Matt sat at the dining table of the FBI rental house reading reports. It was ten o’clock and Kara still wasn’t back yet. Ryder had returned thirty minutes ago, said she was at the Fish & Brew, then went upstairs.
Because it seemed the investigation was back at square one, Matt had wanted everyone to get a good night’s sleep.
Jim was staying on the mainland tonight since he had been at the ME’s office until late. The cause of death for the guard Garrett Washington had been determined to be blunt force trauma. The man was dead approximately three hours before the explosion, which confirmed what they knew—Washington clocked out at 3:03, passed the boathouse on his way back home five minutes later, the bomb went off at exactly 6:30.
Forensics had recovered a cinder block that they believed was the murder weapon, and Jim was working with their crime scene team to confirm. Matt didn’t expect they’d get fingerprints off the block, but they might find other trace evidence—something to tie a suspect to the murder. Clothing, DNA, a damn fingernail that broke off. A long shot, but worth pursuing.
Michael Harris wasn’t back yet. He was with ATF and their bomb dogs, going over West End and the main harbor for the second time today. Michael was in his element. His report to Matt included technical reports about the bomb and its explosive material. That would be important later when they found a suspect or bomb-making evidence. ATF still hadn’t traced the C-4, but they had contacted every contractor in the state of Washington who had C-4 on-site and asked for a full audit. These people knew to comply quickly, or their license to use C-4 could be pulled.
Kara’s report was short and to the point. Matt couldn’t find fault with it but wished she would be more detailed. Her recount of the second Madelyn Jeffries interview was snide and aimed toward Catherine, but the rest of her report was interesting—though he didn’t see how it fit into the case. Did it matter that Officer Marcy Anderson had a previous relationship with Cal McKinnon? Neither had lied about it. And even McKinnon said he wouldn’t classify Anderson as stalking him—though it wasn’t appropriate for a law enforcement officer to use their badge to pull someone over. He sent Kara a note that he approved of her following up on it tomorrow because he didn’t see the harm, and Kara knew how to be discreet.
Catherine came into the dining room wearing sweats and a T-shirt and holding a glass of white wine. She sat across from him.
“I should have seen it. You’re sleeping with her.”
It was a statement, not a question. Matt couldn’t deny it if he wanted to—Catherine wouldn’t believe him.
But why the hell bring it up now? Because he had agreed with Kara on the approach on one part of the investigation?
“It’s a bit more complicated than that.”
“Complicated? Yes, it’s complicated when you’re screwing your subordinate.”
Matt didn’t want this conversation, but now he was stuck. “It didn’t start out that way.”
“You must know this will not end well.”
“We’re adults, Catherine.”
“Sometimes you don’t act like it.”
That was rich, coming from her. “We’ve known each other for fifteen years. I’ve always had your back. I’ve always supported you, even when I thought you were wrong. But to state the obvious, you have treated me like shit since Beth was killed.” He pushed back from the table, working to keep his voice low. “I didn’t deserve it, but I took it because I knew you were in pain. I was in pain, too. I found her body, I saw what that bastard had done to her. I carried her out of the grave and tried to save her. I loved her—like a sister. Like I love you. And you keep turning that knife because I wasn’t in love with her. I am not a saint. Beth and I got through it. We were friends. You couldn’t accept that. You’re a fucking shrink, and you can’t see your own issues.
“I’m sorry Beth is dead. God, am I sorry. She didn’t deserve it. But I didn’t kill her. You didn’t kill her. And it’s time you started living in the present. Because you almost fucked your marriage with Chris. That man is a saint. After what you put him through?”
Matt ran both his hands through his hair. He hadn’t meant to say all that to Catherine, but he was at his wit’s end. About how she talked to him about Beth, what she thought of him, and yes—she was right about Kara. He was trying to deflect the conversation. He knew he should have kept things professional as soon as they started working together full-time.
He didn’t want to give her up. He didn’t know how long their relationship—such as it was—was going to last. He didn’t want to lose what they had, however unconventional, however brief, however different from every other relationship he’d been in.
And honestly, it was all on Kara. He went where she led. It frustrated him at times, but he knew from the beginning that any relationship he had with Kara was on her terms. And he would take it like that because he was drawn to her, like a fly to honey.
Catherine was right about one thing: Kara was technically his subordinate. He’d justified his relationship because she wasn’t an FBI agent, that she was on LAPD’s payroll, that she could go back to LA when and if the hit on her was ever lifted. That she would have to go back to testify against the trafficking scumbag she arrested. He convinced himself that she was on his team, a task force, a group—not a true boss-and-subordinate situation.
