Ed Turcotte felt like he’d been left swinging in the breeze, and he didn’t like it one little bit. Worse yet, he had no one to blame. Voss had not been telling him the truth, and his number one agent had stopped answering her phone or replying to his texts. He had kept the messages simple because if he gave Chang a direct order to call him immediately and she did not comply, there could be serious consequences for her.

No matter how frustrated he might be, Turcotte did not want that. In a relatively short time, Chang had proven to be his squad’s most valuable asset, and he could see no upside to letting her flush her career down the toilet. So he would give her plenty of room to run—to pry into places he could not go unnoticed, and pursue lines of investigation that would draw too much attention.

For now, he could truthfully say that he had no knowledge of her whereabouts or activities and blame his ignorance on Voss and Hart and Theodora Wood, the director of ICD. Right now they were giving the orders, and Turcotte had not been made privy to all aspects of the investigation. Normally that would have burned him—even now it chafed something fierce—but he knew they were all doing it for his benefit.

How long he would be willing to let them keep him out of it was another question entirely. Terrorists and Black Ops on U.S. soil, murdered babies and American war veterans branded enemies of the state … the case had turned into a clusterfuck of epic proportions. People were keeping abominable secrets, performing hideous deeds, and the conspiracy to try to make it all disappear included SOCOM, Black Pine, and Turcotte’s own boss.

Current boss, he thought. Dwight Hollenbach had not always been his superior. The previous SSAC of CTD Ops II, Julius Andelman, had moved into an advisory role fourteen months earlier as a stepping stone to retirement.

Turcotte had been thinking about Andelman all morning. He stood in the parking lot outside Hartford Police headquarters, where the FBI had set up an office through the Hartford P.D.’s gracious hospitality, and flipped his cell phone open and then closed, open and then closed.

Chang and the ICD were trying to keep him clear of the shit, just in case it all went bad and he had to explain his actions to Hollenbach. But as much as Turcotte knew how to behave like a political animal, he could not close his eyes to this. He wasn’t stupid—he would tread carefully—but doing nothing would haunt him.

He opened the phone, scanned the contacts list for DR. J, and hit CALL. The phone rang five times, long enough for him to second-guess himself and then reaffirm his decision. Just when he thought he would have to leave a message, Andelman answered.

“Agent Turcotte,” Andelman said. “To what do I owe the plea sure?”

“Hello, Julius.”

“My, aren’t we informal today.”

“We need to talk.”

Andelman hesitated, recognizing the tone. “Where are you?”

“Hartford. If you’re concerned about snoops listening in, let them listen. If things have gone so far that they’re not as troubled by this as I am, then there’s no hope for justice anyway.”

“That’s not like you, Ed. You were never prone to melodrama.”

Turcotte glanced around the parking lot to make sure he was alone. A pair of uniformed Hartford cops were climbing into a cruiser at the rear entrance of the building, but other than that, he saw no one.

“It’s not melodrama, Julius.”

“Go on.”

Turcotte told the story with as little editorializing as possible, sticking to the facts of the case, things he had observed himself. He kept it brief. “Agent Voss believes one of our agents was her shooter last night, and that it was no accident,” he finished.

“I see,” Andelman said. “And what do you think, Ed?”

“Given what’s happened thus far—the cover-up at the McCandless woman’s house, the way the public picture of her has been tainted—I think she might be right.”

He heard Andelman exhale.

“You realize what you’re saying?”

Turcotte glanced around again. “I called you, Julius. Hollenbach could burn my career to the ground, but I called you. Do you really think I don’t realize how big this is?”

Andelman went quiet long enough to make Turcotte nervous. He started to wonder if he had made a lethal error in judgment.

“Julius—”

“I’m still here, Ed. Just thinking.”

The purr of an engine made Turcotte turn and watch as a black Lexus slid into the parking lot, moving past the police vehicles and toward him at a crawl. The car was too expensive to be federal or local law enforcement. He couldn’t see through the tinted glass, but the tight ball of anger forming in his gut came from intuition.

“I’ve got to go,” Turcotte said.

“Go,” Andelman replied. “I’ll ask the wrong people the right questions. In the meantime, try not to do anything foolish.”

Turcotte closed the phone without replying and pushed away from the patrol car he’d been leaning against. The Lexus rolled up to him and stopped, smooth as silk, and the passenger door opened.

Norris sat inside, staring at him. The son of a bitch didn’t even bother getting out.

“Agent Turcotte. I was told I might find you here.”

“I thought you had another consulting gig to take care of,” Turcotte said.

“A simple job,” Norris replied. “Now that it’s over, I thought I’d see what help I can still offer.”

Turcotte narrowed his eyes, knowing this guy was the enemy, or at the very least not his friend. He ought to keep his mouth shut, but he could no longer manage it.

“ ’Cause you’ve been a ton of help so far.”

Norris smiled, not even pretending to be startled or insulted. “I take it you’re continuing your investigation of the mysterious child killings as well as tracking Sergeant McCandless.”

“I’m sure you’d have heard by now if we had found her.”

Norris nodded. “I’m sure. Just as I’m aware of the BOLO you issued for Jordan Katz. One of my people pulled a file together on him … He was in McCandless’s unit in Iraq. But of course you already know that. I take it he was the one along for the ride last night with the ill-fated Private Mellace?”

Turcotte had had enough. “You do realize you’re not involved in this case anymore, don’t you, Norris? Nor am I the one in charge. Yes, I’m following up on the avenues of the investigation that were assigned to me, but if you want in, you should talk to Josh Hart.”

A ripple of irritation passed over Norris’s features. It pleased Turcotte to see evidence that he had gotten to the man.

“Unfortunately, Agent Hart is not returning my calls.”

“Have you tried his boss? You people have done such a bang-up job on this case so far, I’m sure Theodora Wood would be happy to hire you on to consult for the ICD.”

Norris smiled again, all teeth, like a shark—and with the dead eyes to make the look complete.

“I’d think very carefully about who you choose as allies, Turcotte.”

“I’ll do that.”

“And while you’re thinking,” Norris said, smile slipping from his face, “perhaps you know where I can find Agent Voss. I understand that Agent Hart is running the show while she recuperates from her injuries, but I’m hoping Voss can persuade him to accept my calls.”

It was Turcotte’s turn to smile. “Agent Voss went home to D.C. My people drove her to the airport.”

Norris studied him. “Agent Voss did not fly home. In fact, after your people dropped her off, she rented a car. She’s driving, Agent Turcotte. I’d like to know where she’s going.”

Turcotte frowned, genuinely curious. “Maybe she decided to drive home,” he suggested, though he did not believe that for a moment.

Norris glared at him, shook his head at what he obviously perceived as Turcotte’s foolishness, and shut the car door. After a moment, the tinted window slid down and Norris leaned over to look out at him.

“Perhaps I ought to have this conversation with your Special Agent Chang, since she’s in D.C. with Agent Hart,” Norris said. He looked thoughtful a moment, then continued, “I wonder, Turcotte. How does it feel to have the rug pulled out from under you after all the times you’ve done it to others?”

Turcotte laughed, wanting to throttle Norris, but happy to see the way his jaw tightened in anger. “Really?” he said. “You want to go there? I’m still working the case, asshole. You’re the one on the outside. How do you like the view?”

Without waiting for a reply, Turcotte turned and walked toward the rear entrance of the police station. He wanted to be with real law enforcement people. The lowliest traffic cop was worth a thousand Norrises.

So much for Chang, Voss, and Hart trying to keep him out of it.