A light went on upstairs. He was about to swing down to the ground to head out when a shadow separated itself from the garden shed. Alex froze as the shadow took a crowbar and inserted it into the lock of the back door and jimmied the wood. The quiet crunch was barely audible from where Alex perched.
He hesitated as the figure slipped inside. Fuck. He stayed where he was. Going inside was a massive risk. He lived in a house of cards that could collapse with one wrong move.
His eyes tracked to the upstairs window. Had Mallory heard the guy break in? Did she have her weapon on her? Was she ready to take on the prick? Probably.
But what if she wasn’t?
What if she’d removed her weapon and was listening to music or the TV? What if the guy caught her unaware in a blitz attack? Then what?
He dropped to the ground and pulled his ski mask low over his face. He vaulted the fence, sprinted across the grass before slipping silently into the house.
The first thing he noticed was the sound of water rushing through pipes. Mallory was either running a bath or in the shower. Vulnerable. Unaware.
He used all his senses to locate the intruder. Whoever it was knew there was woman in the house and had broken in anyway. The hair on his nape prickled beneath the wool of his cap. A stair creaked. Alex gave it a few seconds before following. He drew a knife from his boot and eased into the sitting room. He left the M1911 pistol he habitually carried in its holster. It was too loud and too deadly to solve this particular problem. He didn’t want to be found here, especially armed. He didn’t want to kill anyone unsanctioned by The Gateway Project. But he couldn’t just abandon a woman to known danger.
Moving swiftly through the house and up the stairs, he edged carefully around the doorway and peered into the master bedroom. Sure enough, the guy—tall, lean, dressed head to foot in black just like Alex—stood outside the bathroom door. No obvious sign of a weapon, although the pockets of the black jacket bulged with something and it was doubtful they were Girl Scout cookies. No sign of Mallory so she was presumably behind that bathroom door. That was a good thing. The only plus about the whole goddamned fiasco.
Now Alex had to get this asshole out of here without Mallory knowing she’d had uninvited guests. The intruder put his hand on the knob. That’s when Alex noticed the surgical gloves. Hatred uncurled in his gut that this man meant to harm a woman, and had probably done it before. This guy was the sort of offender The Gateway Project was trying to eliminate, but it wasn’t up to Alex to pick targets. He just carried out orders.
Moving swiftly, Alex got his knife to the would-be assailant’s throat before the other man could open the door. The eyes behind the mask widened, then glittered. Alex used his left hand to indicate the guy head down the stairs.
It would have all worked fine if the guy hadn’t decided to make a break for it. He slung his elbow high toward Alex’s face. Alex dodged. He didn’t intend to leave any DNA either. The guy had a slight size advantage and used it to try and swing around and capture Alex in a bear hug. Alex twisted out of his grip and danced on the balls of his feet out of the way of the other man, swiping the razor edge of his blade in an arc in front of him. They faced each other in a standoff.
The door clicked. There stood Mallory, wrapped in a blue towel, in a firing stance with a Glock 21 clutched in a two-handed grip. If she saw his face, his life was over. Alex palmed the knife. Before she could react, he twisted the pistol out of her hands. A shot went into the wall, the recoil punching both of their joined hands before he secured the weapon and pushed her away from him. Out of the corner of his eye, Alex watched the other asshole flee. Five seconds later, the front door crashed open and he was gone.
Dammit. The evening had not gone to plan. If he was caught here he’d be labeled a burglar, a Peeping Tom, maybe even a rapist. His company’s reputation would be damaged, his friends would feel betrayed. This underlined all the reasons he insisted on seeing proof of a target’s crimes before he took them out. Circumstantial evidence was not enough.
Her eyes were huge amber pools. There was fear there, but there was also anger, and frankly he didn’t blame her. He backed toward the window and opened it wide, popping the screen with one hand and flinging it onto the bed.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Her voice was raspy.
He didn’t dare speak. Voices dug deep into peoples’ subconscious and he wouldn’t risk being identified. And no way in hell would he risk getting in a firefight with Special Agent Mallory Rooney. He pointed the gun at the floor and climbed over the window ledge.
She crossed her hands over her chest. Lips pinched. Eyes narrowed. “That’s a second floor window.” Asshole seemed implied.
He tossed her Glock behind him onto the lawn and lowered himself as far as he could before dropping the remaining ten feet to the grass. Her hands reached for him but she was too late. When he hit the ground, he rolled the same way he did for parachute jumps and sprang to his feet, no harm done. She yelled at him to stop, but he was already gone. Twenty seconds later he was deep in the heart of the woods, running like a greyhound as branches whipped his face. He ripped off the knit cap and black fleece to reveal a shirt and tie beneath. He stopped running when he hit the sidewalk and worked his way calmly back to his rental car. He got in, stuffed his clothes under the passenger seat, looking like just another ordinary Joe on his way home from work.
He did a quick drive along nearby streets and back alleys, searching for the intruder but saw no one. Calling it quits, he drove back to the airport where he knew a pilot who’d fly him wherever he needed to go with no questions and even less paperwork. He kept trying to shake the image of Mallory Rooney standing wrapped in a towel with her gun drawn, alone and valiant against the world, but he couldn’t.