Sigue mintiendo a ti mismo, Mathias.
He was lying to himself. Willingly.
He faced Catherine. Her expression was blank, he couldn’t read her, but she was watching him closely.
“I stand by what I said, Matt,” Catherine said quietly. “You need to let her go. She’s reckless, she’s not a team player, and she’s psychologically damaged. Anyone would be after enduring some of the cases she’s worked.”
“You need to give her a chance. She’s a great cop.”
Catherine stood up, drained her wine, looked him in the eye. “I’ll give you until we’re back in Washington, Matt. Then I’m talking to Tony.”
Before Matt could say a word, she turned and left the room.
It was after eleven when Kara arrived back at the house. She’d had a nice meal, a few beers, and talked for a while with a jolly retired couple who spent every summer on the island. They were in their late seventies and had fascinating stories to tell, and Kara was in the mood to listen.
Sometimes just getting out of her own head was the best way to solve a case.
Kara walked up the porch steps dreaming of sleep. She was exhausted. She put her hand on the doorknob, sensed Matt’s presence before he spoke.
“Kara.”
“Matt.” She should just go inside, go to bed, not have a conversation, but she wouldn’t be surprised if her report caused a few problems.
She didn’t want this tension; she just wanted to solve this case and any case she was given. She hated inner-office politics at LAPD, and she didn’t like them any better here. It’s why she preferred working alone, with a single handler. Or a partner who she could trust.
Instead, she dropped her hand from the door.
“This is a tough week,” Matt said. “I explained to Catherine why I thought your approach was appropriate for the time being. We’ll reevaluate it based on what you learn.”
“Fine. Good night.”
“Kara—”
She turned to face him.
“You should know, Catherine’s sister was murdered last year—it’ll be a year on Friday.”
“I’m sorry about that,” Kara said and meant it. “Maybe she shouldn’t be working this case if she’s preoccupied.”
“Work is the best thing for her now.”
“What happened?”
“She took leave from the FBI and was going to resign; I talked her into staying. Her husband and I both did—Chris is one of my closest friends.”
Kara had already figured that out, based on partial conversations and observation. But there was a lot that Matt wasn’t saying. She could tell when he averted his eyes. And she wanted to know about the murder, because clearly there was a lot more to that story that both Matt and Catherine knew.
“And?”
“I can’t—Look, I have a history with Catherine.”
Incredulous, she asked, “You dated her?” She could not imagine Catherine as his type.
“What? No.” He frowned. “Of course not.”
“What are you not telling me, Matt?”
“Catherine and I went through Quantico together. We were in the same class.”
“I know that.”
He glanced at her. “Did I tell you?”
“No. I dug around. Quietly. Because she hates my guts.”
“She doesn’t hate you.”
“She sure as hell doesn’t like or respect me.”
“That’s not true. While this week is rough, now that she’s back with the FBI, she can move past what happened.”
“Is that how grieving works? Take time off, wallow in pain and guilt, then move past it?”
Matt frowned.
Kara continued. “I’ve lost lots of people. Guess what? You don’t just forget. You think I’ll ever forget what happened to Colton? Or Sunny?” Or any of the other people she’d watched die, by her hand or others. “You deal with it, because if you don’t, you go insane. True, work saved me. Maybe it’ll save Catherine. But her grief doesn’t give her a pass to negate my investigation or informed opinion.”
“That’s not what she did—”
“Yes, it is. I told her yesterday that Madelyn Jeffries was a low priority; she put her as number one. Then today we have a West End specific target and I question whether it’s IP. We don’t have enough information—but she dismisses my analysis. You know damn well I’m not saying someone there might not be involved, just that the history of the organization doesn’t support this specific type of violent act. But when Ryder gets information, she puts Neil back at the top of the list. Then I suggest that I need to dig around on Marcy—not because I think she’s a bomber, but because of something Cal McKinnon said. And she wants to turn a comment into a full-blown investigation. We have nothing on Marcy Anderson for anything illegal. We blow this, we could blow something big. I know what the fuck I’m doing. I’m following up on everything, doing due diligence, working with the DC office to verify information, but my gut is never wrong.”
“Kara, I trust your judgment but—”
“But? Either you trust my judgment or you don’t.”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what? Call Catherine to the carpet for the way she’s treated me? I’m a cop. Just like you. Just like her. I might not have the rubber stamp of approval by some college or Quantico, but I’m just as smart as either of you.”
“What do you want me to do?” Matt asked, clearly frustrated. “When you and someone else on my team disagree, I need to make a call.”
