Such a Pretty Girl

by Tess Diamond

  There was something nagging at the back of her mind as she stared at the body. That feeling you get when you’ve forgotten something right in front of you. What was it?

  “What do you see?” Gavin asked her quietly.

  Grace’s eyes traced over Janice’s body, taking in the subtle differences and signs. “She’s an experienced runner,” Grace said. “She’s probably done a few marathons. Maybe one a year. Look at how worn her shoes are. She favors her left leg over her right. She’s probably right-handed, or maybe it’s from a sports injury. She’s neat, organized. Look at her nails.” She pointed at the sensibly short fingernails, painted a pale, inoffensive pink. “Running was her stress relief. Like a form of meditation for her. Her guard would’ve been down. She didn’t see it coming.”

  “And the shooter?” Gavin asked.

  What about the shooter? Grace stepped away from the body, scanning the area. Where would he go? Where would he feel safest?

  “Zooey, can you tell where the unsub’s perch was?” she asked.

  “From the direction of the missed bullets and the way she fell, I’d say he was somewhere on the laundromat’s roof.” Zooey pointed toward the building to their right. “The team I sent up should be looking for evidence by now.”

  Grace looked up at the flat roof, then back at Janice’s body, her mind putting it together.

  “You said she had her phone on her?” she asked Paul.

  “Zooey’s got it.”

  Zooey handed her the phone with a gloved hand. On the lock screen, the reminder Jog—8:30 PM was still flashing.

  Okay. So running this late was a regular thing. As a secretary, Janice would have been someone who liked routine and schedules. She probably had her day mapped out to the minute.

  Which meant the shooter would have to carefully plan this, to get into the right window of time. He’d have to watch her for days, maybe even weeks or months, to get her routine down to a T.

  Was he someone she knew? Why else choose a weapon he obviously wasn’t skilled with? Because she’d recognize him if he approached her? Because she’d run away if she saw him?

  “Had she ever filed any police reports?” she asked Paul. “Harassment? Stalking? Sexual assault?”

  “Nothing,” he replied, shaking his head.

  “Maybe he didn’t want to be seen because she knew him,” Gavin suggested. “Or maybe he’s just really inexperienced.”

  “Or shy,” Grace said.

  Gavin’s brow knit. “The shy ones are always the ones who lose it the most in the end,” he said.

  “That—” Grace started, automatically ready to argue, but then she stopped and took a deep breath. Paul had enough on his plate; he didn’t need her bickering with Walker just because he rankled her. “Has that been your experience?” she asked finally.

  His eyes twinkled with amusement. “It has,” he said. “And hey, it might be the trifecta. He could be a shy first-time killer who knew her.”

  “But why?” Grace asked, not really to him but to herself. That was always the question. The why would lead to clues to the who. “Why would he want her dead?”

  She glanced back up at the roof, where forensic techs had gathered, searching for evidence. Maybe this was guilt—then the lack of skill would make more sense. Especially if it was the unsub’s first kill. He’d want the distance, the removal from the moment.

  He wouldn’t want to see her eyes. He might have obsessed about that. Chosen the long-distance weapon to avoid a face-to-face, even if it made for a harder kill.

  “We should check the gun stores,” Gavin said.

  “Yes,” Grace said. “We should look at the last six weeks of video surveillance. He would’ve acquired the rifle recently.”

  “Who are we looking for?” Paul asked.

  “Male,” Grace said, circling Janice’s body again. There was something off about her, and she couldn’t quite place it. Was it her hair? No, it was in a no-nonsense ponytail; even the elastic was brown and ordinary, blending in with her hair. “He probably has a white-collar job, a nine-to-five. So he has relative freedom at night. He’s smart but cowardly. He might not have very good social skills—especially around women. That would explain the need for distance when it comes to killing. This isn’t a guy who makes women comfortable. This is a guy who triggers their internal alarm bells. So he’s had to work around that in order to fulfill his killing needs. He might work in education or IT. It might have taken him a few visits to the shop to get up his nerve to buy the weapon. When they’re going through the surveillance video, the techs should tag the men who show up more than once.”

