Don't Look Back

by Christie Craig

  When he walked into the room, Mark and Juan hadn’t arrived yet, and Special Agent Calvin stood speaking with his two underlings. All dressed in black suits and varying colored ties, the thought that hit him was…birds of a feather flock together. Only there was a distinct possibility that one of those birds was guilty of hiring a hit man to take out one of their own.

  “Hello,” he said. “I’m Detective Pierce.” He held out his hand to the oldest man in the room.

  It went unshaken. “I spoke with Detective Sutton,” Agent Calvin said, as if Connor didn’t make the cut. The muscles in his abdomen tightened. He already disliked the man for how he’d spoken to Brie, and this solidified his opinion.

  “He’ll be here shortly.”

  Just then both Mark and Juan walked in. Picking up on the tension, Mark’s gaze met Connor’s before focusing on Agent Calvin. “I’m Detective Sutton. This is Detective Acosta, and I see you’ve met Detective Pierce. Special Agent Calvin, I assume.”

  “Yes.” Agent Calvin took Mark’s hand. “This is Agent Bara and Agent Miles.” The two other agents nodded a curt greeting. Agent Calvin continued, “Do we have any leads yet?”

  “We’ve spoken to Agent Ryan and have some things we’re looking into,” Mark answered.

  “Yes, she mentioned the idea of an internal leak, but it’s highly unlikely. Mr. Vale tends to be an exaggerator. The Sala case ended badly, but it doesn’t point to one of our own—”

  Connor, Juan, and Mark all shared a look of surprise that Agent Calvin would speak so openly about the leak. “Ms. Ryan thinks that Tory Vale’s concerns have merit,” Mark said.

  “She’s too close to the Sala case to be unbiased in her judgment. She’s seeing something that’s not there. First, she believed there was a leak in the ATF. We spent months looking into that. Now, she’s pointing a finger at her own agency.”

  “Why would she make this up?” Connor asked.

  Agent Calvin turned to Connor. “Her informant in the Sala case was killed. She blamed herself, and now she’s looking for someone else to blame.”

  Connor knew all about blame. “So you don’t think anything was off with the Sala case? Even the informant’s death didn’t make you suspicious?”

  “Suspicious, yes. But we couldn’t find proof. Agent Ryan couldn’t let it go. She’s a good agent, but she lets herself get too close. In fact, I believe that’s why she took a leave of absence. I know her sister died, but she didn’t even know her.”

  “Did you really look into the informant’s death?” Connor knew even the APD was guilty of treating an informant’s death as a statistic.

  “Why are we concentrating on that?” Agent Miles broke in. “Do you have anything on Olvera’s case besides this conspiracy theory?”

  Mark, showing no signs of being annoyed, focused on the light-brown-haired agent. “Someone broke into Agent Olvera’s hotel room and assaulted a maid in the process. Tossed the place, as if looking for something.”

  “You caught them?” Agent Calvin asked.

  “No. However, we did get a video of him escaping. We issued a BOLO and are attempting to identify him.”

  “Did you find anything in the hotel room?” Agent Bara asked.

  “Nothing,” Mark answered. “But we’re still going through everything.”

  “So you have nothing.” Agent Miles’s tone hit nerves Connor didn’t like hit.

  “It’s more than we had.” Mark’s tone deepened.

  “If you’ll hand us what you’ve got, we can take over from here,” Agent Calvin added.

  “That’s not going to happen,” Connor spoke up.

  Mark broke in. “It landed on our doorstep. I understand your stake in this and I think we should be able to work together. As soon as we—”

  “You are accusing us of shooting one of our own,” Agent Miles said.

  Juan jumped in. “We aren’t accusing—”

  “Then insinuating!” Agent Miles glared at Juan.

  Connor noticed that of the three, Miles was the one who protested the most.

  “No,” Juan added, sarcastically. “We think the person who broke into Olvera’s room shot him. We’re insinuating one of you hired him.”

  “This is absurd,” Agent Bara said. “We worked with Agent Olvera.”

