thumped.

  He got all those perverse thoughts that made him want to act them out.

  He would have her too.

  What he wanted most?

  He wanted to drive himself into her body, owning her forever.

  He wanted to be her last and the best.

  Then he wanted to add her to his list of conquests. It would be easy too.

  She was small.

  Mousy.

  And barely noticed.

  Well, to anyone but him. When he’d seen her a few weeks ago, he put her on the back burner. He knew he’d come back to her. Her body was too perfect not to want it. He wanted to palm those delicate breasts as he fucked her unmercifully.

  She was so childlike, and that made her perfect.

  He could control her.

  And he would.

  So, he followed her from her job to her home like he’d sometimes done, and he found her to be a creature of habit.

  She read on the front porch, ordered dinner, and then bed.

  It was like clockwork.

  That made his life easier.

  Tonight, he’d make a little visit.

  And they would party.

  * * * E l i z a b e t h L a R u e * * *

  First Bank of Boston

  While they were trying to figure out where Professor Prince could be, they were going to take care of some more questioning that had to be done.

  Joy Scott’s co-workers might have something they could use to help them find who raped and murdered her.

  So, Elizabeth made the detective reroute there. She wanted to cover her bases, and that meant asking around.

  Inside the bank, she knew they were being watched. The security guards all put their hands on their guns, and they ended up pulling back their jackets to show them their badges.

  They still kept their hands there.

  That made Elizabeth think that these weren’t just ordinary bank security.

  These were going to be O’Banion’s lackeys.

  Yeah, he was there.

  As they headed toward the counter, some mob, ass-kissing man headed their way. He was wearing a black suit, and his hair was slicked back like he’d been watching a few too many mob movies.

  The gold ring on his pinky gave him away.

  “Can I help you, Officers?”

  Max pulled his badge and made the introductions.

  “I’m Detective Bronson and this is Special Agent LaRue. We’re here to talk to someone about Joy Scott. She was a secretary, right?”

  “Yes, mine.”

  “And you are?” Elizabeth asked.

  He ignored her and focused on the detective.

  “Seriously? You’re going to roll like that?” she asked. “You’re going to dismiss me? Well, we can play that game.”

  She raised her voice.

  “What do you mean that the bank has no money and people are going to lose everything?” she practically shouted, using that hysterical girl voice.

  People around them looked panicked as they rushed toward the ATM machine and the counters.

  “Hush up!” he hissed. “What is your issue?”

  “That’s what happens when you piss me off. Now, do you want to answer my questions?”

  “I’m Randolph Willenheimer. I’m the bank manager. Joy was my secretary, and we are devastated that she’s been killed. We want her killer found.”

  “That’s cool. Where’s Michael O’Banion? Tell him I want to see him.”

  He looked confused.

  “You know, the man behind this bank. I’m beginning to think this isn’t a coincidence. One woman was killed and one of his guys lives across the street, and now one of his personal employees dies…”

  “I don’t know what you mean. Mr. O’Banion is one of our stockholders, but he doesn’t come here. That’s insane.”

  Yeah, she bet it was.

  “Was anyone bothering Joy?” she asked.

  “No, she came in, as usual, she did her work, and I even let her do personal things on bank time. She was efficient, pleasant, and a good worker.”

  She made notes.

  “And who else worked with her?”

  He pointed to a lady off at a desk.

  “I have her,” Max said.

  She glanced up, and there was a wall of mirrors. It was weird because it was the second floor and no one could look into them.

  That meant one thing.

  Double mirrors.

  Someone was looking out.

  She pointed at them.

  “I know he’s there.”

  Again, the man denied it.

  Elizabeth began walking around, checking everything out. There were cameras everywhere, which wouldn’t be odd, but there were about ten times as many.

  Stockholder her ass.

  This was his fortress.

  Glancing back up, she blew him a kiss.

  Yeah, that man was there.

  She’d bet money on it.

  When he saw her come in, he was fascinated. She was wearing jeans, a blazer, and cowboy boots.

  She was NOT what he expected.

  She was dressed so plainly that it caught him off guard. Such beauty should be in finer things. He wanted to gather her up and spoil her rotten.

  “That’s her!” Tommy ‘The Greek’ stated. “Ain’t she hot? I’d love to stick my dick in her.”

  He hushed him.

  “Elizabeth LaRue, huh?”

  “Yeah, she’s an up and comer at the FBI. We don’t have much on her, boss.”

  When she blew him a kiss, he was enthralled.

  She knew he was there.

  She had excellent skills. That might make her harder to kill, and in his world, that would be handy. His wife had no self-preservation.

  “She makes me curious.”

  Joey listened.

  “What do you want us to do with her? We can grab her and break her down, boss.”

  “NO! I don’t want you to touch her. I’ll make the introductions when it’s time. I want to watch her. Go check on Randolph. He’s an idiot.”

  They all were.