  “Looks like Janice was engaged,” Gavin said, pointing to the sapphire ring on her left hand. “Fiancé would know her schedule. Maybe something went wrong? Wedding planning got too stressful? He cheated? Or she did?”

  “You can check out the fiancé, but I doubt it’s him,” Grace said. “We’re looking for a guy who wanted to stay hidden. Maybe needed to stay hidden. If this was the fiancé’s doing, he could’ve come right up to her without her suspecting anything. Shot her quickly with a handgun and run. It’s faster, it’s more efficient, and it doesn’t involve expensive weaponry that’s a pain to carry around. No, this guy . . . he likes the shadows.”

  “Professional resentment, maybe?” Gavin suggested.

  “Possibly.” Grace nodded. “We should see what she’s been working on at the Department of Transportation. If she had any problems with people at the office.”

  She looked down at Janice again, trying to figure out what it was about the body that was niggling at her. But she couldn’t place it. Was she just searching for a clue that wasn’t there, or was she missing something? She hated this feeling, an uncertainty that had no place in her life. She took a deep breath. “I think that’s all, for now, at least. Once we have more information, I can put together a better profile.”

  “Okay,” Paul said. “Zooey, you need anything else from Grace or Gavin?”

  Zooey shook her head. “I’ll have everything in the lab by the morning. Brianne’s headed there now to wait for the body.”

  “You can go home, then,” Paul said to Grace. “You too, Gavin. Thanks for coming out. I’ll see you both in the morning?”

  “I’ll bring the coffee,” Gavin said.

  “Good man,” Paul said, smiling.

  “Sinclair, you coming?” Gavin asked her.

  She looked at him, assessing for a moment. “Yes,” she said.

  She followed Gavin into the SUV and got inside. “I could get an Uber,” she said. “We do live on opposite ends of the city.”

  “I remember,” he said, grinning, starting the engine.

  “Is this the way it’s going to be?” she asked as he pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street. “Are you just going to tease your way through my life?”

  His smile widened. “You know what I think, Grace? I think you’re secretly pleased to see me.”

  “Oh, really?” God, his cockiness was insufferable.

  “We should go get a drink,” Gavin said. “Catch up. You can explain why you never called.”

  Grace glanced over at him, suddenly calculating. “I know a place,” she said. “Turn right.”

  She’d managed to surprise him, but he obeyed her directions over the next ten minutes, finally coming to a stop on the curb on a quiet street.

  “Where’s this bar again?” he asked, looking over his shoulder.

  Grace reached over and plucked the keys out of the ignition. His hand lashed out, fast and precise, grabbing her wrist. Their eyes met and the air in the SUV immediately changed.

  Suddenly, they weren’t two agents. They weren’t two people who slept with each other either.

  No, suddenly, they were assessing each other like a predator scoping out prey.

  “Grace,” Gavin warned.

  “You lied back there in the alley,” she said, her gaze unmoving from his. “You weren’t a sniper in the Army.”

&n
bsp; His lips twitched. “And how do you reckon that?”

  Her heart pounded in her chest. Maybe she should’ve waited to confront him. But if her suspicions were true . . .

  Well, she had to be sure. Especially after the CIA had meddled with Maggie’s last case. The previous—and corrupt—director could’ve had moles remaining that the investigation hadn’t found.

  “If you’d been a sniper, there’s no way they would’ve put you on bomb squad when you joined the force,” Grace said. “You would’ve been assigned to SWAT.”

  “Not if I requested a change of pace.”

  His fingers slowly loosened around her wrist and she pulled the keys away from him, licking her suddenly dry lips.

  Her eyes narrowed. Was he really trying to bullshit her? Now, of all times? Well, if he wanted to play that game, she was going to go for the jugular. “I’ve seen you naked, Walker,” she said.

