Pippa stopped in midstride to the kitchen and flipped around. “What?” Her blue eyes widened.
Nari took a healthy sip of the drink. Ah, Cabernet. So good. “This is delicious.”
Pippa hustled around the table and sat next to Brigid. “Oh, you’re telling all. Right now. The chicken is still cooking.”
Nari told them the entire story while enjoying her wine. “So, there you go.”
Stunned silence met her tale.
Brigid spoke first. “Your da is the deputy administrator of the HDD?” Her Irish brogue came out full force, while her emerald-colored eyes sparkled.
Nari blinked. Oops. “Didn’t I tell you that before?”
Pippa chuckled. “You know you didn’t.”
Nari winced, her neck heating. “Well, he’s just my sperm donor, to be honest. My mom remarried when I was around twelve and I love my stepdad. I call him Dad. He lives in California with my mom and he’s the one I love.”
“Does Angus know you’re related to our boss?” Brigid asked.
Pippa laughed full-out this time. “Oh, that’s going to be a fun discussion.” She sobered. “I mean, if we see him again. I can’t believe he actually said goodbye last night.”
Well, for Nari it had been that morning, but she wasn’t ready to share that much. Not yet anyway. “I was surprised he left with a serial killer on the loose. Even if we know the killer isn’t Lassiter, when Angus gets his teeth in a case, he doesn’t let go,” Nari murmured. Maybe he’d just had enough. It wasn’t like one night with her would change his mind.
She crossed her legs, and a bite mark on her thigh twinged.
A soft knock sounded and then Millie Frost bounced in. “I come bearing rolls.” She held up a basket. “I bought them.” The tech wore jeans with a little bit of dirt around the hems and a sweater. Her hair was all blond this time. “Serena called me on the way—she got stuck in some faculty meeting at the college. Says to start dinner without her, but she’ll still try to make it.”
Nari sighed. Serena was a creative genius and always made the evening fun. Hopefully she’d come at least for dessert.
Pippa stood and took the basket. “You took out your streaks.”
Millie grinned. “Yeah. I’ll put some back in eventually, but I was tired of the colors. We’ll see.” She looked around. “I turn twenty-eight next week and I’m no longer undercover as a computer tech, so maybe it’s time to forget the streaks. I kept them partly to tick off HDD, but nobody really seems to care.”
The woman did not look twenty-eight. Nari sipped her wine more slowly, her mind spinning.
The door opened and Dana swept in, a small, white kitten in her hands. “Kat wanted to come. I hope that’s okay.”
Wolfe hovered right behind her, his body braced, as if to catch her. The man was huge compared to the blond journalist, who wasn’t exactly short.
Dana’s angled face flushed. “I made it here safely, Wolfe. Go back to playing poker with your friends. Now.”
Nari coughed to cover her laugh.
Wolfe gently, oh so gently, took Dana’s elbow and tried to help her sit.
Dana’s eyes sparked and she jerked her hand free. “I’m only three months pregnant, buddy. I’m fine. I can walk, I can talk, and I can even spar. Go. Please, Wolfe.”
Wolfe’s powerful chest filled. “All right, but call me before you walk home.”
Brigid pressed her lips together. “Yeah. The several feet between houses can be treacherous.”
Wolfe nodded, approval lifting his lips. “Exactly, Bridge. You get it.” He leaned down and kissed Dana before turning to the door. “Dana thinks I’m obsessed, but I’m not. I’m just doing what needs to be done.”
What needs to be done. Like Angus always did. Wait a minute. Nari’s head jerked. Realization struck her. “There is no way Angus Force just left town with a serial killer on the loose. Especially when one victim had a Roscoe tattoo and the other looked Irish.”
Wolfe frowned. “He said he was done, and he looked like it. In fact, he acted like it.”
Well, that was true. He wouldn’t have propositioned Nari if he hadn’t intended to leave. Nari sighed. Maybe she just wanted him to still be in town. “Yeah, he really did,” she said softly.
