Dead Heat

by Allison Brennan

  Then the ceiling collapsed and the fire consumed him.

  CHAPTER 22

  Lucy poured coffee for herself and Brad. There would be no sleep this morning. “I’m still going to McAllen,” she said. “I’m not letting them scare me off.”

  “I won’t think less of you if you wanted to sit this one out.”

  “I would think less of me.”

  She was exhausted, but she wouldn’t be able to sleep even if she tried.

  “I’m sorry about this,” Brad said. “I should have seen it coming.”

  “Why?”

  Sean and Nate stepped into the kitchen. “Because he’s been lying since you met him.”

  Brad turned to stare at Sean. “I haven’t lied.”

  “Lies of omission.”

  Lucy walked over to Sean and wrapped her arm around his waist. He was rigid, simmering with anger. “Sean, I know.”

  “He told you about what happened in Tucson?”

  “Not in so many words, but I picked up on it.”

  Nate helped himself to coffee. Sean didn’t move. Lucy stood next to him. She didn’t think he’d go after Brad, but they were all running on fumes.

  “I lost a rookie five years ago when I was on a major undercover op in Tucson.”

  “I know,” Sean said. “And?”

  “You running a background check on a federal agent?”

  “I’ll bet my security clearance is higher than yours.”

  Lucy squeezed his biceps, wanting him to take it down a notch. Fortunately, Brad deflated, physically and emotionally, right in front of them.

  “They threatened her, too. Just like this. It’ll be pig’s blood, not human.”

  Sean said, “Sanchez was in Tucson.”

  It wasn’t a question. Lucy wondered what else Sean had dug up. Information was his bailiwick.

  “No—but he’s hooked up with people who were responsible for what happened there. And I know in my gut that Sanchez was responsible for assassinating my rookie. But there was no evidence, nothing to tie him or his gang to the shooting.”

  Lucy was confused. “This wasn’t related to the two agents killed in Tucson?”

  “Yes, but it was someone else. Before the raid, no proof that it was connected. And because of it, I let my emotions affect my judgment. Never again.”

  “What else?” Sean demanded.

  “Look, Rogan, I get it—Lucy’s your girl, you want to protect her. I told you everything. Sanchez is an evil bastard and he deserves to die. But all I can do is arrest him unless he shoots first.”

  Sean stared, then shrugged Lucy off and pulled food out of the refrigerator. He started making breakfast, eggs and sausage, not talking.

  Brad said to Lucy, “I’m sorry this landed on your doorstep. I’ve been wondering if you might have done something, talked to someone, learned something you might not realize is important. I don’t know if you were targeted just because you’re the rookie here. It could be, but I think there’s more to it.”

  “We’ll go over all the reports again.” She hesitated, then said, “I had a long talk with Jennifer Mendez yesterday. She knows I connected Michael and Richie Diaz, the boy in the morgue. She was helping me run reports, going through the back door since official channels were taking too long.”

  “We ran a background on her. She’s clean, though she has a sealed juvie record.”

  “We found the same thing,” Lucy said.

  “Who else knows?”

  “The boy’s mother. The landlord saw us, but we only showed him Michael’s picture. He could have learned from the mother about her missing son, but I don’t think so. Michael’s CPS officer, Charlie DeSantos. I didn’t tell the Popes about Richie, but I don’t know if DeSantos might have. The priest at St. Catherine’s gave me Richie’s name in the first place. Everyone who’s been in any briefing or had access to the files knows what we know.”

  “The FBI and DEA operate the same way—the files are eyes-only,” Brad said.

  “There are corrupt cops,” Sean said. “And feds.”

  “Not on my team,” Brad said. “Except for Lucy, I’ve worked with everyone on the task force in the past, some going back years.”

  Nate said, “It’s more likely that Lucy did or said something that made the players involved very nervous.”

  Lucy frowned. “Sanchez is supposed to be in McAllen.”

  “How do you know?” Sean asked as he put plates of eggs, sausage, and packaged muffins on the counter. Lucy brought out plates and utensils.