  As his helper wandered away, he watched the woman checking out HIS bank.

  She was smart.

  She was gorgeous with that hair and those icy eyes. He couldn’t help but be enthralled.

  For the first time in a while, he really wanted a female. A forty-plus-year-old man shouldn’t be living without some of the finer things in life.

  A sexy woman.

  Her.

  His whole body reverberated when she turned and stared up at him. He knew she was the one.

  Then he spotted the cop heading her way, and he was smiling a little too much. He was enjoying her company, and that was all kinds of wrong.

  She was going to be his.

  It looked like there were some obstacles in the way. It looked like he’d have to handle that.

  Why?

  Because Michael O’Banion knew the truth.

  He would have her.

  Elizabeth LaRue was going to take a walk on the mob side.

  When Max had finished interviewing the woman, he met her back by the doors.

  “What did you find?” she asked, keeping her back to the wall to be safe.

  “Maimee isn’t in today. She’s mourning her daughter, and the co-worker said that no one bothered Joy. She was safe here. They all are. Apparently, they like working in this bank. It’s never been robbed.”

  “Yeah, well, then why all the cameras?” she asked, pointing right above her head.

  There were two, and one was watching her. The other was scanning.

  “I’m going to say mob.”

  Yeah, her too.

  “He’s here. I can feel that scumbag-y vibe coming off the joint.”

  He laughed. “I like that word. I’m stealing it,” he said, grinning at her. “Are you sure you don’t want to…?”

  “Dick. TA. Your ass.”

  He shuddered.


  “You are a horrible person.”

  She laughed.

  Oddly, she’d heard that before.

  “Why is it that two victims of three had close proximity to the mob? What is it that made that happen?”

  “Coincidence?”

  “I don’t believe in it.”

  “Me either,” Max said. “Mob?”

  She nodded.

  Stepping back, she smiled into the camera as it tracked her.

  “Hey, Mikey, I’m coming for you. It’s a date.”

  With that, she led Max outside, and he looked horrified. She didn’t blame him.

  Inside, she was too.

  “You have a freaking death wish.”

  No, she wanted to clean up Boston, and that meant starting with the killer and then moving on to the mob.

  “Let’s go find a professor.”

  They hopped in his ride.

  When they pulled away, they didn’t see him exit the building.

  Michael O’Banion was there.

  “Take me home, Tommy,” he said. “I have a date with a cocky Fed, and it’s one she will never forget.”

  “On it, boss.”

  Oh, and she wouldn’t.

  He’d make sure of that.

  * * * E l i z a b e t h L a R u e * * *

  Washington D.C.

  When he closed up the folder, he was done. Callen had been of no use to the agent with her files, but he did add a few notes that he’d noticed she’d missed.

  As he sat there, the day had changed him.

  He felt…better.

  While he contemplated doing what Gabriel Rothschild had suggested, he couldn't do it. He really wanted to meet this woman, but he couldn’t. If he did, and he fell for her, he’d have to walk away.

  The whole Native thing was his burden, and his grandfather would never back down.

  He had to leave before she was back, but first, he’d leave her a memento of his being there.

  She’d healed him.

  Now he’d thank her.

  Callen would leave one last note, and a gift. He pulled off the necklace his grandfather had given him to protect him, and he would pass it on. She felt like she needed someone watching over her.

  Grabbing a pen, he tore out a piece of paper from his journal and left his final message.

  He hoped it helped her like hers helped him.

  He placed the beaded necklace in the paper, and he placed it in her desk drawer where she’d find it.

  Then he stood.

  It was time.

  Callen wanted to go home. There were other classes, and he just didn’t have it in him. He knew what he needed to do, and that was to go back to the rez, and hopefully, resume his life. He was going to work hard, fight the good fight, and maybe make some difference in someone’s life.

  He couldn’t have what Ethan had.

  It would forever be out of his reach. His brother had made his decision, and Callen would respect it.

  He would leave him alone.

  If they were meant to heal, it would happen. Callen couldn’t force his brother to love him, and clearly, he didn’t. That letter he’d left him was his last-ditch effort to reach him, and he didn’t care.

  Well, there was a big world out there, and Callen had to save himself.

  He couldn’t quit.

  The mystery woman gave him perspective. He had one dream, and he’d chase it.

  Before today, Callen wanted to welcome his death.

  Now…he was going to try his best not to give up on himself.

  It wouldn’t be easy, but he’d give it a shot.

  He had nothing left to lose.

  One day, he’d pen that novel, and he had his star of the book. She’d be some brash, tough, badass Fed, and she’d make a difference in the world.

  She’d save people, and she’d fall in love with someone who thought he was out of her reach. She’d be his star, and he’d write himself that love story.

  Callen could dream.

  He only had one thing left of worth in his life, and he’d hold onto that.

  Pushing the chair in, he headed out.

  DC wasn’t for him.

