“Without more tests, we’ve got zip, Mo.”
“Stow it, Mulcahey. I sympathize, but that’s my last word.” His voice tightened. “How’s your arm? Any problems?”
Summer made her voice completely neutral. “No problems at all. Beyond the fact that I scare the shit out of dogs and little children.”
“You should have gone for reconstructive surgery three months ago. Line of duty makes it Uncle Sam’s tab.”
“I had a case, remember.” As she spoke, Summer unconsciously fingered her arm. Though the sleeve of her jacket covered all trace of her scars, she could sense them with absolute clarity.
“Anything changes, you let me know. You took a pounding, with no help from that chickenshit partner of yours.”
“Mo—”
“Don’t Mo me. Riley screwed up big-time and I don’t like putting the lid on it.”
Glass shattering. Distant screams that sounded strangely like her own.
Then a sucking, snarling wall of fire rolling down her arm.
“Riley’s dead, Mo. He had two kids and a pregnant wife. Let it be.”
“I have and I will, because of his wife and kids. But damn it, I don’t like it, especially when it leaves some people muttering it was your fault.”
“I’ll survive,” Summer said tightly. “Riley’s family needs full benefits. If there was a formal investigation . . .” She let the words trail off. They both knew what kind of red tape would result. A thorough investigation would reveal ongoing problems in field procedure, and Riley’s benefits might be jeopardized.
Mo grumbled some more, then cleared his throat. “What about the letters you’ve been getting?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Like hell you don’t. Your sister told me about them.”
“Jess? How did she—”
“Jess stayed in your condo for a few days. You were in D.C. being briefed, remember? While she was there you got two anonymous postcards in the mail. Nasty stuff, too. She called me, half-terrified, half-sputtering with outrage.” He gave a dry laugh. “Not a woman to be messed with, your sister. My wife would love her.” His voice hardened. “Any ideas who the bastard is?”
More than one, Summer thought. She had heard the muttered comments as she’d passed, but she had no firm names. “I can’t say, sir.”
“They’re FBI, so they’d know the moves, but I may get something from the postcards yet. If so, I’ll have their asses in a sling for this. I’m glad your sister thought to send me the postcards.”
Leave it to Jess, Summer thought. “I see.”
“Do you? I’m responsible for my jurisdiction, damn it. You should have told me about this,” he snapped. “When did it start?”
“Two days after Riley died, sir.”
Mo blew out a hard breath. “I expect you to inform me of any further harassment, in any shape or form. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
He cleared his throat. “Call me Mo, damn it. Sir was what they called Sidney Poitier in that old movie. By the way, your sister said hello. She wants to hear from you.”
By the time the line went dead, Summer’s shoulders were tight with tension. She’d have to phone Jess and explain. She’d also have to . . .
“Something wrong?”
She jumped a good three inches, biting back an oath. “Make some noise, will you, Morgan? Otherwise, you might get yourself shot in that rugged jaw of yours.”
Gabe simply smiled. “I trust your reflexes. Where are the Buffy fans?”
“Helping Cara pack.” Summer slid her cell phone back into her pocket. “Everything set for Los Reyes?”
“Checked and rechecked. And you didn’t answer my question. What’s wrong?”
“What makes you think—”
“Because you look like you just took a bullet at point-blank range. So what’s going on?”
“Nothing important,” Summer said coolly. She started to walk past, but Gabe grabbed her wrist.
Dimly she noted it was her left wrist, not her scarred one.
“Let’s get this straight. If something’s stuck in your craw, it affects your judgment and response time. That affects the mission. So I’ll ask you again: What the hell is wrong?”
Summer was surprised to feel her heart pounding. He smelled like shaving cream and some kind of lemon soap. Wet hair. Damp face. Must have come right out of the shower—
“Mulvaney, I’m waiting.”
“Okay, there is something. I just had a call from my boss. The forensic analysis produced next to nothing. Mineral-based ink traces and soy oil of some sort.”