  “Confidential source,” Brad said.

  “And you trust him?”

  “He’s been giving me information since I arrived in San Antonio. Not once has he been wrong.”

  Lucy couldn’t think of what she might know that no one else knew. “CPS’s security isn’t as tight as the DEA or the FBI.”

  “From here on out, we don’t talk to Mendez or DeSantos,” Brad said. “If they want a report, we shoot them up to Juan or Sam. I’m not saying the leak is one of them, but their offices don’t afford much privacy or security. It could be a secretary, another agent, or hackers.”

  “Agreed,” Lucy said.

  Lucy picked at her food, mostly to please Sean, and drank a third cup of coffee.

  “I’m going to shower,” she finally said. “I need to wake up. I won’t be long, Nate.”

  Sean watched her leave the kitchen, then he said to Nate, “If you want a shower, you know where the guest room is.”

  Nate grabbed a muffin and a full cup of coffee. “Thanks, bro. Go easy on the drug cop.” He said it lightly, but Nate understood Sean as well as any of his brothers.

  Brad stared at him. “Spill it, Rogan.”

  “I think you’re obsessed and you should have told Lucy from the beginning how far back you go with Sanchez. Even now, you only touched on it.”

  Brad glared at him. “Bastard.”

  “I’m not the liar.”

  “I did everything by the book.”

  “Last time you went after Sanchez, two cops died. The time before that, in Tucson, two DEA agents died. And the rookie they took out in her own home.” Sean hesitated. “I think they targeted Lucy because of something she knows, as well as to hit you. After the last sting, you were suspended for running unapproved ops, nearly got yourself and your team killed—“

  “Hold it. That’s classified.”

  Sean ignored that. “I’m going to McAllen with you. Don’t fight me on this, because you will lose.”

  “It’s not my call. You’re a civilian.”

  “I can get cleared. Or I’ll run parallel to you. I think you would do anything to take Sanchez down, and I’m with you on that. He’s a vile bastard who deserves to rot in jail or six feet under. But you’re blinded by your obsession.”

  “I’m not.” Brad rose from the stool. “You don’t know me, Rogan, and I’ve always owned my mistakes. I’ve made them, and I’ve cleaned up other people’s. But I have the best damn record in Texas, and I’m going to get Sanchez and find out who he’s aligned with. I will take them down. I don’t have a death wish, and I sure as hell am not going to send anyone else in to do anything I’m not willing to do myself.”

  Sean believed that. He had mixed feelings about Brad Donnelly, but his record was solid—except when he’d gone rogue, which was more than a couple of times. He should have been running the San Antonio office, not taking orders. And—ironically—Brad Donnelly was the type of cop that RCK liked to recruit. Former military, ten or more years in law enforcement, independent thinker.

  But he still wasn’t certain Brad wouldn’t lose it if the op went south. And if he did? That put Lucy in the crosshairs.

  Sean walked Brad to the door. He glanced at the security panel; all was well. Brad said, “I’m really sorry about what happened last night.”

  “So am I.”

  “Lucy’s tough.”

  Sean nodded. “More than you know.”

  Sean watched Brad leave, the
n pulled his phone from his pocket. He dialed Kane’s number, irritated when voice mail immediately clicked in. He hadn’t expected Kane to answer, but he’d hoped.

  He left a brief, two-word message. “Call me.”

  * * *

  Lucy took a fast, hot shower, then sat heavily on the end of the bed, wrapped in a towel.

  Stop feeling sorry for yourself.

  “I’m not,” she said out loud. This had nothing to do with pity. She was angry. It was a simmering anger. She was usually the calm one, the reasoned voice among her brothers or Sean or sister-in-law Kate. She’d learned to control her emotions, her reactions, through years of working with her brother Dillon, the forensic psychiatrist. Keeping her emotions even and steady had saved her from going into rages or depressions after she’d been raped. Now she felt almost normal, at least as normal as she was going to get.

  But she knew what the anger felt like; she’d felt it before, long ago when she’d killed her rapist. The narrow vision, the sole focus, the determination.