“It is what it is. For now, I’m going to go win all the money I can because we’re currently unemployed.” Wolfe shrugged.
Nari settled more comfortably on the sofa. “Nobody has been reassigned?”
Brigid picked at a string on her jeans. “Raider was reassigned to the main Homeland Security and I’m supposed to report to a new computer center at Homeland Defense on Monday. It’ll suck not working together.”
Nari bit her lip. Maybe she could figure out a way to have Brigid work with her team. “Anybody else?”
Wolfe shook his head. “It’s doubtful that Mal, Dana, or I still have jobs. Thus, my plan for poker tonight. Have a nice dinner. For now, lock the door.” He didn’t wait for Pippa to follow his instructions but locked the door and then shut it, his bootsteps heavy outside.
Brigid turned toward her. “I’m with you, Nari. Something feels off about Angus leaving. What should we do?”
Chapter Eleven
Angus groaned and unzipped the sleeping bag laid out on the hard bed. The way-too-hard bed. “Where the hell did Wolfe get this thing?” he muttered, an old bullet wound in his side aching.
Roscoe looked up from the end of the bed and glared at him.
Angus rolled his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Your Highness. Most dogs sleep on the damn floor, you know.” He looked around the rugged cabin. Wolfe had purchased it about six months before for an Op but hadn’t needed it. During that time, Brigid had created a chain of ownership for the place that didn’t lead to anybody. Wolfe had finally sold it a month ago, and Angus had bought it through a set of dummy corporations. Even back then, he’d had an inkling he’d have to separate from his team to finish this case.
Man, Wolfe would be pissed if he found out Angus had purchased the cabin in the middle of the woods. Of course, this bed was decent revenge. Angus’s entire body ached.
His gaze focused on the murder board he’d stretched across the entire north wall. It was the only wall without windows in the small cabin, and Lassiter’s face was right in the middle, next to a blank sheet with a question mark. The new killer, if there was one. Pictures of victims lined the left, while other cops and his contacts to the right.
In the corner a fire crackled in the stone fireplace, next to the sliding door that led to the front porch. His kitchen, if it could be called that, was on the opposite side, and the lone bathroom was next to that. Only a sofa and one chair resided in front of the fireplace.
It was kind of homey, and the electricity worked; that was all he needed.
His phone buzzed. Was it Nari? He grabbed it off the floor, quickly reading the text. “Damn.” He sat up and called Tate. “You can’t have another body.”
“We do, and you’re gonna want to see her. I can get you in and out of the scene, but we have to be quick. My balls are on the line here,” his friend said, giving him directions.
Angus jerked. “Say that again. The address.”
Tate paused and then gave it. “I take it you know the place?”
“I just moved out of that complex,” Angus growled. “She’s in the laundry room?”
“Affirmative. Laundry room in complex B. That’s where you used to live?” Tate asked, his voice lowering.
Heat smashed through Angus’s muscles. “Yeah. That’s my complex.” So much for any of this being a coincidence.
“Hell. Okay. You’re officially a witness at this point, so we’re going to have to be even more careful if I let you study the scene. Get here as quick as you can. I’ll tell the uniform guarding the front to let you in.” He paused, and there was a muffled sound behind him. “This is a bad one, Force.” Then he clicked off.
His heart pounding, Angus swung his legs over the edge of the bed and lowered
his head into his hands. He took several deep breaths, forcing himself to remain calm and rational. Three bodies in three days—and now one near his home. This was a game that seemed carefully planned out by the killer.
He jerked on jeans and a somewhat clean T-shirt, hit the bathroom, and was in his truck within minutes. Roscoe took care of business outside and jumped into the front seat, oddly sober. “I’m sorry, buddy. I know you already miss the team.” Angus reached out and scratched the dog’s ears.
Then he pulled out of the small clearing by the cabin and drove down the dirt road flanked on each side by forest and a lot of underbrush, all covered with morning dew. At least it wasn’t raining.