If she ever found out who he was, she’d be holding that gun on him for real. And he’d have to make a decision what to do about it.
***
The Behavioral Analysis Unit was no longer secreted in the dark depths of the basement, but instead set up in a smart spread of office space, complete with ubiquitous gray cubicles. Mallory headed toward the reception desk, feeling like a fraud. She’d packed the previous day while her backdoor was replaced by a sturdier model and an alarm system installed. Then she’d driven to DC. No word on the assailants, and local CSIs hadn’t found any finger or palm prints to run through the system. B&E’s were hardly rare occurrences in one of the fastest growing cities in the US, but what was more unusual—though not unheard of—was two perps wearing ski masks. Because she was a federal agent the detectives and evidence techs had been thorough, but nothing had been stolen and, Thank Christ, the guy who’d jumped out of the window had left her gun behind. Her face still burned with humiliation at how easily he’d disarmed her.
She’d been about to get in the shower when she’d seen shadows moving under the door. Thankfully she’d still been wearing her backup because her primary weapon was downstairs in the drawer where she kept it. She didn’t want to think about what would have happened if the men hadn’t panicked and fled when confronted. She put it out of her mind. Training and situational awareness had kept her safe and it was no good worrying about might-have-beens.
A packing company was coming in and storing all her personal belongings. She’d just brought along the essentials for now—clothes, toiletries, computer, and her sister’s files. She’d moved into her father’s DC apartment until she figured out if this appointment was permanent. It was a forty-five minute commute, which was OK. Her dad spent most of his time as a federal judge in West Virginia and had bought the apartment when he and her mother had first separated, but were still pretending to be a couple. Now he kept it for retirement.
Mallory stood uncertainly in front of the reception desk in Quantico, noting the number of curious glances she was getting. She bit down on her lip and figured everyone here had pegged her body language as flat out terrified and she should just own it. She took a hesitant step toward a secretary’s
desk.
“Special Agent Rooney.” The bark came from behind her and she whirled, clutching her messenger bag to her chest. Silver-haired SSA Hanrahan strode toward her, face stern and manner, frankly, not that welcoming. Her heart did a nosedive.
“Follow me.”
She set off after him, trotting obediently like a dog brought to heel. Her mother had sworn inside out that she hadn’t pulled any political strings to get her this job, but nothing else made sense. So she hadn’t felt one iota of guilt when she’d refused to take part in this year’s planned media stunt and even refused her mother’s dinner invitation for this evening. If she felt bad for not being with her mother on this particular anniversary it was balanced by a dull rage that simmered just below her skin. She hated being manipulated.
She followed SSA Hanrahan down the impersonal corridor into his office. Hopefully she could convince him to change his mind and give this assignment to someone more deserving.
The office was crammed full of bookshelves, a big desk, two chairs and two computers with large monitors. The window overlooked the parking lot with the assault course that had brought her to her knees on more than one occasion, hidden in the nearby woods.
“Shut the door and take a seat.”
She did, crossing her legs and uncrossing them, then crossing them again.
“Christ. Relax. You’re making me dizzy.” Hanrahan took his gaze off her legs, but it wasn’t lust shining from his blue eyes, it was something akin to pity. “Your shiner’s gone, I see. You certainly had a busy week.”
She nodded. He’d obviously been checking up on her and that made her a little uneasy. “I don’t know what I’m doing here,” she admitted. “I never even applied for this position.”
A smile made all the lines on his face deepen. “I know you didn’t.”
“I don’t want to be here just because my mother pulled some strings.”
“Is that what you believe?” The intensity of his stare was unnerving.
“Yes.”
He looked relieved. “And if I told you your mother had nothing to do with your appointment?”
She leaned forward. “Then I’d say you’re either a very good liar or I don’t understand.”
“What if I told you I was so impressed by your performance at the briefing last Monday I decided I wanted you working here with me?”
“I’d say your reputation must be a fallacy or you’ve recently suffered a head injury.” She shook her head. Maybe she could get herself fired by being honest. “I looked like a moron at that briefing.”
“No, you didn’t.” He leaned back in his chair and sighed. “I’m not good at all this maneuvering and political bullshit.”
Mallory closed her eyes and prayed the floor would just swallow her up. “I see.”
“I don’t think you do.”
“Then tell me what is going on.”
He pressed his lips together and stared at her like he was looking to find something wrong with her—the same way he’d stared at her during the briefing.
“Just tell me.” She sounded exactly how she felt. Nervous and pissed.
“I didn’t want to do this today...”
Mallory flinched. “Because today is my first day in a new office or because it’s the anniversary of my sister’s disappearance?”
Again he remained silent even as his eyes probed her. What the hell was going on?
Finally he spoke. “You were looking into vigilante killings on ViCAP.”
Of all the things she’d expected him to say, that wasn’t it. She nodded. “I think I’ve found several cases that have enough common features to warrant further investigation.”
“What exactly did you find?”