He seemed to be watching her face intensely. “That’s all?”
“My SAC sent the contents on to the lab in D.C., but don’t hold your breath. Unless Senator Winslow makes a fuss, it could be weeks.”
“He will,” Gabe said calmly. “I’ll talk to him today. Now what else is bothering you?”
She considered lying. Heaven knows, hiding the details of her life had become a habit. Then she looked into his eyes and decided lying would be about as useful as a raincoat on a June day in Arizona.
She looked out over the grass, watching a big trawler cruise south. To Baja? Or even farther, down to Puerto Vallarta or Peru?
She rolled her shoulders a little and realized she hadn’t a clue where to start. “It’s about work.”
“The Philadelphia field office, you mean?”
Summer nodded. “My first partner . . . died a while back.”
Seventeen months, two weeks, and four days, Summer thought grimly.
“What happened?”
“Routine surveillance. I was the FNG.”
Gabe raised an eyebrow.
“Effing New Guy,” Summer said grimly. “We were parked, watching the back exit during a low-priority search warrant entry, and suddenly—” The memories streamed in cold waves. “Three lunatics the size of Jesse Ventura on major steroids exploded out of a locked garage with opening fire. We were pinned down, and my partner, Riley, hadn’t even put on his Nomex. I looked around, heard the windshield pop, and he’s hit, crumpling hard.” She took two sharp breaths, remembering what came next.
“Two of the guys race up to the car, and I see they have a red metal can. Everything happens so fast and Riley—my partner—had his window open. The next thing I know, they’re dousing the seat, dousing Riley, dousing me . . .”
Her voice shook a little, so she stopped, awash in memories. She took another long breath. “In a second my clothes are burning. I try to get to Riley. Twice I try, but—”
Gabe’s face was like steel when he reached out, gripping her shoulder. “So that’s what happened. Bad break—especially for the FNG. You’re still carrying it around with you, just like those scars carved into your arm. Let it go, Summer. Your partner screwed up, not you.”
She shook her head, a quick, angry movement like brushing away flies. “Riley was right there beside me, joking one minute, bloody the next. Then burning like a torch because I couldn’t get close enough. So don’t tell me to let it go, damn it, because I can’t.”
“Point taken,” Gabe said quietly. “Why didn’t you check the garage first?”
Summer stared out at the ocean.
“It was your partner’s job, wasn’t it? But he was hungry, or impatient, or he got a call from his accountant.”
“Call of nature,” Summer said quietly. “He hit the bushes and said the garage could wait. When he came back, I asked, but he told me to shut up. I was the FNG, so I took orders. And then—” She shuddered. “Then it was too late.”
Her fingers moved to her arm.
Gabe watched her cradle the scarred skin in an unconscious gesture that left him chilled, reliving the inferno through her motions.
She was right, of course. You never forgot a thing like that. You only thought about it slightly less than every hour of every day, wondering what you could have done differently so your partner would still be alive.
She made a sharp movement with one hand. “Look, Gabe, I really don’t want to talk about—”
“What happened next, Summer? Did they collar you for the mistake, put you under suspension? The FNG takes the flack?”
Her fingers moved restlessly over her arm. “No. Nothing like that.”
“Then what?”
He could almost see her muscles lock, refusing to form the words. She stared out at the horizon, where clouds piled up over broken layers of light. “Riley, my partner, had two kids. Nice kids.” Her jaw worked back and forth. “His wife was pregnant with another one.”
“It sucks, but I still don’t see—”
“I covered up for him,” she said tightly. “I said I screwed up and missed the men in the garage.” She rubbed her neck wearily. “A formal investigation would have wasted precious taxpayer money, thousands of dollars.”
“And blasted your pal Riley’s death benefits, too.” Gabe frowned. “So you took the fall for him.”
“Damn it, I’m alive and he’s not. It was the least I could do for his family. I can stand a little heat in return for knowing they’ll be well cared for. Even if . . .”
