Chapter One
SETH LORCAN ached like a bitch. Every bone in his body reminded him of that. And he didn’t understand how it had happened. He certainly hadn’t been pulverized when he’d woken that morning. He’d had two things on his mind— attending a funeral for a friend and then heading to Lake Meredith and finishing out his first vacation in eight years.
This wasn’t what he’d had in mind.
Someone had tried to kill him. Dammit.
He hated when that happened.
He needed to get back to his place in Amarillo and figure out just who in three hells had bashed him in the head and stuffed him in an FBI issue trunk. That was priority one.
But how was he supposed to do that? He wasn’t even sure how he’d ended up in this parking lot. He wasn't even sure what parking lot or what agency he was in. Or what state. And it had to be an agency—the license plates were mostly federal.
Someone had hit him over the head, and next he knew he was in a damned trunk. He didn’t know who owned trunk, but he’d for damned sure find out. How far up were they in whatever agency they spawned from? They had to be for him to end up in a government sedan. What about his whole team? Were they ok?
Were they involved in whatever had landed him in the trunk in the first place? Was it one of his damned teammates? People he worked with every day? They were the only people who’d known where he was going. Pretty ballsy to knock him out in broad daylight. There were several on his eight member team who could do it—and several that he wouldn’t put it past. FBI,
ATF, and DEA were not always good bedmates—even on these special little task forces that were designed to have agencies working like nice little playground buddies. Knocking him over the head and tossing him in a trunk would be just something they'd play. Hell of a playground game, but not one that surprised him. Not really.
Pretty shitty of them to do it the day of their colleague's funeral, though. Or was it more than that? Was it Antonio's killer who'd knocked him in the skull? He had been at Antonio Riaz's houseboat when he'd been konked. If it had been one of his own teammates, who could he call for help? Not his boss, not his partner. No one. He wasn’t close to anyone; was barely close enough to his own family to send a twice yearly email, to be honest. So no help there.
Seth was used to depending on himself to get out of nasty situations. And he’d landed in quite a few of those, too. He’d just have to help himself once again.
He needed a ride and a cell phone. He took a look around, evaluating each vehicle for both ease of access and ease of bypassing the ignition. None of the vehicles looked like something he could mess with quickly. Or easily—nearly every vehicle had some type of government license plate on it, except for those parked at the far edges of the level. He strongly suspected he wouldn’t find an old junker with unlocked doors anywhere here. Whomever had left these vehicles for the night—and he had a feeling it was late from the lack of sun coming in through the end of the garage—had locked them up right nice and tighty. He slipped behind a concrete pillar as a silver SUV drove by, a woman at the wheel.
Yep, she was going to have to be his ticket out of here. He'd flash his badge, charm her into lending him a phone, and then he'd leave her be. He'd ask some directions, then take her car. It was one of those small housewife SUVs, but it would work. He just hoped it was good on gas mileage, because he was a bit strapped for cash. Whoever had knocked him out had taken his wallet.
Should he? Or should he hide his ass, walk out of here, find his partner Bertram, get to the bottom of whatever was going on, find Riaz’s killer, and then make it back to the office on
Monday like nothing had ever happened? Then rip the unit apart, finding out who the other traitor was—the one he’d been put in that unit to find in the first place?
What other option did he have?
He circled the row of vehicles, keeping his head down, and headed toward the back row where the SUV and driver waited. She was climbing out and he took a moment to study her, looking for the most obvious weaknesses. Every woman had a way of being charmed—he just had to find this woman's.
She was a damned hot woman, long red hair curling down half her back. Curved in all the right places. Yeah, too bad he was about to scare the shit out of her. There were so many other things a guy could do with a girl like her.
She was young and vulnerable looking. Office staff or computer would be his best guess. He went with the second hunch when she grabbed two laptop bags and slung them over her shoulder. She was one of the computer geeks, then.
“Hey, babe.”
She closed the door. He grabbed her shoulder and then her arm when she jerked around at his voice.
He let her go, then held up his hands, unthreatening. “It’s ok, baby. I don’t plan on hurting you.” He stepped out of the shadows more fully.
She stilled for a moment, becoming almost calm. It surprised him. She should still be fighting—did she not have more self-preservation than that? She should be backing away, ready to run from a strange guy approaching her at night, in a dark parking garage. “What are you doing?”
“I’m in a bit of a bind, and you’re my ticket out of here.” He stepped close enough to grab again, if needed.
“What do you want from me?”
The fear and nerves were back in her voice. Poor kid. But figuring out what the hell had happened to him vs. momentary fear for her? No brainer. If his arrival at this place had been something more sinister than a joke, the last thing he'd want to do is involve some innocent woman in the shit. So, yeah, a bit of fear for her, compared to someone getting dead? She’d get over it. “The keys and a computer. That’s all I need.”