  “I understand this is difficult,” Mark spoke calmly. “But the sooner you allow us to clear you in our investigation, the sooner we can focus elsewhere.”

  “What will you need?” Agent Calvin’s expression darkened and his words sounded forced, but he appeared willing to concede.

  “Access to your finances, phone records, and a copy of the Sala case. And we’ll set up interviews with each of you.”

  “No!” Agent Miles snapped. “I refuse to let you snoop—”

  “Let them look. We have nothing to hide,” Agent Calvin spoke up.

  Agent Miles stormed out of the room, and Agent Calvin stared after him. Miles protested a bit too much.

  The senior agent turned to Mark. “Do what you have to do. Set up the interviews. I’ll make sure everyone cooperates. But do it fast.”

  “Can I have a moment in private with you, sir?” Mark looked pointedly at Agent Bara.

  Agent Calvin motioned to the door, and Agent Bara left.

  Mark looked back at Calvin. “Why would you bring up the possibility of a leak in front of the very agents we’ll be investigating?”

  The man frowned. “They aren’t stupid. When we showed up at the hospital, Agent Ryan had her own people standing guard who barred us from seeing Agent Olvera. The implications of that were pretty clear.”

  Mark nodded. “I see.”

  Agent Calvin continued, “Sergeant Brown said we could set up a temporary office in one of the conference rooms. I’ll be in there. Meanwhile, I’ll take a copy of Agent Olvera’s file. After I go over it, we can talk about how to move forward.” He left.

  Connor waited until the footsteps faded. “What do you think? Is it one of them?”

  “It could be. Or it could be random.” Mark dropped into a chair. “Or maybe Agent Olvera had other enemies. You have to admit the whole mole theory sounds…crazy.”

  “But how many of our cases aren’t crazy?” Connor offered.

  “I’ll admit we don’t know Brie Ryan that well,” Juan said. “But I trust her more than those guys.”

  “I agree.” Connor looked at the door. “And if she’s right…then one of them is guilty.”

  “Which one?” Mark asked.

  Connor tossed out his first thought. “My bet’s on Special Agent Calvin.”

  “Seriously?” Mark asked. “I’m putting ten dollars on Agent Miles.”

  “That’s my second bet.” Connor rubbed his hand over his chin. “I know a hit dog always hollers, but Agent Calvin was really upset with Brie. It felt over-the-top.”

  “Brie? Just Brie?” Mark grinned. “You’re with her for a few hours and suddenly you’re on a first name basis?”

  “Give it a break.” Connor frowned.

  “Well, I’m waiting to see a few more cards before putting in my bet.” Juan pushed a chair under the conference table. “Agent Bara didn’t appear too happy about this either.” He paused. “Is Brie still here?”

  Connor sat on the edge of the table. “She left. She’s going to work. Which worries me. If one of those FBI agents is really behind this and they learn she’s working at the club, they could rat her out.”

  Mark rested his elbows on his desk. “One other thing I think we need to worry about. I wasn’t able to find Mr. Dunn, the owner of the Mustang. I went to both his home and his work, but no one was home and no one at the job knew where he is. His car has been returned to him, but if he still thinks Brie took it, he might still want his guy to teach her a lesson.”

  “Crap.” Connor stood up. “Text me his information and I’ll run him down.” He took one step toward the door and turned around. “I really think we need to get someone to go to the strip club to keep an eye
on Brie. It shouldn’t be one of us. Her boss at the club might recognize us from the Noel case.”

  Mark stood up. “Yeah, but I don’t think Brown will approve a separate detail on Agent Ryan.”

  “Then we call in a favor. How hard is it to get someone to hang out at a strip club?” Connor asked.

  “Not that hard,” came a voice from the door. Billy walked in. “What?” he asked, when all three of them looked at each other. “Why do you need someone at a strip club?”

  * * *

  Brie had lied. She didn’t go straight to the hospital. She went to the bridge where Carlos had been found to see if the Willie Nelson look-alike had come back.