  She wasn’t panicked, though. Wasn’t that improvement?

  Sean came in and closed the door behind him. “Nate’s going to take you to headquarters in thirty minutes.” He sat next to her, wrapping his arms around her.

  “I’m fine,” she said, shrugging out of his hug. She didn’t want him to feel the coiled anger. He’d be more worried about her. “I’m not going to let Juan remove me from this case.”

  “Of course you’re not,” Sean said, watching her. Did he see that she was on edge? That she wanted to throw something against the wall?

  “I just have to convince him that I’m an asset.” She paced. She wasn’t a pacer; she usually froze before she moved. Kate paced, and for a brief moment Lucy felt a flash of kinship with her sister-in-law who was two thousand miles away in Washington, DC. Kate paced because she couldn’t stop moving, and pacing helped her work things out. Lucy had always thought better if she stopped, stared, focused on something small. Then the big picture would reveal itself.

  But maybe this time she needed to take a page from Kate’s book.

  “Obviously, you found something so important that they consider you a threat.” Sean tracked her with his eyes.

  “I went over the day for Juan when he got here. I need to write it all out, have it ready for the briefing.”

  “Good idea.”

  And still he watched her, which was making her very nervous.

  “What?” she said.

  “I’m waiting for you to walk out your nerves.”

  “I’m nervous because you’re watching me.”

  He shook his head. “You’re nervous because you’re mad.”

  “I’m not mad!”

  She sounded angry, and she knew it. She sat heavily in her reading chair and sighed. “How do you know?”

  “Because I know you. You’re the most calm, even-tempered person I know.”

  She almost smiled. “Even when you met me in the pouring rain half hysterical when I found out my family lied to me?”

  “Half hysterical?” Now he did laugh. “You had every right to be angry, but you were so calm about it.” He walked over to her and sat on the arm of her chair. “It’s okay to be angry. And scared.”

  “Not for me,” she said. The anger was still there—the anger that someone had broken into her house, the house she shared with Sean; anger that someone had threatened her, using pig’s blood to try to intimidate her; anger that she might be pulled off a case when she was so deeply invested in it. In the people, the investigation. It wasn’t fair, and she didn’t know how to convince her boss that she needed to be involved. Maybe she wouldn’t have to. Maybe he’d already come to the same conclusion.

  But she also felt a layer of calm over the heat.

  Not needed. The only way Juan would let her stay was if she explained—calmly—why she was an asset to the team. Why they couldn’t let these criminals intimidate a federal agent, why letting them control the players let them control everything.

  She sat down next to Sean but didn’t touch him. She said, “Do you know why I usually act so cold?”

  “You’re not cold.”

  “Yes, I am. I know it. I have this layer, a protective layer, that makes me come off as calm and cool.”

  “It’s a defense mechanism, and it helps you do a damn good job.”

  “Yes—but not in the way you think. If I don’t have the calm, the cool, I fear the pit of anger I’ve been harboring for so long will escape. I have to ice myself down to keep it from exploding. It’s so hot sometimes,” she whispered.

  Sean stared at her as if he were only seeing her for the first time.

  “Don’t,” she said, turning away.

  “Don’t what?”

  “Look at me like that.”

  “Like what? Lucy, what are you scared of?”

  “You know me, but maybe you don’t.”

  “You’re sounding silly.”

  “Am I?” How could she explain? She’d come to not only expect, but maybe need Sean to understand her without her having to explain. Explaining meant confronting the pit of rage deep in her soul. She didn’t want to put words to anything so dark, so dangerous.

  “Do you think I would be upset if you got mad? On the contrary, I’m glad you do. Sometimes I worry that you keep everything too closed up, too much inside.”

  “I have to, Sean, don’t you understand that? If I let it out, it might consume me.”

  He took her hand. She tried to pull away, but he kept a firm grip on her. “Lucy, I love everything about you. I love the calm, I love the heat. Never hide from me. If you want to scream in frustration, I want to hear it. I’m not going to worry if you need to explode. You should be mad at what happened here. If you weren’t—maybe then I would be concerned.”

