Shadow Fall (Tracers Series Book 9)

by Laura Griffin

  “So we have three murders that happened last year—February, sometime in the summer, and September,” Jacobs said.

  “And none of them attracted very much attention,” Tara said. “Then Catalina Reyes is killed, and suddenly it’s all over the news.”

  “What does that tell us?” Jacobs looked at Mark.

  “A lot,” the profiler said. “Especially when you consider that Catalina Reyes was found in a setting that was a known hangout for teenagers. I’d say that by the time she was murdered, this UNSUB was getting frustrated.”

  “ ‘Frustrated’?” Tara repeated. The word seemed much too bland given the magnitude of the violence.

  “That’s right,” Mark said. “He was doing all this work, and he wanted someone to notice.”

  THE MEETING BROKE up when Kelsey and Mark had to leave, and Tara was left sitting across the conference table from her boss. She watched him jotting notes on his legal pad.

  She took a deep breath. “Why wasn’t I told about the task force?”

  He looked up. “What about it?”

  “That it exists, for starters.”

  He rested his pen. “We’re investigating a serial killer. A task force is standard procedure.”

  “So you mean to involve the locals?”

  He nodded. “Sheriff Ingram, Chief Becker. Couple of agents from our office—you, Martinez, Mike Brannon.”

  Her temper festered. “I’m guessing Brannon’s in charge, then?”

  “You’re in charge.”

  She stared at him.

  “I’m hoping you can provide a bridge between us and the locals. There are some tricky politics here, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. Given your background, we think you’re the one we need to fill the gap.”

  Her background. “You mean . . . because I’m from around here?”

  “That’s part of it. You’re one of the few agents in our office who’s actually from East Texas. And your background’s in policing, which gets us some points with local cops.”

  “And I’m a woman.”

  “That, too.”

  She couldn’t believe he’d admitted it. Had he really just put her in charge of an entire task force as some sort of affirmative-action move?

  Maybe this was a PR strategy. Maybe he wanted it to look like the Bureau actually gave a damn that some sociopath was going around butchering women, whether or not they happened to be political figures.

  Only that wasn’t true.

  Over the past year, three young women from the same geographic area had disappeared, never to be heard from again. And not one law-enforcement agency, federal or otherwise, had launched a serious investigation until Catalina Reyes’s Lexus LS 460 was found abandoned in a park.

  The media was going to be all over this angle, if they weren’t already, which meant the Bureau was in damage-control mode. It was going to be a firestorm, and Tara was going to be right in the middle of it, taking the heat on behalf of every badge involved.

  Well, so be it. She was pissed off enough not to care.

  “Are you having second thoughts about taking this case?” he asked.

  As if she’d had a choice. “No, but I could use more information.”

  “Such as?”

  “What’s Judge Mooring’s involvement? Why’d he call us in on this?”

  Jacobs leaned back in his chair. “Mooring’s politically connected.”

  “I know, but that doesn’t explain why he called us in before the body was even identified.”

  “He wanted to get ahead of it.”

  “Ahead of what?”

  “Two high-profile politicians from the same county, from opposite ends of the political spectrum. It’s no secret their camps don’t like each other. Mooring called us as soon as he heard about the abandoned car. He wanted the feds involved early to make sure the investigation was handled right.”

  “ ‘Right’ as in focused on someone besides him?”

  Jacobs just looked at her.

  “Has anyone checked him out?”

  “Discreetly, but yes,” he said. “I put Brannon on it the very first day.”

  Tara’s mind whirled as so many new details—important details—came to light. She cringed to think what else she’d been left in the dark about. She folded her hands in front of her. “Can we talk about the elephant in the room now?”

  “What would that be?”

  “Liam Wolfe.”

  “What about him?”

  “Why do I get the feeling he’s part of the reason I was appointed to head up this task force?”

  “Because he is.”

  Tara tried not to show any reaction. She wasn’t surprised, really, that her boss would put her in this position. Jacobs was known to be strategic. But she was surprised that he was being so candid about it.

  “All of these victims were recovered on or near Liam Wolfe’s property,” he said. “And he knew one of the victims personally.”

  “He has an alibi for the night of Reyes’s death,” she countered. “He was in Aspen, Colorado, with a client, and then he was on an airplane.”

  “I don’t think Liam Wolfe killed her. I don’t think he killed any of them. But I do think he’s the key to this.”

  “How?” she asked, even though she figured she already knew. She wanted to hear Jacobs say it.

  “We’re looking for someone who hates women. Someone who’s physically strong, who’s skilled with a tactical knife. Someone who drives a pickup and is familiar with the back roads in the area.” Jacobs leaned forward on his elbows. “That description probably fits the entire workforce at Wolfe Security. He’s got dozens of men working for him, and he trains another hundred each year on his property. Chances are Liam Wolfe knows this UNSUB, whether he realizes it or not. We need his cooperation here.”

  Tara watched him talk, tamping down her emotions as her boss’s real motives became clear.