  The tent was still there. He wasn’t. She looked back where Carlos had been found. Had Tomas seen something? A witness to Carlos being pushed out of the car would help put that piece of dog crap behind bars. Hopefully, Willie wasn’t drunk or high when it happened.

  A cool October gust of wind tossed her hair. Looking up at the darkening sky, it felt like a storm was brewing. The air smelled like rain. Damp. And a little like dead leaves. In the distance, a couple of trees had started to turn gold. Normally, she loved fall, but recently someone had argued the season was nothing but death. The leaves, the grass, it was all dying.

  But Carlos couldn’t die with them. Pushing away the thought, she recalled how many dinners they’d shared. Movies they’d watched. Jumping from country to country in her younger years, she’d never really had a best friend. Not until she met Carlos. They swapped childhood horrors. His dad never accepting he was gay. Her dad leaving her for his other family.

  Her gaze shifted to the dark red stain on the gravel. A stain she knew was Carlos’s blood. “I’m gonna catch whoever did this.”

  She started for her car when she heard something—footsteps, a twig crack. Someone was out there. Breath held, she stared into the thick brush, her gaze shifting from tree to tree.

  She pulled out her gun.

  “FBI,” she called. “Come out!” The wind seemed to carry her words away. “I said, come out! Now!”

  Only the rattling of the dry leaves clinging to the trees echoed back.

  She started toward the tree line. Only a few feet inside the thicket and it suddenly felt like the dead of night. It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust and when they did, she saw what looked like a person running behind a tree.

  She bolted after the shadowy figure.

  Chapter Ten

  She lost the figure, but chased the sound of footfalls, dodging trees and jumping over brush. Then suddenly the only steps she heard were her own.

  She stopped running. “Come out now!”

  Raspy breathing sounds reached her ears. “Don’t shoot me,” a scratchy male voice said. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

  “Come out where I can see you!” she demanded.

  A man rose up from the ground, holding his hands in the air. He had a mop of curly dark hair. His dirty clothes hung loose. He didn’t look anything like Willie Nelson.

  “Who are you? What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “I didn’t do anything wrong.” His hands remained in the air.

  “I asked who you are and what you were doing here.” When he didn’t speak, she snapped. “Answer me!”

  He flinched. “Name’s Milton Yates. I was looking for someone.”

  “Who?”

  He hesitated before answering. “Tomas. That’s his tent.”

  “He’s not here,” she said.

  “I know that now.”

  “Do you know where he could be?”

  He stared at her with suspicion. “You ain’t gonna shoot me?”

  “No.” She lowered her gun.

  He lowered his arms. “You gonna arrest me?”

  “I just want to know where to find Tomas.”

  “I…don’t know. He usually stays here. Sometimes he gets a meal at the shelter on Logan Street but he wasn’t there today.”

  “When’s the last time you saw him?”

  “Two days ago.”

  “Were you here yesterday?”

  “No. I stay under the bridge off of Main.”

  She believed him. “Fine. You can go.”

  She walked up and down the side of the road, hoping to find some evidence, proof. Disappointed and frustrated, she left and drove by the shelter, just in case Tomas was there. He wasn’t. She drove by a couple of bridges where some of the homeless hung out. He wasn’t there either.

  At almost six, feeling as if she was floundering, she headed to the hospital. She longed for some good news and maybe a visit with Eliot. While the man wasn’t her father by blood or marriage, he’d been more of one than the two men who’d worn that title.

  The rich deep sound of his voice had comforted her through many childhood fears, and even adult ones. Eliot had taught her to be strong and independent, but he’d also been the rock she could always lean on.

  She’d been ten when she’d found a framed photograph in Eliot’s suitcase after one of their many moves. A family portrait of him with a woman and a girl. She learned the girl was her age—or would have been. Eliot’s wife and child had been killed in a car accident a few years before her family had hired him. First, he’d lost his leg working for our country, then he’d lost his family. Life wasn’t fair.

  The news had devastated her. She’d grieved for what he’d lost but she also felt guilty because she knew if not for their deaths, she wouldn’t have had him in her life. It had also explained why in the beginning he’d been standoffish, determined to keep his heart out of the job. Loving someone, when you’d lost so much, was hard. She knew that personally.

