He kissed her on the forehead. “Thank you for noticing.”
“Yet, you seem to be just as astute as the director, Dante,” stated Steele Bentley.
“I’m a soldier. I’m used to death and cleaning up the remains.”
The ME laughed. “Join the club, and welcome to my kingdom.”
Emma got them back on track. “Okay, so someone lured him there. That means a call, an email, or anything at that point. I think this is going to be more paperwork for Curtis and Brynn, and they’re going to be miserable as sin. I’ll email that one over. Why risk the whining?”
She pulled out her cell and whipped out a message to Greyson about what they found, and then one to her partner to add it to the list of things to dig into.
“This is fun. What’s next?” Dante asked, rubbing his hands together. “Can I get a gun too?”
Emma pointed at him. “Hell no! The last time I saw you with a gun, you almost got killed.”
Steele grinned. “I’d love to hear all about that.”
Emma gave him the look. “Don’t encourage him. He’s going back to the condo, and he can watch TV. If he wants to play cop, there’s a whole station where he watch case after case, and remain safe.”
“What? I hate watching TV. I don’t even own one. I’d rather tag along with you.”
Emma shook her head. “I’m grabbing the Feds and heading to the dead man’s place. You can’t be there while we search. I don’t need the lab staff finding your DNA there if you sneeze.”
Steele Bentley covered for her. “She’s got a point, and it’s procedure.”
“Well shit.”
“If you want, you can stay here,” he offered. “My schedule is clear, and you can tell me about your mysterious brother. The staff is dying to know.”
“No talking about Greyson!” she ordered, not sure she trusted the man there alone. God only knew what he could get into.
The men laughed.
“Want to leave a list of what’s safe?” Dante asked, grinning.
“Doc, just keep him out of trouble. Someone will be by to pick him up.”
Dante protested. “You realize I’m an adult, right? This isn't preschool where you pay someone to watch me.”
“That’s the problem, Dante. Children at least, have some fear. All you have is a limitless ability to get into trouble, and that’s the last thing that we need right now.”
They watched her walk out.
“So, what’s it like being a Croft?” Steele asked curiously.
Dante hopped up on the metal table. “It’s the best damn adventure in the world. Do you really want to hear all about my brother?” he asked, grinning.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
* * *
Randall Mason sat in his office examining a few different selections which his personal assistant, Peter Lewis, had picked for him. He’d asked the man to find apparel suitable for Emma Croft’s appearance at the poker game that night.
It had to be sensuous.
Sexy.
Befitting the wife of an FBI director.
It wasn’t like she didn't have immaculate taste. He loved the clothing she wore. It was always sultry and befitting a woman of his era. If anything, Emma was classy and a gorgeous, but tonight they were meeting with a different breed of men.
They were crass and saw women as sex objects.
This evening, she needed to fit in.
Running his fingers over the silk of the shirt, he inspected it. “I like this material, Peter, but I need it to be a little more sexy. Let’s go with lower cut to show off more of Emma’s assets.”
“Yes, Mr. Mason. I think I have something in mind.”
The man raced out and was back with a different colored silk shirt, which was far more suitable.
“Perfect. I want you to find me the undergarments too. Since this shirt is going to be fairly sheer, that’ll work to her advantage.”
He had a picture in his head, and he only hoped that Greyson didn't get angry. He understood where he was coming from after all, they were cut from the same cloth. If a man were ogling his Aria, he would have cut out the bastard’s eyes.
Then, he smiled.
“Oh, my love,” he said to his painting. “Tonight is going to be an adventure. I’ll tell you about it later, when I’m home.”
“Did you say something, sir?” the assistant asked, peeking in the door, holding two pairs of shoes.
He didn't answer, because he was too enraptured by the selection. “THOSE!” he nearly shouted, grinning at the man. “You did good, Peter. Now, finish it up, and we’ll get these things delivered to our fair Emma.”
“Yes, sir,” he said, racing from the room.
Randall sat down and steepled his fingers. He knew it was going to be an adventure this evening, one he’d missed for a very long time. Heaven help the men who would be trying to focus on the game.
A new, sexified, Emma Croft was about to roll into their midst, and he was sure no one would ever be the same again.
Including her husband.
* * *
He received her text message and a follow-up one, requesting permission to borrow Tessa for a search. After reading it, fuel was dumped on the fire. Now, she wasn’t even speaking to him. Greyson was relegated to electronic notification, like some complete stranger.
It made his blood pressure spike.
The last thing he wanted was his wife mad at him, and alone wandering the city. Well, at least she was going to be taking an agent with her. What he wanted was for it to be him, but he had a meeting with his profilers. Granted, he had most of Paris’s assessment, but he wanted to see if Maggie Clark had come up with the same thing. Plus, he had the new information on the victim who was buried, and wanted to catch their opinions on the fly.
Just as he was about to enter his office, his phone began ringing. Answering the blocked number, he hoped it was Emma calling. Instead, it was Randall Mason.
“Croft.”