  So, that was the reason he’d put her in charge instead of, say, Mike Brannon. Not because she was a competent agent who showed leadership potential but because she was female. Brannon had much more experience but not nearly as much going for him when it came to getting Liam’s attention. And Liam was key.

  “I’m sure you’re aware,” Tara said, “that Liam Wolfe is a former Marine, as are many of the men working for him. The loyalty there runs deep. He’s not just going to hand us a list of suspects.”

  “I know.” Jacobs pushed back his chair.

  “So what do you want me to do?”

  He stood up, effectively ending the conversation. “Do whatever you have to, Rushing. But get him on board.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  M.J. pulled open the door to the Cypress County admin offices and was surprised to see Jeremy. He held the door open for her as she stepped in from the cold.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  He gave a brief nod as he walked out.

  “Hey, nice talking to you,” she called, as the door whisked shut behind him.

  She turned to the reception desk, where a woman was shutting down her computer, clearly getting ready to leave for the evening. M.J. walked over.

  “I’m here to see one of your dispatchers, Amy Leahy.” M.J. cast a glance at the clock. “I think her shift ends at six?”

  The woman slung her purse over her shoulder. From the framed photos on her desk, M.J. guessed she was in a hurry to get home to her kids.

  “Amy’s out.”

  “Out as in on a break or—”

  “She called in sick today. Said she has that cold that’s been going around.”

  “Any idea when she’ll be back?”

  “No.” She pointedly looked at her watch. “You could try tomorrow. She’s scheduled for the night shift.”

  Without further chitchat, she walked past M.J. and pushed through the glass doors, letting in a chilly gust.

  M.J. followed her outside, discouraged. Nearly thirty-six hours had passed since an anonymous caller had reported the bones in the w
oods, and still no one had interviewed the dispatcher who took the call.

  M.J. stood on the sidewalk looking out at the square. It was already dark. The shops on Main Street were closing up for the night. M.J.’s gaze fell on a row of sheriff’s cruisers parked across the street. Several deputies in khaki uniforms and cowboy hats were milling around shooting the breeze. They made eye contact with her, but they weren’t exactly welcoming looks.

  She averted her gaze and started down the sidewalk to her car, again wondering why Jacobs had sent her here. She wasn’t a fan of small towns. She was much more comfortable working in an urban setting where there was a mix of people and she didn’t stand out. Since showing up in Cypress County, she’d seen exactly three other Latinas. Two were maids at the Big Pines Motel, and the other was a murder victim.

  M.J. shivered. The temperature was already dropping. She strode past the white gazebo in the town square.

  She knew part of the reason the Bureau was here in the first place was to determine whether Catalina Reyes’s murder had been a hate crime. M.J. didn’t know. But she was well aware of the fact that not far from this place in the not-so-distant past, a black man had been chained to a pickup truck by white supremacists and dragged to his death. So maybe M.J. was here as sort of a human weather vane. Maybe Jacobs wanted her to stand in the middle of town and see which way the wind was blowing.

  But she honestly didn’t know. The place was confusing, both friendly and inhospitable at the same time. And as far as the case went, various forces seemed to be conspiring against her, from the shifty-eyed sheriff to the common cold.

  As she reached her car, she spotted Jeremy’s truck parked in front of Red’s BBQ. Interesting that he’d been leaving the county offices right as Amy Leahy’s shift should have ended. Coincidence? She decided to find out.

  She crossed the square to the restaurant. The smell of barbecued brisket greeted her when she stepped inside. Jeremy was on a corner bar stool watching both the basketball game and the door.

  M.J. smiled and walked up to him. “Hi again.”

  He nodded. His face remained neutral, but she got the tiniest feeling he was glad to see her. Maybe she’d imagined it.

  She took a stool and nodded at the menu in front of him. “Having dinner?”

  “Picking up.”

  “What’s good here?”

  “All of it.”

  She opened the menu and gave it a quick look. The bartender sauntered over, and M.J. ordered a brisket sandwich to go.

  Jeremy was watching her. “What brings you to Cypress?” he asked.

  “I need to talk to the emergency dispatcher, Amy Leahy.”

  “Amy’s sick.”

  “So I hear.”

  M.J. watched him, waiting for more information. Was Amy his girlfriend? She didn’t think so. First of all, he didn’t seem like the type to have a girlfriend—too much conversation involved. And if he did have one, he probably wouldn’t need some receptionist to tell him she hadn’t gone to work today.

  M.J. leaned an elbow on the bar. “So, what’s the deal with you and Amy?”

  His eyebrows tipped up.

  “Is she . . . your girlfriend? Your source?”

  “My source?”

  She shrugged. “We know you and Liam are getting inside information somewhere. Tara was thinking one of the deputies, but my bet’s on the emergency dispatcher.”

  Something flickered in his eyes, maybe amusement. He didn’t know what to make of her, but at least he was listening. His gaze hadn’t strayed to the TV above the bar, which M.J. considered a victory.

  “So which is it?” she asked.

  “Amy’s a friend.”

  He held her gaze for a long moment, still looking amused. Did he think she was hitting on him?