  And there it was: his brown eyes darkened, the teasing snuffed out, seriousness spreading across his face.

  “You have gunshot scars on your back,” she continued. “And not the kind that were taken out and stitched up in a nice, clean hospital. You also have scarring on your feet. I bet you all the money in my bank account that if I pulled up your X-rays, your feet would be riddled with microfractures from being beaten with rubber tubing. And that’s not even touching on the six-inch scar on your chest that’s clearly a surgical scar over a much older, much cruder wound. Because when they catch spies, they torture them. And if you’re a very good spy, they just keep on torturing you because a good spy never gives up their intel.”

  “A good spy never gets caught,” he said.

  “Well, consider yourself caught,” Grace said.

  “Oh, yeah?” There was a dangerous rumble to his voice, one that made Grace want to shiver. Instead her hand went for her gun.

  “You were military intelligence,” she said. “It makes sense, really. You’re a little slippery, aren’t you? And you’re a charmer. A golden tongue, they call it. I bet you could just talk your targets into handing over intel, couldn’t you?”

  “I can neither confirm or deny,” he said, and there it was again: that smile.

  He kept trying to play her.

  Her gun was out and on him in a second. His eyes widened.

  “Christ, Grace, buy me dinner first,” he drawled.

  Anger sparked inside her. He was seriously joking? Now? “Who are you working for?” she demanded.

  “I work for Harrison, just like you,” Gavin said, staring at her calmly, like she didn’t have a gun on him.

  “Bullshit,” Grace said. “Do you think I’m stupid? Once a spy, always a spy. So tell me who you work for. CIA? One of the off-the-books collectives? Why are you here?”

  “Grace.” Gavin looked at her, his face somber. “I work for Harrison. I am not CIA. And I am not a spy.”

  She wanted to believe him. She truly did. But the CIA—under a crooked director—had been responsible for trying to stage a coup over Maggie’s last case. They’d sent assassins after Jake. Paul could’ve died. The little girl Maggie had been trying to rescue could’ve died.

  She was not going to risk her team.

  “You don’t get out of that kind of work,” Grace said.

  “You do when they consider you defective,” Gavin ground out.

  Grace frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  Gavin sighed. “Can you point the gun elsewhere while I explain?”

  She lowered her gun. Slightly.

  “God, I should’ve known,” he muttered. “I told Harrison he should clue you in. You’re right,” he said. “I was military intelligence. I was good, Grace. I was the best. I was four years into what was supposed to be a lifelong career—even if that life might not be the longest, since it was dangerous work. I got stabbed, about three years in. It was bad, but I recovered. Or I thought I did.” Even after all these years, the glint in his eyes was bitter. “I went back to work and it was fine for a while. But then it starts getting really hard to breathe. Like an elephant’s sitting on my chest. Turns out there’s a shitload of scar tissue built up in one of my heart valves. It’s not the biggest deal, it’s not gonna kill me or anything, but it means I’m no use to the United States Military. It means I’d be a liability in that kind of playing field. I can be a cop, I can be an FBI agent, but I can’t be a spy. Not the kind I was trained to be. Because I’m reliant on meds so my goddamn heart works the way it’s supposed to.”

  Grace knew every word he was saying was the truth—she could see it in his face, the openness, the hurt, the frustration. He wasn’t a man who liked to limit himself. It must’ve been hell, especially when he first came back home. Was that where his sense of humor came from? Did he decide to just joke his way through the hurt? The loss?

  “I gave up everything I’d ever worked for,” Gavin continued. “I walked away from all of it. I came home and I tried to forget. I dedicated my life to my police work and it fulfilled me, to a point.”

  “But you needed more,” Grace said in realization.

  “I ran into Harrison and we got to talking. He knows my background. He offered me the job.”

  Grace took a deep breath, her cheeks turning pink. “I . . . may have overreacted,” she said.