“I’ll have Emma’s attire sent over tonight. Will someone be there to receive it around two?”
He looked at his watch. “I’ll make sure,” he replied testily.
“Are you upset, Greyson? You don’t sound like yourself,” he began, and then nearly laughed. In fact, he sounded exactly like he always did.
“Yeah, you could say that.”
Randall tried to reassure him. “When you get into the limo, there will be an attaché case with money. That’s your gambling funds. I’ve already had my assistant get the serial numbers, so you could send it to your bosses for tracking. They’re in sequential order, to make it easy.”
“Thank you, Randall. The FBI agent who’s going to be driving for us will be at your place an hour before it’s time to leave.”
“Perfect, Greyson.”
“I appreciate all you’ve done,” he began, trying not to take his shitty mood out on their only link to the power players in Vegas.
“You’re very welcome,” he replied. Abruptly, he changed the subject. “Wait until you see what I’ve picked for Emma this evening. Are you on heart medication?” he asked.
“What? Why would you ask that?”
Randall laughed uproariously. “After you see it, you will be.”
He didn't like what the man was saying.
“Mason!”
The man was already gone, and Croft was in an even crankier mood. Heaven help anyone who had to be near him today. Now, on top of it all, he had to think about what he’d done by letting Emma go.
He was wary.
Nervous.
And scared out of his damn mind.
* * *
Emma rolled into his office with a coffee in her hand and no emotion on her face. Yeah, she was mad, but she refused to take it out on anyone around her.
She was more a ‘suffer in silence’ kind of girl.
It wasn’t her thing to abuse her team.
The same obviously couldn’t be said of her husband. When s
he was sent in by Linda, the room was already full. Curtis was there with Brynn, leaning against a wall, and Paris and Tessa were waiting too.
“Ready to hit the road, Agent Brass?” she asked, ignoring her husband.
From the looks on everyone’s faces, and how fast Tessa leapt out of her chair, they all wanted to go with her. Yeah, her husband must be more irritated than she was.
Good.
He should be.
Keeping secrets was the downfall of a marriage, and just as bad as lying, in her opinion.
“I’m ready, Detective.”
“What’s your plan, Emma?” Croft asked, leaning forward on his desk, angrily.
She pointed at Curtis and Brynn. “Did you start on my search of Agent Phillip Cahill’s phone yet?” she asked.
They shook their heads no.
“Go do it. It’s priority on finding out how the killer got him out there. Find me something.”
Both raced for the door, grateful to escape the tension in the room. That had to be it, since they’d both normally bitch up a storm over being chained to a desk.
“As for my plans, your agent and myself will go do the search. If we find anything that says ‘the killer was here’, we’ll call in the FBI trace team to do a sweep.”
“Can we talk, Emma?” he asked, having Paris and Tessa try to escape for the door.
They didn't make it.
“No. I’m busy. I said all I had to on this morning’s topic. We can talk later, when you see it from my perspective.”
With that, she dismissed herself and walked out the door.
Croft actually growled, biting off an angry comment.
“Sir, are we heading to our meeting?” Paris asked, trying to calm the boss down.
“Yeah, let’s go, Agent Archer.”
The two walked down the hallway together, neither speaking. One man was thinking about his wife, and the wall he’d built between them. The other was stressed about his profile and if it would measure up to Maggie Clark’s. She had twenty years on him in the arena, and countless more assignments.
She was the professional.
He was the newbie.
God, he hoped that he didn't make a fool of himself.
At the door, Croft was still focused on the problem at hand. Had Emma stayed, he would have apologized to her. Apparently, this was going to take more of a grand gesture on his behalf. Since he broke them, he needed to man up and give her what she needed.
Trust.
Inside, he offered a seat to his agents and began, “Thank you for your time,” he said, pulling out a chair at the conference table. He picked this room to give his profilers room to spread out. “Shall we begin by going over the victims?” he asked, typing something up on his tablet, and it immediately shot over to both of theirs.
“Our first victim is Agent Tim Eastman. He was killed when a bullet struck him in the front seat of his car. He was currently working on a money laundering case.”
Both agents listened to their boss.
“He’d been on the job for quite a few years, and was due to retire shortly. He put in thirty five years as a special agent, before some asshole took him out.”
Flipping the page on his screen, he found the next individual.
“Our second dead agent was Horace Westerly. He was found by his wife, deceased in their kitchen. The bullet entered through his window and struck him in the forehead. Horace had been an agent for almost forty years. He was recently retired. For the first two killings, the shooter was consistent, if anything.”
As the page flipped, neither profiler flinched at the crime scenes.
“Next, we have Agent Billy Lewis. He was gunned down as he walked up the stairs to this office building. From what we know, the shooter took aim from a building over five hundred feet away. The shot was to the back of his head. Billy was working on an abduction case.”
Paris scribbled a few notes.
“We just got the intel on our FBI agent who was found in the ground. His name was Agent Phillip Cahill, and he’d been an agent for the last fifteen years. He was working on a serial killer case, and had just wrapped it up. No one noticed he was gone, because he took twenty four hours off as down time.”