The substantial ache in his gut increased with each mile until he reached his former apartment complex, where police cars and crime tech vans angled in from every direction. Crime scene tape secured the front of the building. He jumped out of his truck and walked through the vehicles as if he had every right to do so, then gave his name to the first uniform by the front door.
He was nodded through.
So far, so good. He headed straight for the laundry room on the basement level that he’d used many times, passing crime techs and other police officers.
Tate waited for him by the door, standing a head taller than most of the people around them. He was built like a linebacker, but he’d once told Angus that he’d attended college on a tennis scholarship. The guy did move gracefully. Today his dark-brown eyes burned with a fire close to fury.
Angus reached him. “What do you know?”
Tate rubbed the dark skin across his forehead. “Victim looks to be in her midtwenties, but we don’t have an ID yet. We don’t have the fancy gadgets of the federal agencies, and so far her prints haven’t brought anything back. The medical examiner puts time of death at a few days ago. We don’t know yet how long she was with the killer or where he had her.” Tate stepped aside.
Angus allowed no emotion to show in his expression as he turned and entered the long room with its collection of older washers and dryers.
The body lay on a table used to fold clothes, her body naked, her eyes open. Burn marks showed down both arms and bruises marred her neck as if she’d been strangled repeatedly. Rope tied her ankles together, and her hands rested, palms up, at her sides. Her chest gaped open, one broken rib sticking out. The cuts looked more uniform this time. Her heart was gone.
She had long blond hair and green eyes that were murky in death.
“No note?” Angus asked, the room swirling around him.
“Haven’t found one yet.” Tate flipped out his notebook, which looked ridiculously small in his glove-covered hand. “Does this victim look like anybody from your team?”
Angus blew out air. “I have two blond females on my team—or former team—and one has green eyes.” Dana. Wolfe would lose his fucking mind if his pregnant fiancée was in this kind of danger. “But there are millions of blond women in the world.”
“Yes.” Tate gestured him toward the body and then gently lifted her stiff arm, turning it over. “Does this ring a bell?”
A tattoo of the Washington Times logo was freshly inked on her skin, as evidenced by the reddening around it.
Angus sucked in air as if he’d been punched. “Yeah. Dana Mulberry has written articles for the Times.”
Tate released the woman. “I guess the killer wants you to be sure now.”
“Apparently.”
Tate’s phone rang and he lifted it to his ear. “Tate Bianchi.” He listened, looked at Angus, and then nodded. “Yes, sir. I think it’s connected. All right.” He clicked off. “I’m supposed to bring you in for questioning.”
Angus shoved his hands in his pockets. “Good thing I’m here, then. Let’s go.”
* * *
After the fourth hour of being questioned by two Metropolitan Police detectives in a box of an interrogation room, Angus was suddenly having sympathy for all those folks he’d interviewed through the years. Of course, most of them were guilty. It made sense that Tate wasn’t the one to question him, considering they were friends. At least the cops had let Roscoe come in to the interrogation room, where he was snoring quietly in the corner.
Finally the two detectives left, asking him to stay put and seeming cranky about it.
He looked at the sleeping dog. He and Roscoe could leave, but why? He didn’t mind helping, and hopefully the cops would let some facts slip. There was no doubt Tate couldn’t keep including him now, so his access to information would be limited.
The door opened and HDD Special Agents Rutherford and Fields walked inside, looking like federal agents with their suits and air of irritation.
“Ah, shit. What are you two doing here?” Angus muttered.
They drew out chairs across the metal table from him and sat. “You would not believe the favors we had to call in to get here,” Fields said, reaching for a cough drop from his pocket. “Apparently Metro PD doesn’t want to share you. They’re pissed we’re here.”
Good to know. Angus could use that to his advantage for the duration of this case.
Rutherford set a leather briefcase on the floor. His blond hair was slightly damp and he crossed his arms over his red power tie. When had it started raining? “I thought you were going to leave town.”
“I was on my way out when I heard the news about the body,” Angus lied.
Roscoe opened one eye to watch the proceedings from his position in the corner.
