“You’re getting split up.”
Paris’s hand froze as he reached for his tablet. Immediately, he glanced up from his work. His eyes flickered to Tessa, and she looked equally upset. Had someone caught them and reported it to the boss man?
Croft didn't miss it. Yep, they were still a couple. If it hadn’t been such a shitty day, he would have busted them and made a joke. Instead, he clarified.
“It’s only for the day, Agents. I have some work for Tessa that I need handled.”
They both relaxed.
“Right now, Curtis is handling the scene. There are two dead bodies there, and I need a partner in the field.”
Tessa was good with that. Working with her boss didn't bother her in the least. He was good at his job, fair, and a decent guy. He took care of his agents, and that was always appreciated when you were lower on the food chain. Plus, he was happily married and she could study him.
You know, in case she ever got lucky like that.
“I assumed your wife would be all over you,” she said, speaking the truth.
Croft laughed. “You guessed right. That’s why I need you. While I can normally keep my eyes on her, I need someone to help me with that. I want you on her like white on rice. Am I clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“If she wants a pedicure, you’re getting one too.”
Tessa wouldn’t mind in the least. Emma Croft was genuinely a nice person.
“If she has to run to the ladies’ room, I want you right there sharing a stall.”
Tess tried not to laugh, but it wasn’t easy. “Sir, while we travel to bathrooms in packs, we don’t actually share the same space. That’s awkward and very crowded,” she teased.
Paris stared at her incredulously. He couldn’t believe his girlfriend was teasing their boss. Here was more proof that they were polar opposites.
He laughed. “You get my point, Agent.”
“Got it, sir.”
As if timed, there was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” he called, already knowing that it would be his wife. If anything, his driver was punctual.
“Hey, babe. I’m back safe and sound,” she said, walking in with a bag from the local bakery. Then, she noticed his team in the office. “Hello, Tessa and Paris. How are you both doing?” she asked, handing him the offering.
“We’re good, Emma,” Agent Brass replied. If the woman was using her first name, she was going with it.
She focused on her husband. “That’s a muffin for my love muffin. You need to eat something. You get cranky if you don’t have carbs.”
She was trying to distract him from what was coming. Emma was well aware that heading to Lester Williams’s house to give his wife the news, would be brutal.
Croft glanced warily in the bag. Generally, he was force fed healthy treats from his wife. Flax, sticks, and twigs were a part of his diet. He fully expected a trap.
“Your escort was driving by that bakery you love, and I picked up your favorite. I figured that today of all days, you earned eating what you like.”
When he looked in the bag, he immediately stared up at the ceiling and thanked God. His wife wasn’t kidding. There was a genuine blueberry muffin.
Emma laughed. “Come here. Your tie is crooked.”
Both Paris and Tessa watched her fix it. It was just like the scene that played out for them earlier. Paris stared over at Tessa and knew in that instant, his heart was ready for what Croft had.
And then logic interceded.
Unless he could maneuver around the work issue, it didn't seem likely. Suddenly, his heart clenched in his chest.
“Are you ready?” Greyson asked, grabbing the coffee from his desk. He would eat on the way over there. Later, he wouldn’t be in the mood.
“Let’s go.”
The three headed toward the door, and Croft noticed that Tessa and Paris were wistfully staring at each other. “Oh hell. Go ahead,” he muttered, when his wife elbowed him in the ribs. “We’ll be outside in the car. Make it fast.”
Tessa didn't waste any time. She raced at Paris and wrapped her body around his as they kissed goodbye.
“Be safe, Tessie. Don’t let anything happen to you.”
She stared into his sweet blue eyes, reassuring him. “I’ll stay out of trouble until we get home,” she winked.
Paris could feel the temperature in the room rising. Somehow, he doubted that.
* * *
The killer sat there watching the news. Nothing made a person feel better than knowing that long sought justice was being shared with the world to see.
Lester Williams had been just as crooked as the rest of them, and he had gotten what he deserved.
Everyone always believed the almighty Feds to be above the law, but not this time.
No, they would pay for what they did.
It was a long time coming, but the little guy would rise up and show the world the disgusting behavior done behind closed doors.
The truth would be free.
The world would side with justice.
Now, it was a matter of time. It was far from over, and as word spread across the country, everyone would watch with baited breath.
There were more deaths to come.
This was only the tip of the iceberg.
“Vengeance is mine.”
~ Chapter Three ~
Curtis Briggs liked to believe that he was trained by the very best that the FBI had to offer. His boss had instilled the need to complete the job to perfection, every single time. He was always told to leave no stone unturned, and leave nothing to chance.
Now, that was coming in handy.
It was hard not to be a little excited to be running the entire crime scene on his own. This was something that he only dreamed of as a probationary agent. Yes, he’d run minor things for the boss man, but this was a big deal. Never before had Greyson Croft walked off a crime scene, where a serial killer was taking lives.
If anything, it spoke volumes of the man’s trust in him. He couldn’t help but swell with pride. Growing up, Curtis didn't have an idol or big brother, but now he did, and he wouldn’t let him down. If he had to work around the clock to get this situation contained, he’d do it.