She told him about several suspected killers, sex offenders and pedophiles being found dead under suspicious circumstances. “They were called in afterward as suspects by anonymous tipsters that couldn’t be traced.”
“Maybe nobody really tried?”
“Well I tried. And Mike Tanner tried.” She stared at him. Everyone knew Mike Tanner was one of the best. Her arms crossed tight across her chest and then it struck her. “How do you know I was looking into vigilantes?”
“I have some flags setup for when people start searches using particular terms. Vigilante and anonymous tip are two of those phrases.”
She didn’t know what to say.
“Did you talk to anyone about your suspicions?”
God, she wished he wouldn’t watch her like that, like he wanted to dissect her mind. This guy dealt with serial killers—did he really think she could hide anything from him? Or that she wanted to?
“I tried to contact Special Agent Lucas Randall who is leading the investigation into Meacher’s death, but I couldn’t reach him.” She’d assumed he was pissed with her the same way everyone else was pissed with her. Landing a plum assignment by virtue of who she knew rather than how good she was at her job. But now she wasn’t so sure her mother had been involved at all...
“No best friend, significant other?”
She shook her head. There was something in Hanrahan’s gaze. Satisfaction? Relief? “Tell me what’s going on.”
“What do you think is going on?”
Her heart pounded with sudden anger. “You sound like my childhood shrink.”
Sadness tugged at his mouth. “I am sorry about your sister, you know.”
She nodded. What sane person wouldn’t be sorry about something like that?
He was waiting for her to catch up, she realized. She was supposed to have figured something out already. “So you think there’s a vigilante too?”
His mouth formed a thin straight line. “I do.”
“Then why didn’t you let me start an investigation in Charlotte?”
He drew in a deep breath through his nose. Even his breathing seemed controlled and patient.
The clues clicked into place.
“Because you think they’d find out.” Mallory sat up straighter. “You think whoever the vigilante is, they have access to ViCAP? You think they have the same sort of flags in place that you do, in case someone starts searching?”
“I’m almost certain they have some sort of early warning system in place, but whoever it is hides their tracks better than my IT guy can uncover them, and he’s the best the Bureau has.”
“But in that case they already know I had suspicions about vigilantism...”
He nodded. “When you fail to continue the search after your transfer here they’ll relax their guard and assume you’ve moved on to other cases.”
“And will I?”
“To all intents and purposes.”
“So you brought me here to...what? To protect me?”
His laugh was deeply amused. “You’re a federal agent. You get to protect yourself.” He leaned forward over his desk. “They appear to have access to all the same information we do, including criminal profiles.”
That was a scary thought. Mallory swallowed the knot in her throat because she suddenly knew what he was worried about. “You think they have a source inside the FBI?”
“Worse.” He held her gaze. “I think they have a mole in the BAU. Someone here has been compromised. If I open an investigation I risk sending that person to ground and we’ll never catch them, not to mention if this gets out it’ll damage the reputation of a great group of highly motivated individuals who dedicate their lives to catching bad guys.” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Every law enforcement agency in the US would hesitate to bring us in to consult. We can’t afford that. The people of this country can’t afford that.”
Mallory licked dry, cracked lips. “So you brought me here, to what? Spy on the others?” She didn’t like the idea of betraying the people she trusted with her life.
“I used the fact you have a powerful mother to get you on my team without anyone suspecting that we’re onto them. No one can know about it. Not your friends, not your family. It’s imperative this remains a
secret.” His gaze drilled into hers. “I want you to go in there,” he pointed to his door, “make friends, make mistakes, look like a non-threat and basically worm your way into their work and lives. It’s going to take time—months, maybe years. You’ll have to join the next training session when it starts, which will take more time, but it will gain you experience and contacts.” His words hit her like hail, each one stinging just a little bit harder. “I’m putting you in a highly vulnerable position. Whether we catch this person or not, you’re going to catch flak from all sides.”
“Do I get a raise?”
From the narrowing of his eyes now wasn’t the best time to joke. “I don’t know if you realize how serious this is.”
“Oh, I think I’ve figured it out.” She felt sick inside. “When this is over, if we are wrong about our theory that there’s a vigilante I’ll be perceived as a blue flamer who got her position because her mother is a senator and will have zero credibility. If we do apprehend a mole, I’ll be seen as someone not to trust because she rats on her colleagues.” She was screwed either way, but she was also trapped.
A wry smile caught her off guard.
“If it’s any consolation, I was impressed by your work in Charlotte.”
She raised a dubious eyebrow at him. Sure. “Do you think this mole and vigilante are one and the same person?”
“No, I’ve been attempting to keep tabs on where agents from this office are when these deaths occur. They all have alibis, although alibis are rarely foolproof.”
“Do you think they’re dangerous?” she asked quietly.
“The person putting bullets in people is most assuredly a trained assassin—so I’d categorize them as dangerous. The people who work in this office—generally—” a bushy brow bobbed up and down at her, “have worked long and hard to get here.” His lips pursed. “They aren’t going to want to go to jail without a fight.”
01 A Cold Dark Place Page 5