She made an angry sound and shook her head. “Why am I telling you this? I haven’t even told my sister or the staff shrink they sent me to afterward.”
“You’re telling me because I’m an outsider, a stranger who won’t take sides and won’t lie to you. Because I’m a stranger, I can say that what you’re doing is pretty damned brave, Summer. Stupid, but brave. So who’s giving you the heat?”
“Who said anything about—”
“It doesn’t take a shrink to see that you’re tied up in knots, guilty and angry by turns. Someone’s gunning for you. Who?”
She ground one toe in the gravel. “I don’t know. They leave nasty notes in my locker. Stupid stuff—old jockstraps, excrement.” She took a slow breath. “Occasional letters.”
Gabe made a harsh sound. “Threats?”
Summer turned away.
“Damn it, have they threatened you, Summer?”
“Yes,” she said. The whisper of sound was so focused and contained that it left Gabe chilled.
“I’ll kill them.” He jerked out his cell phone. “What’s your SAC’s number?”
“No.” She gripped Gabe’s arm, her hand trembling slightly. “He knows already.”
“The bastard knows and he’s doing nothing?”
“He’s looking into who’s behind this, but they’re not stupid. Plus, they know exactly what he’ll be watching for.”
“So they wear gloves and wipe any prints,” Gabe said flatly. “No licked stamps. Cheap, common paper that you can buy in any grocery store.”
“That’s about it.”
Was this the reason she never asked for help, Gabe wondered, because she couldn’t trust anyone around her? If so, it was a cold, brutal way to live.
Even as he fought the need to touch her, Gabe forced himself to stay very still, completely controlled. When had her emotions become so transparent to him? And what the hell had happened to his usual detachment?
Because the questions left him irritated, Gabe forced them out of his mind. “If they’re cocky, they’ll give themselves away. With a little help,” he added grimly.
“How?”
“Let me work on a few ideas.” He considered several scenarios to discuss with Izzy. Hell, there wasn’t any piece of recording or surveillance equipment that Teague couldn’t ramp up, hot-wire, or generally finesse into turning somersaults and backflips.
Which was exactly what Gabe had already put in place for Cara’s safety. Now they’d rig the same thing for Summer.
But when they cornered the bastards who were hounding Summer, Gabe would be certain they spent a little quality time together alone with him in a soundproof room.
“Why are you smiling like that?”
“Nothing important.”
“Gabe, I don’t want your help.” Her shoulders squared. “I mean it. This is my job, my problem. I can handle it.”
“Sure you can. I’m just going to talk to someone who happens to be good at electronics.” Izzy would cut him off at the knees for such an underestimation of his amazing array of talents. “I’ll pass on whatever he says. You can’t object to that?”
“And you’ll stay out of it?”
“Absolutely.” Like hell, he would. “Satisfied?”
She gave an uncertain smile, which caught Gabe hard right at the middle of his chest, making him wonder when the air had been sucked out of his lungs. He cursed silently, aware that he’d just gone past simple sexual attraction.
Emotions were starting to get involved, and emotions always made things sticky. Worst of all, emotions had the potential to short-circuit his concentration.
Of course, he wouldn’t let that happen. Gabe had stopped being a tongue-tied, sweaty-palmed teenager a few decades ago, and these emotions were going right into the garbage can.
“Now you’re scowling,” Summer said quietly.
He looked at his watch and shrugged. “It’s getting late and we should go. I’ll load the luggage, then give you a tour of the new security equipment.”
“But your friend—”
“Izzy appears to have gotten tied up in town, and we only have fifteen minutes until we leave for the airport. I’ll do the short version now and fill in the rest later, after I catch up with you in Arizona.”
“What about the spent shell from Cara’s bedroom?”
“We’re checking for prints, but I doubt we’ll find any. It’s a standard purchase anywhere in the country, so no luck sourcing it, either.”