  “But what if I can’t control it? What if I let it out and can’t stop it?”

  “Trust yourself, because God knows I do.” He stared at her and she wanted to stay here, locked in his deep-blue eyes, where she felt the most safe, the most at peace, the most normal. “If you need the heat, use it. If you need the ice, use it. They are tools at your disposal. You think you can’t control it, but you do. Every day.” He frowned. “What are you scared of, baby?”

  “I’m not scared,” she said. “I mean, I am, but that’s not what this is about. I wanted to shoot that guy. I could see myself, standing at the top of the stairs, and putting three bullets into his chest.”

  “But you didn’t,” Sean said.

  “But I wanted to.”

  “Hell, I want to.”

  “I’m angry that they made me scared. I’m angry that they violated our home. That they broke our window, dumped blood on our door. That they made me, for one minute, feel like a victim again.”

  She stood, needing to pace again. Now she understood why Kate had to move all the time. It was the adrenaline, and it was pumping through her. She didn’t know if it was good or bad, but she felt better.

  “I’m not a victim.”

  “You’re not.”

  “I’m an asset to this team. They need me. Obviously, Sanchez and his people think that I’m close to uncovering something they don’t want us to know. I’m going to figure it out, then I’m going to help stop him.”

  “Of course you are.”

  She finally stopped walking and stared at him. God, she loved this man. “I’m sorry you had to leave Dallas. I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “I’m done. All I was going to do today was gloat when the embezzler got axed. I can write the reports for their attorney from here. And you are more important than anything, especially a short-term job.”

  She strode over, put his face in her hands, and kissed him. “Thank you. I can do this.”

  Sean watched her go into the closet to get dressed. He was both relieved and worried. Relieved because she was fine, she would be fine; worried because someone had threatened her. The device under her car
wouldn’t have killed her, but it sent a message. If she got too close, they would follow through.

  He pulled out his cell phone and called Kane again. Again, it went to voice mail.

  “Dammit, Kane, call me back. It’s important.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Though Juan had ordered everyone into the office at oh-eight-hundred, he wasn’t in the conference room when Lucy, Nate, and Ryan walked in at five minutes to. Neither was Brad Donnelly. The SAC’s door was closed and there was a quiet buzz in the office. Lucy felt eyes on her from colleagues she didn’t work with on a day-to-day basis, the agents who made up the squads in the other divisions.

  She hated being the center of attention—especially, this kind of attention.

  Once she was in her sanctuary, the Violent Crimes Squad, she relaxed. She wasn’t going to get a chance to plead her case. Her boss might be taking that away from her, with this closed-door meeting.

  She had to trust Juan. They were federal agents, after all. If they cowered when the bad guys struck, who would be left to stand for justice? No one—and that wasn’t acceptable. She wasn’t going to be intimidated, she wasn’t going to be locked in an office simply because she was doing her job.

  Her phone rang and she grabbed it.

  It was the secretary to Special-Agent-in-Charge Ritz Naygrow.

  “Please come to the director’s office.”

  Lucy hung up and stared at the phone. “Dammit.”

  When Nate gave her a questioning look, she explained. He said, “Don’t sweat it.”

  “I’m not.” But she was.

  She walked back down the long hallway to the front of the building and turned into the administrative wing. A large bull pen, of sorts, was in the middle—eight cubicles of support staff for the ASACs. Three ASAC offices along the far wall, then human resources, the media information officer, accounting, and in the corner the small suite for SAC Naygrow.

  The SAC had as many responsibilities outside of the office as in it, partly political, partly community building, and he had the reputation of trusting and relying on his ASACs to keep the office running smoothly. He had little field training, having moved up in the ranks administratively through the main FBI headquarters in DC until he was transferred as an ASAC five years ago. Two years ago, when his predecessor retired, he was promoted. Juan had said, during a family dinner at his house when he was relaxed, that it had all been planned by headquarters when Naygrow was first transferred. Lucy didn’t know what Juan really thought of the SAC, but he had always been professional and respectful.