  “You think?” Gavin asked. “You really don’t like spies.”

  “I don’t like outside agencies messing with FBI business,” Grace said. “Last time the CIA got involved in one of our cases, my best friend nearly died. So no, I really don’t like spies.”

  Gavin leveled her with a sincere look. “My loyalty is to the FBI, to my team, and to the people we’re here to protect,” Gavin said. “I promise.”

  Grace regarded him with new eyes. Now that she understood, now that she’d seen the missing piece of Gavin Walker. Not just a cop. Not just a son and brother. Not just a good man or a patriot.

  He was sharp, naturally protective, and instinctively brave, with a self-sacrificing streak that would put a martyr to shame. In short, he had probably been a great spy. He had been a great detective. And she knew he’d make an even greater FBI agent. Because he was the kind of man who set his sights on something and did everything in his power to get it.

  She understood that. Because she was like that too.

  He tilted his head, taking her in as if she were a piece of art. It made her feel strange—almost cherished. She hated how much she liked the feeling, how it rushed through her like warm ocean waves.

  “You’re the damnedest woman,” he said. “Mind like a laser. You just cut through all the bullshit.”

  It might have been the nicest compliment she’d ever received. It startled her, making her pause, her heart squeezing unexpectedly. She was used to being told she was beautiful. That she was intelligent. That she was a good FBI agent, a talented writer.

  But no one had ever praised her bluntness before. Most people viewed it as a fault. Most men saw it that way.

  Sometimes she saw it that way too.

  There were times she wished she were softer. Easier to get along with. Less honest. More trusting. But she hadn’t been built that way. To be those things, she would have to lose herself. She’d done that once. She’d never let it happen again.

  But there he was, looking at her like Grace, the real Grace, was the hottest thing in the world. His attention, his acceptance made something curious and tentative bloom inside her chest.

  “I don’t like bullshit.” She shrugged, unwilling to examine this . . . this feeling she had.

  She tossed him the keys and he started the engine, pulling back onto the street and heading toward her side of town. “Is that why you never called?” he asked.

  “Gavin—” she started.

  “I mean, come on, how could you ignore a guy like me?” He smiled, that sarcastic, self-deprecating smile chock-full of boyish charm. It had probably gotten him out of trouble since he was a kid. It certainly was one of the reasons she’d ended up in his bed—she was a suc
ker for a killer smile.

  “It was quite the challenge,” she said dryly. “But it was for the best.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” he said softly.

  “Gavin, it was one night,” she said patiently, trying to ignore how her skin went hot at the memory. Okay, so it was one sizzling, memorable night that had occupied her dreams and thoughts for two years. But it didn’t matter. She couldn’t let it matter. She couldn’t let him distract her. “You’re a grown man. You’ve had one-night stands before. Don’t act like you haven’t.”

  “Maybe I wanted it to be more this time,” he replied, his eyes going darker as he glanced over to her. “You’re not exactly a typical woman, Grace.”

  She laughed shortly. “There’s no such thing as a typical woman,” she said. “We’re all unique. And don’t pull the ‘you’re not like other girls’ crap on me. You’re better than that.”

  He was. Her time spent with him hadn’t been all sex. Though, God, that had sure been mind-blowing.

  They fell into a silence—not an awkward or uncomfortable one—as he drove through the streets of DC and arrived at her door.

  She unbuckled her seat belt.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow?” She meant it to just be polite, but it came out more tentative, almost hopeful.

  “Tomorrow,” he said.

  She got out of the SUV and was about to close the door when he leaned forward.

  “Grace?”

  She turned back expectantly.

  “The whole pulling-a-gun-on-me thing?” His wicked smile was back. “Way hotter than it should be.”

  She laughed, unable to stop herself. “Good night, Gavin.”

  He waited until she was inside her town house before driving away. As she dumped her purse and red trench coat in her hallway, she absentmindedly pulled the pins out of her braids as she made her way deeper into the house.