As he was preparing the report on his tablet, he could hear the other man approaching him. “Yes, Agent Gilbride?”
“We finished the sweep, Agent Briggs. The hills are clear, and as suspected, we didn't find the gunman.”
“What did you find? Because if you believe telling Greyson Croft that you found nothing is going to go over well, then you’re out of your mind. In fact, I’m going to let you deliver the news. Then, you can end up on that sacrificial altar, not me.”
The man laughed. “Yeah, I’m well aware. I don’t know how the director knew where the shooter fired from, but he was right. That was one hell of a lucky guess.”
Curtis didn't think Greyson Croft ever guessed. The man was just that damn good at his job.
“Okay, so you found the area. There has to be something I can send to him. Anything?”
“It was clear of all trace. Whoever was there, pulled the trigger, cleaned up after themselves, and was long gone. I mean, they had plenty of time. From the second the gun was shot, to the time it took us to close the area down, he could have walked out of the woods during the mess. This area is quiet over here. Once the call went out to the FBI office and the cops, it was a maelstrom. We wouldn’t notice someone toting a gun around if our lives depended on it.”
Briggs was well aware. He knew that personally, his focus was on getting Emma there, and then seeing if his boss was safe. He wasn’t worried about a shooter.
Yeah, Croft was going to shit a brick.
“Okay, keep looking.”
“The only thing that I can say with certainty is that the killer used a scope. The bramble the shooter was hiding in was five hundred yards away. No one could make that shot without one. The accuracy it took was astounding.”
&
nbsp; “Yeah, except the person missed the director.”
“But they hit one of us.”
Something about all this bothered Briggs. It was weighing on his mind. Did the shooter miss and hit a bystander or miss an obstacle and hit the target? This was something to ponder.
“Okay, keep sweeping. Maybe we’ll get lucky and something will turn up yet.”
“Not a problem,” he said, shaking his head. “I feel bad for poor Leslie Williams. When she finds out, it’s going to break her heart.”
Briggs looked up from his tablet. “You knew Lester personally?” FBI Vegas was a big office, and while Curtis recognized the dead man, he didn't know him all that well.
“We worked side by side on one or two assignments. It’s a shame,” he said, walking away. He had a job to do, and he didn't want to keep his boss waiting.
Not on this.
Curtis was still perplexed. None of this sounded like some random nutjob with a gun. There was a scope and a spot picked out exactly five hundred yards away. Yeah, something was really bothering him about all of this.
Later, he’d run it by his boss, and see what he thought. For now, he’d get it cleared and make sure the entire team made it in safely.
Then, he’d worry about that niggling voice in the back of his mind.
He had a bigger job to do.
* * *
Standing in the autopsy suite, Doctor Steele Bentley stared at the two victims next up on his ‘to do’ list. One of the worst things in the world was having to do an exam on someone you knew.
Today, he had gotten very lucky. Had that bullet met its mark, instead of the hapless victim, he might have been staring down at Greyson Croft, or what was left of him.
That alone made his heart ache for his friend, Emma. Just observing the two of them, it was easy to see that they belonged together. To anyone who knew them, it was two halves coming together to make a whole.
Part of him was insanely jealous. Steele had yet to find that person to call his own, and he wondered what it would be like when he did.
Would he smile like Emma did when her husband walked into the room?
Would he be like Croft and find peace when his other half was near?
It was all a matter of wondering, hoping, and praying that it would happen to him one day. Don’t get him wrong, he didn't begrudge his friend, he just wanted to feel it too.
For once.
“Are you ready, Doc?” asked the tech standing beside him.
It pulled him from his daydream. “Yes, let’s begin. I’ll do the agent who was shot on the scene first. While I’m working on him, I want all the trace pulled off our buried man and sent over to the FBI lab. Mark it priority and tag it for Greyson Croft, ASAP.”
The tech nodded, making notes on his tablet. “Yes, Doctor.”
Steele pulled on his gloves and tied off his protective garb. It was one more lonely day at the job, standing over death.
He wasn’t quite sure how much more he could take.
* * *
Tuesday Afternoon
Lester Williams’s House
Maybe Greyson Croft was being a tad bit overprotective, but he wasn’t willing to take a chance. Instead of driving, he handed his keys over to Agent Brass, just in case something were to go wrong.
It was possible that the soldier in him was being called back up to the surface, as he prepared for ambush. Or it could be that he was just desperate to live another day and keep his wife safe. Either way, hiding in the back seat of the Denali would afford them the opportunity to escape the FBI parking lot and head to the dead man’s house.
No one wanted a trail of media mongrels camped out on Lester and Leslie Williams’s porch. In death, the man deserved all that his country, and co-workers, could give him.
It was the least that Croft could offer, especially if it turned out that the bullet which stole his agent’s life was meant for him. There was no way he was going to let the killer place the blame on him, but still… his ego was dinged up.