“Then make the fucking call! Don’t placate me, don’t placate her. Don’t hem and haw because Catherine is grieving, or you don’t want to hurt my feelings. If you think I’m wrong, fucking tell me to my face and give me a damn good reason why you think I’m wrong. I’ll listen. I’m not blind, nor am I deaf. I listen better than anyone because that’s how I survived twelve years working undercover. If I didn’t know how to read the playing field, I’d be dead a dozen times over.”
Matt had never seen Kara so angry. So volatile. How could he convince her that he did trust her? That he valued her as a member of his team?
He had read her file. It made him sick to his stomach and proud at the same time.
“To be honest,” he said carefully, “I’ve never had a team of agents who have so much experience. I’ve always been the leader, I’ve never had a problem giving orders. But I have multiple leaders on this team. Every one of you is capable of running this investigation.”
“But you’re the boss. Make the call.” Kara stared at him with her intense blue eyes as if to tell him he should have known that.
But it wasn’t that easy. He respected Catherine and she was an expert in her field, but Kara had a sixth sense when it came to crime. He’d never met anyone whose instincts were so honed. Because they had to be, he reminded himself. She’d be dead if she couldn’t rely on her gut. That unnerved him.
“We have a killer on this island,” Kara said. “Someone with no remorse for killing ten people. But this person is also a coward. They use bombs. Because they get their rocks off watching the explosion? I don’t know. Garrett Washington was in the wrong place at the wrong time—he wasn’t a target. Maybe the killer intended to take out one of the Colfax family. It was their dry dock; Ted said himself that he does a lot of the boat work. What if he blew it early because the guard surprised him? Are we dealing with a smart bomber or a lucky bomber?”
“Michael is on top of that angle. I trust him.”
“Of course you do. This is his wheelhouse. He knows exactly what to do and what to look for.”
“Then what’s with the tone?”
“Because you need to show me similar respect that I know what I’m talking about. I’m not going to dig into the whys and what-fors that Catherine does. She knows what makes these killers tick. I don’t know if I’ll ever understand why people do the shit they do. But when it comes to reading people, to observing, I’m the best.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Don’t apologize, Matt. I just want you to do what you do best. I’ve only known you for a few months, but I’ve never seen you indecisive. You usually make the right call. But you make the damn call and take responsibility if you fail.”
“Fail?” He smiled. He wanted this: the conversation, not the anger. He needed to decompress. Talking with Kara, seeing her, being with her, helped him, especially after a day like this one had been.
“You pretty much admitted you don’t think those kids, Craig and Valerie, set the bombs,” said Kara.
“Did I?”
“Maybe not what you said, but how you said it.”
He concurred. “I don’t think they did it. And not just because they had a pretty decent alibi for the first bombing.”
“I don’t think they were involved, either.” She paused. “But I’d tell the sheriff to keep an eye on Valerie.”
“I already did.”
“You did?”
“I read the initial reports from the vandalism last year. She instigated it. She would have gone further except Craig stopped her. And her punishment was minimal. She’s not going to think twice about doing it again if she could get away with it.”
“That’s what I thought,” she said.
“Great minds...”
Matt leaned forward. He wanted to touch Kara so badly, but the house was full of sleeping agents, and he couldn’t take the risk...not that he would care if the world knew how he felt. But it wasn’t professional, and he was having a difficult time reconciling his two lives right now.
Not to mention Catherine’s threat to tell Tony. Matt hoped he could talk her out of it, but Catherine was stubborn.
Last month, when he and Kara had a long weekend at his house in Tucson, everything had been perfect. They walked around naked. They swam in his pool. They had amazing sex in almost every room in his house. She told him how she got every scar on her body. And they even went out for dinner with his best friend and his wife—a real date, where he wasn’t self-conscious about how he looked at Kara, how he touched her, how much he wanted her.
It had been a perfect three days. He wanted more time.
Kara tilted her head. “You’re not thinking about the case.”
“I’m thinking about Tucson. And that last night, when we went to dinner with Tim and Sarah. I wish we were there right now.”
She leaned forward, stood on her toes. He leaned forward. Her lips were only inches from his.
She whispered, “Because after dinner we went back to your place and had sex in the pool, and it was pretty damn amazing.”
“Kara, it always is,” he said, then realized that he sounded a lot more serious than her. If he wasn’t careful, they would be making out on the front porch, and then neither of them would be satisfied, just like last night in the kitchen.
She smiled. “Yes, it is.”
Then she walked into the house, leaving him physically uncomfortable and with nothing he could do about it.