Summer blocked his way. “What did you say you did for a living?”
“I didn’t.” Calmly, Gabe cut around her. “After I load up, we’ll start with the pressure-sensitive plates outside the back windows.”
He hid a smile when he heard Summer mutter “hard-ass” and fall in behind him.
Izzy hated trim-layer chromatography techniques.
The need to use them didn’t often arise, which was a good thing, because they left him in a foul mood. But since he was aware of how much competition there was for use of the expensive equipment at the FBI’s central crime lab, he was happy to lend a hand, especially if he didn’t have to run the tests himself.
Fortunately, a lot of people owed him favors.
He hunched over his computer, muttering. After careful deliberation, he picked up the phone and punched in a string of numbers.
“Forensic documents,” an impatient woman’s voice said.
“Sara, how are you doing?”
There was a brief pause, then a hiss of indrawn breath. “Izzy? Is that you?”
“Afraid so, Doc.”
“So, are you drunk, in trouble, or in need of a favor?”
“So cynical. A man can’t call up a sexy, gorgeous woman on a whim?”
The forensic document expert on the other end of the line gave a smoky laugh. “Oh, a million men could and would. But it’s not your style, Izzy. You’re too decent—and too damned smart—to get a woman’s hopes up for nothing.” She waited a beat. “Aren’t you?”
Izzy wiggled uneasily. He’d forgotten the last time they’d met—and the unexpectedly intimate offer Sara had made to him. “My father taught me that the lady is always right. You can interpret that any way you want. So how many letters do you have after your name now?”
“Only three, but they appear to be adequate. Since I’m in the middle of an ink examination, I’ve got to be quick. That is, unless you want to take me out to dinner so we have more time.”
Izzy laughed. “I wish I could, Sara, but I’m on an assignment.”
“Now why doesn’t that surprise me?” She gave a dramatic sigh. “So what is it you need? Watermark evaluation? Infrared ink comparison? Paper analysis?”
“Can I
get the whole combo meal?” Izzy asked carefully.
“Everything? Do you have any idea what kind of backlog—” She stopped, took a breath. “Of course you know. Sorry about that. We’re insanely shorthanded around here since several of our people were transferred over to counterterrorism. And I still owe you for setting up our network and connecting us to the federal DNA and fingerprint databases.”
“It was my pleasure, Doc.”
She cleared her throat. “Anything else you need, besides the combo meal?”
In for a penny, in for a pound, Izzy thought. “While you’re at it, how about checking for hair and fiber, along with possible latents? Any impression evidence and static dust lifts would be nice, too.”
“How about I give you the Hope Diamond while I’m at it?” the world-renowned director of the San Mateo County Forensic Document Division snapped.
“No need. Blue was never my color.”
“If I didn’t owe you—”
“You don’t owe me a thing, Sara.” Izzy’s voice was grave. “You’re the best I’ve ever seen, and it was my pleasure to help you get the new lab computers online. I appreciate how busy you are, so it’s no problem if you can’t take the time right now. I’ll find someone else to—”
“Like hell you will. Get me your documents and do it fast. I’ve got two vacation days coming and I’ll cancel my trip to Martinique.”
“I couldn’t possibly let you—”
“A joke, okay? All I had planned was three George Clooney videos and some artery-clogging popcorn. Working for you will be a whole lot healthier.”
Izzy smiled. “Now I owe you, Sara. It’s a good thing I happen to have a source for that new Swiss electron microscope you’ve been lusting after.”
She gave a yelp of pure delight. “You mean it? You wouldn’t toy with me about a thing like that, would you?”
“Scout’s honor.”
“You were never a scout, but we’ll overlook that for now. Get me your evidence and make sure it’s uncontaminated. And just for the record,” she added dryly, “the electron microscope isn’t the only thing I’ve been lusting after.”
Before Izzy could think of a suitable answer, she hung up on him.
Nanny Page 18