  He didn’t have anything there that mattered. He’d likely never be back. He was going back to the Rez. Maybe, if he worked hard enough, he could be chief of police there.

  Maybe, just maybe, he could find a decent life.

  Maybe Callen Whitefox could finally accept himself.

  * * * E l i z a b e t h L a R u e * * *

  Professor Prince’s

  Home

  When they pulled up, the man they were looking for was sitting on his porch smoking.

  He was a hot mess.

  Elizabeth wasn’t sure if she bought the whole mourning thing, but she’d yet to interview the man.

  “Yeah, that’s him.”

  “Well, let’s see what our professor has to say for himself,” she said, getting out.

  He looked up when they approached, and he didn’t try to run.

  Well, that was a good sign.

  “Did you find who killed her?” he asked.

  Elizabeth pulled her badge and introduced herself.

  “I’m Elizabeth LaRue, and I am a special agent with the FBI. We’ve been called in to work this case.”

  “And?” he asked. “Is it solved?”

  “Not yet, sir, but we do have some questions.”

  “I told that other detective all I know. Not him,” he said, pointing at Max. “The other one. He was a miserable pisser too.”

  Well, that sounded like Patty O’Brien.

  Elizabeth had seen some notes regarding that interview, but this wasn’t about what he knew but what he’d done. She was pretty sure he didn’t tell the other cop that.

  “I need you to explain something that has been brought to our attention.”

  He nodded.

  “Okay.”

  “Did you and Mirel McGowan have a sexual relationship?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  Honestly, Elizabeth didn’t expect him to own it. That wasn’t normally what happened.

  They lied.

  She jumped through hoops threatening them.

  Well, that was new.

  “You were heard fighting over something regarding sex. She said she didn’t like that kind of sex.”

  He closed his eyes.

  “Let me guess. That nosey TA across the hall was in his office, and he’s told you some sordid story about me and my sex life.”

  Well, he’d nailed that one.

  “Yes, he has. I’m not here to judge your kink,” she said. “We all enjoy sex. I’m here to relate it to the dead woman, and figure out what happened.”

  “That kid needs a freaking life.”

  “Well, his life isn’t our concern. Yours is. What kind of sex did Mirel object to?” she asked.

  Again, she waited for him to tell her to pound sand.

  Only, again, he didn’t.

  “I liked it a little rougher. I tied her up, and she freaked out.”

  He said it like it was nothing.

  “I can’t believe she’s gone. I can’t…”

  She pushed past his grief or pseudo-grief. Elizabeth had learned that killers could lie with the best of them. This killer was crazy, and the trail of bodies was the proof.

  “She is gone. For that I’m sorry, but you’re our top suspect.”

  He glanced up at her.

  “What?”

  “You just admitted you liked rough sex, and she was beaten to death. Someone roughed her up.”

  He looked horrified.

  “I didn’t…”

  Elizabeth cut him off.

  “Have you ever met a Naomi Emery?” she asked, pulling up the woman’s picture in the official file on her phone.

  He shook his head.

  “I don’t know her.”

  “She’s a teacher at the local school.”

  “I don’t know her,” he said again.

  �
��How about Joy Scott?” Detective Bronson asked as Elizabeth showed him.

  He shook his head.

  “No.”

  “Do you bank at the ‘Bank of Boston’?” she asked, trying to tie it all together.

  “Yes, my mortgage is through that bank.”

  Interesting.

  “What kind of rough sex are we talking?” she asked. “You said you tied her up, but did it get physical?”

  He nodded.

  Well, this was the easiest interview she’d ever done.

  “I’d like you to come down for some questioning,” Elizabeth began.

  “Are you arresting me?” he asked.

  She knew they didn’t have nearly enough. What she needed was his alibi.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Then no, I’m not coming in. When you arrest me, I’ll be there with my lawyer. Until then, it’s not happening. I have a career, and if word gets out, even rumors, I’ll lose my tenure at the college. No, thank you.”

  Okay, she got that.

  Still…

  “Where were you the night she died?”

  “I was with someone.”

  “Who?”

  He didn’t want to tell them. She could see it on his face, and he didn’t look really happy that they were asking him questions.

  “WHO?” Max asked. “Help yourself out, or we will be going to the precinct, and there’s a shitload of media there.”

  “I was with a madam I use.”

  Elizabeth lifted a brow.

  “You were with a hooker?” she asked. “As in one you pay to get you off?”

  Clearly, she’d heard that wrong.

  There was no way…

  “Yes. I can give you her address, and you can check her out. I assure you that she will give me an alibi.”

  He sounded so self-assured.

  A little scared but still somewhat cocky.

  Something didn’t jive.

  There were alarms going off in her head. This didn’t feel right, but she couldn’t figure out why.

  “What time did you leave her place?”

  “After eleven, I believe.”

  Elizabeth checked TOD from Doctor Julliard’s report. She died at eleven. That was tight.