As the navigation system chirped off their arrival, Croft took in the surroundings. It was a quiet neighborhood, where families came to live in peace. Each driveway was peppered with toys, bikes, or basketball nets.
He knew his agent didn't have kids, and he wondered why. Was it the job, like he and Emma had decided, or was it something more? Suddenly, he was sad that he didn't know the dead man well enough. After all, he was the boss. Shouldn’t he take the time to be more personable and get to know the people who served under him?
Maybe he would begin to work on that, instead of leaving that up to his wife. In their life, she remembered the names and small details that he often let slip by. Croft knew that had to change, or he was going to have a heavy weight to bear on his shoulders for the rest of his life.
The people he called co-workers needed to matter.
“We’re here, Director,” stated Tessa, pulling in behind the SUV in the driveway. Immediately, she was on alert. “The door to the house and car are open, sir.”
Croft stared over at his wife. “Stay here,” he ordered, hopping out.
Like any good wife, she opted to ignore her husband. He seemed to be having a hard time with keeping the facts straight. She wasn’t the one at risk.
HE WAS.
Yeah, a big lesson was coming, or a fight. At this point, she was standing her ground. One way or another, Greyson was going to get the picture.
All three crossed the driveway, and the women peered into the car, each taking a side. Tessa could see the keys in the ignition.
“It’s on, but looks like it’s out of gas,” stated Emma, sticking her head in the car. “We also have her purse, cellphone, and some flyers for the local stores.”
Croft tried not to get irritated that his wife ignored him. After all, he should be used to it by now. Seldom did she listen when he barked orders at her. Maybe he should have said please. “We need to check the house.”
The three pulled their sidearms and approached the structure. At the glass door, Emma rapped with her knuckles.
“Mrs. Williams,” Croft called, praying that someone would come to the door. Unfortunately, they were cops and saw this scene too many times. It didn't scream good outcome.
“I’ll check the back,” Tessa said, heading around the side of the house.
Emma glanced over at her husband. “We have probable cause to enter. She may have heard about her husband and needs our assistance. Do you want me to go first?”
He glared at her for even asking that question. “Get behind me, Emma,” Greyson ordered, and this time, by some miracle, she listened. As her hand came to rest on his lower back, he knew she was preparing to go through the door. It was a common thing for a cop, and his wife was giving him the signal that she’d go low.
On three, he opened the door, and they wordlessly entered the house, sweeping the area with their guns. As they rounded the corner, Emma stopped and whispered, “We have a body. I can smell it.”
Yeah, so could he. It was the mix of blood, bowel, and death. After smelling it once, it was burned forever into your mind.
Croft kept his eyes trained on the windows in front of him. He could see his agent moving silently outside. He needed to know where his field partners were to assure their safety, and his.
As he cleared the one section, Emma headed toward the kitchen. “Grey! We have a woman!” she called, pulling out a pair of latex gloves that she always kept in her back pocket. Old habits die hard, and it was better to have a pair lying around, than to have to head into a crime scene unprotected.
When he came around the corner, the first thing he saw was the calling card on the wall. It was the same as all the other victims’ homes.
“Shit,” he muttered, scanning the room to make sure they were alone.
Emma pulled her fingers from the woman’s neck. “She’s dead,” she added.
He wasn’t surprised. “We better call this one in.”
It wasn’t her intent
to argue, but she pointed out something that he seemed to be missing. “This is the LVPD territory. We need to call them in, not the FBI.”
He pointed at the bloody handprint on the wall. That alone made it his territory. So far, it had turned up at every home, minus the one of the buried man. Once they found his identity, they were sure they’d find one there too. “It’s the same killer.”
Emma understood. “Yeah, it probably is, but you, better than anyone, knows that you need to play this one by the book. You have to call in the LVPD and ask them to cooperate.”
He stared over at his wife, knowing she was right. “I need to call my boss. We need a little pull on this one.”
She didn't blame him. “I’ll call it in for you. Maybe we’ll get lucky,” Emma offered. In the back of her head, she knew that wasn’t going to happen. Captain Patty Stout was a stickler for rules. Whoever was up next on the roster was going to get this case, and she knew it wasn’t her.
Yeah, because she’d taken a vacation to play shadow.
Damn it!
Either way, they were screwed. Interdepartmental cooperation was going right out the window if it was Detective Laden and Detective Spencer. All Emma could hope for was both men had the common sense to not provoke her husband. All it would take was one comment in front of him, and there would be hell to pay.
Well shit!
This was getting even messier.
There was a part of Emma that wished she believed in a higher power. Then, maybe praying would work.
* * *
Elizabeth Blackhawk believed in always having her team’s back. This case would be the same. When she received the call from Greyson Croft, explaining the situation, she opted to head right to the head of the line and stir the pot.
Yes, she could have called the police commissioner, but why bother when you could call the governor? If Greyson Croft wanted, no needed, his wife to head the murder of Leslie Williams, she was going to trust him and go with it.
Love is Bleeding (A Croft & Croft Romance Adventure Book 4) Page 7