Maggie Clark tapped her fingers on the desk, as if contemplating something.
“Our fifth victim wasn’t a Fed. It was Leslie Williams. She was found bludgeoned and strangled two hours before her husband was killed. It appeared that she was running out to the store and came back into the house. The detective in charge believes that she surprised the intruder and was handled quietly, thus the no gunshot wound. Their home was in a residential area, and no one heard or saw anything. Any questions so far?”
They both shook their heads.
Croft flipped to the next screen. “Our last victim was her husband, Agent Lester Williams. He’d been with the FBI for around eighteen years. He wasn’t on assignment, but instead I sent him out into the field. As you can imagine, that pisses me off to no end. So, I need to find this person and stop them ASAP. Now, this is where you give me the tools to do that.”
He pointed at Maggie. “Ladies before gentlemen, so you’re up.”
“You have a very controlled person doing this, Director. It takes patience to plan and implement something this organized. Just the fact that the person is slipping into the homes, to leave a message after committing the crime, says that there’s more to this than just a killing.”
Paris happened to agree. “I think that you’re going to be looking for someone in their forties to fifties. The younger the predator, the less organized. Since the victims are all male, it’s likely to be a male. Serial killers tend to hunt within specific parameters.”
Croft made notes to share with Emma.
“Your killer is escalating,” she continued. “He’s showing signs of losing control. Taking out Leslie Williams had to piss him off. His carefully constructed plans fell apart.”
Paris immediately disagreed, “I’m sorry, but we part ways on that one. I think the killer is very much in control. You don’t lie in wait for hours with a scope on someone if you’re losing it. Maybe it’s because I’ve held a tactical gun and know the intense pressure that it takes to watch and wait.”
Croft considered his words. “What do you think is going on?” he asked.
“I think that this is in the killer’s time frame and exactly how he wants it done, with the exception of Leslie Williams. He’s putting a bullet in the head of each victim perfectly, like a sniper. This person is trained to kill and with no remorse.”
“So, you really believe our killer isn't out of control?”
He shook his head, and then pointed at Croft’s neck. “The control it took to graze you and still take out Lester Williams is incredible. The shooter wanted your attention. I can’t imagine he would have pulled that off if he was furious and out of control.”
“Yeah, well, he has it. What do you think we should do?”
Paris thought about it. “I think we need to look at each case that they were currently working on and see if someone held a grudge. It may not be anything more than one of the people scorned in the cases is seeking revenge, or it could be somehow connected on a grander scale.”
“Maggie?” he asked, wanting her opinion.
“It’s a good theory, but I stand by my assessment, Director. This is a thrill kill. The only thing anyone has in common is that they were all FBI agents. I believe that the killer is picking off people one by one. I doubt that there’s a connection, other than the job aspect. Let’s face it. The Feds make enemies.”
He leaned back in his chair. “You can go, Maggie, thank you for all your hard work.”
She nodded to both men before heading out.
Paris could feel his stomach quake. He’d screwed it up, and here’s where he got his ass chewed. He fought valiantly to not show any outwards sign of being upset.
“If you were me, would you put your faith in what you’ve told me?” he asked,
watching his agent carefully. The nerves were there, but beneath it, he could see the intelligence. The man was good at this, he saw it.
“Yes, sir.”
“Why?”
“Because I know criminals. I’ve worked out in the field, and while I’m not as intuitive as Tess, or you, I can still see certain things.”
“Maggie’s been doing this a long time,” he stated.
“And I’m new at it. Yes, I get that, but I think that I bring something to this that she doesn’t. I’ve worked the field on the other end. I’ve done the duty as agent. No offense to Ms. Clark, but she’s a shrink in an office, and only sees it from the text book perspective.”
“So, you’re using your gut.”
He never thought he would say this. “Yes.”
Crap!
Paris knew that he’d better be right.
Croft stood. “I want you to call over to Captain Stout and borrow a few detectives. You’re going to run this one. I want you to dig into each one of these cases and find me someone who could be our killer.”
“And if I’m wrong, sir?” he asked, staring at his boss as he headed to the conference room door.
“That’s easy, Agent. Then, someone else dies. When you’re going to take the step forward and be a profiler, you carry the entire assignment on your shoulders. That’s why few tread there, and only the good ones survive the madness of it all.”
Paris closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. God, he wished Tessa was there now. He could really use the reassurance.
Badly.
* * *
Pulling up to Phillip Cahill’s place was surreal. It always was when you headed into a home that once was full of life. One minute the man was here, and then next he was gone.
Wiped from the earth.
It was just proof how fragile life truly was.
As they approached the door, Emma and Tessa slipped into latex gloves. It was time to get to know the man, from the way he lived.
Once in the door, they split up, guns drawn. Since the killer had been known to return to leave the handprint, they wanted to make sure they were alone. When it was clear, they met back in the living room to begin their search.
Love is Bleeding (A Croft & Croft Romance Adventure Book 4) Page 13