  The bartender walked over with a pair of to-go bags, and Jeremy seemed to welcome the interruption. They handed over their credit cards. After they finished paying and collected their food, Jeremy held the door for her as she stepped outside. His gaze scanned the streets, the square, the sidewalk in front of the courthouse. The deputies were gone now.

  “Where’re you headed?” M.J. asked him.

  “Home.”

  “And where is that, exactly?” She was being nosy again, but she couldn’t help it. She’d never met a professional bodyguard before, and she was curious how it worked.

  “I have an apartment in town,” he said. “But when Liam’s gone I stay at the ranch.”

  “To hold down the fort?”

  “That’s right. Where’re you parked?”

  “By the admin building.”

  He started walking, and she realized he intended to escort her all the way to her car. She had no idea why that gave her a little lift, but it did.

  “So,” she said to fill the silence, “you know, they formed a task force today.”

  “I heard.”

  “Tara’s in charge.”

  He didn’t say anything, and she couldn’t tell whether he’d known that, too.

  Did he also know that Tara’s first order of business was to take a close look at Wolfe Security? She believed Liam’s men fit the profile of the UNSUB, which meant that Jeremy was going to be looked at right along with everyone else.

  Given his connection to Catalina, he had to have known this from the beginning. Maybe that was why he was so tight-lipped around her.

  They reached her car, and M.J. turned to face him. He towered over her, and she caught something in his look, not amusement anymore but something else. Interest. Butterflies flitted to life in her stomach. The good kind.

  She imagined inviting him back to her motel for dinner. Only it wouldn’t just be dinner. An invitation like that could only mean one thing.

  She stood gazing up at him, heart thudding. Part of her wanted to do it. Another part of her thought she was crazy. She imagined him standing in her room, looking down at her as he was right now. If sex was involved, would he manage some small talk first? Or would he get right to the point?

  He glanced around, and suddenly he looked like a bodyguard again, all business. His gaze met hers, and he nodded briskly.

  “Drive safe,” he told her.

  She opened her door. “I will.”

  THE MEN WERE easy to spot, and Tara watched them, waiting for her moment. They wore suits and holsters and had transparent radio receivers clipped to their ears, and every one of them noticed her—she was sure of it. Lurking near the gift shop and scrolling through her phone, she was just the sort of person they were trained to pick up on: someone trying to blend in, someone doing just enough to look busy but not anything that would attract attention.

  One by one, they filed into the elevator. Liam was nowhere, though, and her plan of bumping into him was starting to seem far-fetched. He might have taken the service elevator or the stairwell.

  “Hi.”

  She turned around, startled. “Damn, don’t creep up on people like that.”

  Liam stepped closer. “Why not?”

  She looked him over, trying to get her heart rate back to normal. He wore all black, from the T-shirt that stretched tautly over his muscles to the combat boots on his feet.

  “Why are you in Houston?” he asked.

  “I live here.”

  “Not lately.”

  He was right. She’d spent the last five nights at motels, only swinging by her apartment once for necessities. Living out of a duffel was getting old, but she’d just have to deal with it. Liam evidently dealt with it a lot.

  “I need to talk to you,” she told him. “You have time for a break?”

  He held her gaze for a moment. Then his attention dropped to her neck, where the collar of her shirt didn’t quite hide her cuts.

  He took out his phone and made a call. “What’s your twenty?” he asked, then listened a moment. “So, he’s in for the night?” He checked his watch. “Okay, you’re in charge. I’ll check in at 2100.” He hung up and looked at her. “You hungry?”

  “N
o, but I could use a drink.”

  She looked him over as he led her across the lobby. He exuded tension tonight. It was in his shoulders, his gaze, the tight set of his jaw. She glanced down and noticed the talclike dust on his boots.

  “Long day?” she asked.

  “I was on rooftop overwatch for three hours. Willet gave a speech on the steps of the federal courthouse.”

  “God, why? It’s forty degrees out.”

  “His strategists wanted the backdrop.”

  The bar was dark and quiet. He found a corner booth and ushered her in first, then slid around so he had a clear line of sight to the door.

  “I’d think he’d want to avoid open-air venues if he’s getting death threats,” Tara said.

  “You’d think.”

  “Did you try to talk him out of it?”

  “I always try.” He signaled a waitress. “Sometimes they listen, sometimes not. When they don’t, I’m forced to make the best of it.”

  The waitress stepped up and flashed Liam a smile. “What can I get for you?”

  He nodded at Tara.

  “Jack and Coke,” she said.

  The waitress turned to Liam.

  “Two Cokes,” he said. “And a hamburger, rare, no onions.”

  The waitress left, and Tara looked at him. His gaze scanned the bar—searching for what, she didn’t know.

  “So,” Tara said, trying to sound casual even though this meeting wasn’t. Liam knew damn well she wouldn’t come all the way here without a reason. “What was the candidate’s speech about?”

  “The usual.”

  “Does he do the same speech, over and over?”

  “It varies a little. He switches jokes, depending on the audience.”

  “You must get bored out of your mind listening to it.”

  “I don’t listen.” His attention settled on her. “Listening’s a distraction.”