She took a deep breath, started to say something, and then hesitated. “Come inside; my husband—he’s inside. He’ll help you. He’s a unit chief with PAVAD. He can help. Can help.”
“Honey, the last man who got involved in whatever shit this is got himself dead. So no offense if I pass on your offer; that’ll keep your husband nice and safe. Keys.” He snatched her keys from her hand before she could react. “Now, computer. I’ll be generous—I’ll only take one. How’s that?” He grabbed the strap of one computer bag.
She exhaled, dug her fingers into his arm. “No. There’s confidential information on there. You can’t have it. I just can’t give it to you.”
Well, he hadn’t expected that. Her husband should have taught her to cooperate with carjackers. Car-requisitioners. Especially requisitioners who flashed FBI badges. It was a hell of a lot less risky than fighting. If he ever had a wife he’d make damned sure she could take care of herself.
He didn’t have time for this, and as soon as he took her car she’d be making a big stink, and they’d probably close the gate before he even got down to the lowest level. He pulled his spare weapon from the holster on his back. “Damn, girl. Can’t you be a bit more cooperative? I’m in trouble here; I need to get out of it. It’s for the good of the many. I'll explain it all after I've done what needs done. Will even bring your car back, freshly washed and detailed. Even put a flame strip down the side to match that hair of yours. How’s that?”
****
SHE could still feel the sleaze of his touch on her skin.
Her team with PAVAD—the FBI’s Prevention & Analysis of Violent Acts Division—had spent the last week chasing down a nasty creep who got his rocks off killing blonde women. They’d caught him, but Al had had the unenviable thrill of being prime bait.
She was exhausted. All she wanted to do was find her car—it had been a week since she’d left it—and go home. Hopefully that home would be quiet and Al could sleep for a week. It should be empty, at this time of day—her brother and new sister-in-law Jules both worked at PAVAD with Al; Ruthie, her little niece, should be with Al’s mother for the day.
Sometimes the job just sucked, and this case had definitely been one of them. She just wanted to sleep the memory of it away for a while. A long while.
The parkin
g lot adjacent to the PAVAD building seemed ten times as huge as Al knew it to be. And of course, she’d parked clear across the level. Or maybe it was the level above? She couldn’t remember, and the parking garage was shared between PAVAD and the regular St. Louis Field Office. Her car looked like so many others.
She kept walking, her bag loading her down. Had she ever ached as much as she did now? She’d tackled the creep and sent them both out a second story window; now she felt it. Had she ever been this exhausted?
Yeah, back when her brother and Jules had been kidnapped at Thanksgiving three months ago.
And then again when her partner Paige and Jules were in the hands of that same madman; a madman who’d once been Al’s friend. She had been one of the searchers tirelessly hunting for the people she loved. They’d found them, but she would never forget those few days.
She found it in the back corner of the level. What had she been thinking when she’d parked there? Carrie, her team leader’s wife and one of Al’s closest friends, was getting out of her own Ford Escape directly next to Al’s car. She thought about calling out to her friend, but she was just way too tired; Carrie hadn’t seen her yet. They’d eventually pass each other. So why call out?
And Sebastian was right there. Right behind his wife. How had he beaten Al out of the building? When she’d left the bullpen, he’d been in his office half-buried under reams of paperwork. Their cases generated a lot of bull crap paperwork.
A week away from Carrie had probably made him antsy for his wife. They’d not even been married six months, and Al suspected they’d spent almost as much time apart as they had together. It was the nature of the job.
Carrie Lorcan was one heck of a lucky woman. Something Al had thought many times before. Al loved Carrie’s husband, too—he was probably one of the closest friends she’d ever had. She watched the couple for a moment, feeling that bit of envy and loneliness that had been plaguing her for a while. Since
Thanksgiving, at least, when her oldest brother Malachi and Jules had first gotten together. In the weeks since, Al had felt a bit rootless. Edgy. And she couldn’t shake it. She was happy for Jules and Mal and Carrie and Sebastian. And for all the other couples who’d found each other through PAVAD.
Inner-Bureau romances were often frowned on, but the division was full of them lately. Even the director in charge of PAVAD had recently married the head of the forensics department. Romances in PAVAD seemed to work, for some reason.
But not for her.
Romances had never worked for her. She was fine with that—the people she loved were happy. That was all that mattered.
Carrie cried out. Carrie was fighting him.
Carrie wouldn’t fight Sebastian.
And Sebastian would never hurt Carrie.
Al sped up, every instinct she possessed telling her this was wrong. Something wasn’t right…
For more PAVAD stories, visit Calle’s website at www.callejbrookes.com.
Beginning: A PAVAD Prequel Novella (PAVAD: FBI Romantic Suspense) Page 6