Rutherford set his phone on the table, pushing the Record button. “This is Special Agent Rutherford with HDD Special Agent Fields, interviewing former Agent Angus Force.” Rutherford finished with the date and time before straightening. “Have you been read your rights?”
“Nope. Want to run me through those?” Angus drawled. Might as well make the jackwad jump through hoops.
Rutherford did so without blinking. “Do you understand the rights as they’ve been read to you?”
“Yeppers,” Angus said. “Is this going to take long? If so, we’re gonna need dinner. I’m getting peckish.”
“Yes, it’s going to take a while, whether Metro or you like it,” Rutherford said, his smooth-shaven face darkening. “Let’s start with the most recent body. The woman was found in the laundry facility of your apartment complex, right?”
“Yes,” Angus answered, his throat parched.
Rutherford reached for a yellow file folder. “Where were you between the hours of three and six a.m. this morning?”
Angus grew still. “Excuse me?”
Rutherford smiled, showing perfectly even white teeth. “Based on our investigation, the body was dumped during that time frame. Where were you?”
Irritation heated through Angus, so he let his lip curl in a smile. “You can’t seriously be telling me I’m a suspect.”
Agent Fields finished chewing his cough drop, and the smell of menthol wafted around. “Of course you’re a suspect. Think about it, Force.”
Huh. Interesting. He truly hadn’t thought that one out. Angus rubbed his chin. “I’ve never been a suspect before.” Did he know any lawyers who didn’t dislike him? The list of people who actually did like him was pretty short, and even those he wasn’t sure about.
Roscoe, as if sensing a change in the atmosphere of the room, lumbered to his feet and padded over to Angus’s side. He sat, at attention, his ears up and his brown eyes facing the agents.
Fields shook his head. “That dog is something else.” Admiration glowed in his eyes.
Rutherford slid the phone closer to Angus. “You’ve been obsessed with Henry Wayne Lassiter for at least six years, and once you’d killed him, you still didn’t think he was dead. The victims this week have all shown markers of the Lassiter case, and they all resemble the female agents from your ragtag HDD team. You need to account for your time, and you need to do so right now.”
Angus’s phone buzzed and he pulled it free of his jeans to read a text from Tate. Everything inside him went cold. They’d fo
und a note. He looked up, smiled, and then stood. “I have to go.”
Rutherford slid back in his chair. “The hell you do. This is an interview.”
Angus moved toward the door. “I’m here voluntarily and I can leave. Either arrest me or get the hell out of my way.”
Rutherford’s nostrils flared and he kicked over his chair when he stood.
Fields stood more slowly. “Okay. Let’s compromise. If you agree to come in to our HDD office tomorrow for an official interview, we won’t cause a ruckus now.”
They didn’t have cause for a ruckus and they knew it. But Angus needed information on this case, and they’d be bound to give some while interviewing him. “I’ll be there at eight a.m.” With that, he hustled out of the room, Roscoe on his heels.
He turned left down a quiet hallway toward the bullpen, but Tate was already heading his way.
“Took a picture. Get out of here and we’ll talk later,” Tate said, smoothly handing over a printout. “My boss is working on a warrant for your house.”
“I consent to a search of my apartment,” Angus said, pocketing the paper and turning to head for the exit in the other direction. “I’ll text that to you so you have something in writing.” He paused, looking over his shoulder. “You don’t think I’m a suspect?”
“Oh, you’re a suspect,” Tate said quietly, “but no way in hell did you murder those women. I’ll clear you as soon as I can, but HDD is on the case now, and they’re being pushy. Fancy jackasses.”
Angus nodded. “You’re a good guy, Bianchi.” He hurried out of the building in the dribble of rain and jumped into his truck. There were cameras mounted in several spots, so he got Roscoe settled before sending a quick text to Wolfe:
New victim—looks like Dana and had a tattoo logo of one of the papers she worked for. Lock her down and keep yourself safe. I’ll call you later when I know more—Force
Then he ignited the engine and pulled sedately out of the lot. He’d look at the picture once he was out of view.
Driven Page 9