  But eight-year-old Brie had needed someone desperately, and somehow she’d sensed he needed her, too. He’d caved. He’d cared. He became the source of comfort, hugs, and love to a little girl who felt abandoned by everyone else in her life.

  Getting off the elevator, she barely made it up two steps when Eliot spotted her and popped up from his post outside the ICU doors. His first step came with the slight limp of a man wearing a prosthesis. She could remember how shocked she’d been when she’d first seen the artificial leg.

  He took a few more steps, then waited for her to come to him. “What happened?”

  “Nothing. I just wanted to check in.”

  “You don’t need to check in. You need to rest.”

  “I have to go to work.”

  “At the Black Diamond?”

  She waited for his disapproval. When she’d told him earlier that she’d been working at the strip club she could have heard an eyelash fall, he’d become so silent. She assured him she was just waitressing, but Eliot had some old-fashioned beliefs. Which explained why she hadn’t lost her virginity until college. Try having a six-foot-four ex-Special Forces manny give the respect-her talk with your dates. She’d barely snagged a kiss.

  Eliot’s frown deepened. “They came after Carlos, they might—”

  “I’m not walking away when I’m this close to catching my sister’s killer.” At her words, he gave her a look, but she defiantly glared back at him. “I am,” she insisted.

  “I know you blame yourself. First for your informant’s death and now—”

  “You can’t stop me from this. Give it up.”

  “Fine.” His voice crackled with frustration. “I’m coming. Sam can—”

  “No.” Eliot would come unglued if any guy dared to cross the line. And face it, most nights at least one guy put a hand where it didn’t belong. She dealt with it. Quite well. No one who tried it once, tried it a second time.

  She needed Eliot in her life, but she didn’t need him to solve her problems. And he had a bad habit of wanting to do that.

  “You promised to stop interfering in my adult decisions, remember?”

  “Then make better decisions. If something happens—”

  “It won’t! Trust me.” She looked around. “Where’s Tory?”

  “In with Carlos.” The man continu
ed to frown. “Did you see Agent Calvin?”

  “Yeah,” Brie answered.

  “And?”

  “He’s pissed that I told the APD about the possible mole. And he’s blaming me for Carlos being here.” She noted Eliot’s scowl. “Everyone seems unhappy with me these days.”

  “I’m just concerned. If someone from the FBI is protecting the Sala family, they’re probably protecting Dillon Armand. And if they discover you’re working—”

  “If my cover gets blown, I’ll quit.”

  Eliot sighed. “The APD knows all of this, right? Tell me they have your back.”

  “I don’t need anyone.”

  Wanting a change in the conversation, she told Eliot about the guy with bruises that she let get away. “I should’ve shot him.”

  “You’re not officially on the job. Shooting someone might have caused some problems.”

  Her gaze met his. “Yeah, you should know.”

  A half smile had his white teeth showing.

  She put her hand on his chest. “You are so difficult, but I still love you.”

  “Which is exactly how I feel about you.” His smile came wider. He tilted her chin up and looked into her eyes. “You look exhausted.”

  “I’m okay. Really.”

  Right then the doors to the ICU opened and visitors walked out. Tory was the last to appear. Everything about him—his gait, his posture, his downcast eyes—spoke of pain.

  He must have felt her gaze because he looked up.

  “Any change?” She held her breath.

  “No.” He teared up. “And test results still aren’t back. What the hell takes so long?”

  “Be patient,” she offered through her own forbearing. She took his hand.

  “I’m trying.” He squeezed, as if her grasp was all the hope he had to hang on to.

  Brie remembered what she needed to ask. “We found out that Carlos didn’t check in to the hotel until Wednesday. Do you have any idea where he could have gone?”

  “No, but he was already upset that he’d told me about the leak. He seldom talked about his work.”

  She nodded. “Do you have access to his credit cards? The police want to get a list of what cards he has and their numbers in case someone uses them. And could you check if he used any of his cards the last few days? It might tell us where he was.”