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What went before... Nine years ago
I buried Bianca on a beautiful Taos spring day as fluffy clouds chased each other across the sky and the day smelled new and promising.
Our family and her friends had celebrated her life yesterday in a ceremony rife with flutes and burning sage and New Age mysticism. Today, I was alone. Left with the responsibility of doing things the way the rest of the world did. It was nothing new, and shouldn’t have surprised me.
But it still did. They hadn’t even considered what I might be going through, how much the loss of my only sister, my best friend, was killing me from the inside out. It wasn’t that they were cruel, or anything so simple. No, they had never understood me, never really forgiven me for Emily, so why should they understand my need for a loving touch, a familial hug? Nothing had changed, and yet everything had.
Instead of dwelling on fanciful wishes, I shoved the pain away and concentrated on the here and now.
The cemetery was tasteful, simple. Bianca’s coffin was anything but. Sapphire blue, with shocking spirals and slashes of fuchsia and chartreuse, it was almost a visual assault when paired with the garish plastic Astroturf beneath my feet. As an artist, her life had been full of daring color and flowing shapes I’d never comprehended, even though I spent a lifetime trying.
The funeral director waited patiently under a tree as I said my goodbyes. Sorrow echoed through my head and heart, but it was changing into a well of rage that grew larger with each passing moment.
Bianca, who had been one of the few bright spots in my life, had been killed, not in a stupid, senseless accident, but at the hand of another woman. A jealous woman who’d been manipulated into seeing her as a threat. The idea was ludicrous. Bianca had been many things in her life, but a threat wasn’t one of them.
It had taken me three weeks and an insane amount of cash to get her body sent home from France. If my boss at the brokerage firm hadn’t pulled in a few dozen favors, she might still be languishing in the morgue in Paris, a piece of “evidence” the local constabulary couldn’t bear to part with.
I choked back a sob as tears blurred my eyes. Until today, I’d been able to disassociate myself just enough. To use my anger as the reason to put one foot in front of the other. But now the pain of losing my only sister ripped through me and no amount of logic or control would hold it back.
I dropped to my knees as the world went gray and still around me, as the utter emptiness of pure loss settled on me like a lead weight. I heard a keening noise slice through the air and realized the thin sound of despair was coming from deep within.
Fluttering hands glanced over my shoulders like a nervous bird. Even in my grief I knew it was the funeral director, but I didn’t care, couldn’t bring myself to pull it together.
Because until today, regardless of how far I strayed from the high-country commune we’d grown up in, I had Bianca to go home to, no matter where in the world she was. And now? Now I was alone as I’d never been before.
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Now...
“You were right,” Jonah said unceremoniously as soon as we’d pulled away from the boneyard. “Word on the street is that there were some expendable warriors out there for hire, and that someone lured them away with big dough. So not state sanctioned, thank God. These guys are aces, super snipers who can take you apart with their bare hands if they choose.” He paused and looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “You were damned lucky he missed, and even luckier you got the drop on him.”
“I prefer to think of myself as skilled,” I replied primly, even though I knew he was right as rain. “So there’s a big payroll on this. And Smith is who, OSBI? DEA?”
Jonah chuckled as we drove out of the ’hood. “Actually, ATF. There’s been a resurgence of militia activity, and all signs pointed to meth funding, so he got loaned to DEA in a joint-department deal. Been with them for a good long bit, enough to cement his cover. Good for everyone all the way around.”
“Including us,” I said.
“Including us,” he agreed with a little smile. “Between what Dylan gave me, and what I expect from Hank, we might actually have a lead or four to follow.”
I was glad he was so happy, but it was hard to share his euphoria.
Even though Jonah had been military, seen his share of the world and the folks who lived in it, he hadn’t been on the seamy side in too many years. Didn’t remember that sometimes people killed just because they could. Like Wes.
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Hank did give us something...enough to send us toward Tulsa. Yet another city I’d never visited, nor had any reason to. And now that we no longer needed a “cover” there wasn’t a reason for us to room together. While certain girly parts of my body were crying pitiful tears, my brain told me it was for the best. Jonah Summers and I would be way too compatible in bed, and I wasn’t ready for that, not while both of our heads were on the proverbial chopping block, but the danger of it did titillate, make me wonder why today wasn’t the day I should do more than sample forbidden fruit.
We went over our game plan as we packed up. Crossly had not only given us the name of the skeevy defense attorney, but the name of two additional defendants, both now deceased. All Russian, all dead by drug overdose. As were all of the Oklahoma City defendants. So six total, including Igor.
Just as we’d discussed what seemed like forever ago, the concept of being paid enough to take a mortal dive was something neither of us could really accept. I could have bought one overdose, maybe two, but five? No way those were accidental. They were killing themselves as surely as Igor had.
My cell trilled. Underwood. It seemed like weeks since I’d last checked in with him after Igor’s body had been delivered. Instead it had been only days. It’d been one helluva week, even for me.
“Thomas,” I answered, and waited for the yelling to commence. Instead I got the silence of a lifetime, then a long, drawn-out sigh.
“What in the holy hell did you get yourself involved in this time, Thomas?”
“Spetsnaz and big checkbooks, apparently, sir.” I put the phone on speaker so Jonah could hear.
“That’s the understatement of the fucking century.” Underwood’s voice hadn’t raised, but I realized the gravity of the situation in that simple sentence. Underwood cursed so rarely it was an event in itself. “Your dead Russian was Spetsnaz. Don’t ask me how, but our forensics guys managed to pull something off him that gave them a real name, and from there they linked to a driver’s license, the whole nine yards. He actually was an Igor. Igor Vasiliev. Legally emigrated about five years ago, then dropped off the map. Got a lead on a bank account in the Caymans from one of our Eastern European guys who’s been tracking these guys since they got here. They’ll close in soon, so you and Summers keep your head down. Let the EU specialists bring his to ground.”
“But sir...” I protested, knowing it wouldn’t do any good.
“That’s an order, whether you’re on vacation time or not. You’re either staying at that fancy hotel with all of its closed circuit gadgetry on your dime, or at a safe house. You choose. We’re not taking any chances.”
I groaned. “We didn’t think we were taking chances when I moved into CASI either, sir, and look where it got us.”
“As much as I’d like to shoot you myself sometimes, Thomas, this is just a precaution. We don’t think you or Summers was the initial target. Probably Farrell, given his past. He’s locked down tight in Colorado Springs. Now you do the same.” Underwood hung up, taking the last word with him. Damn it.
“Fine,” I grumbled. “Jonah, you heard the man.”
“And in this case, I happen to agree,” he said mildly. “Though I don’t think a safe house is necessary. We should be just fine here, and Dylan has some of his guys watching Mom and the girls. I think it’s time, Agent Thomas, for you to use some of your vacation actually having a vacation.”
Yeah, like that would ever happen under the watchful eye of the FBI, OSBI and who knew what other alphabet soup agencies Underwood sicced on us. But I knew what Harvard was doing, trying to cajole me out of a bit of a funk. We’d had a lead, something that might have panned out, and been pulled off the case. While I understood Underwood’s position, I didn’t have to like it. I was a closer, and I took great pride in it. To not finish a case grated at me. Probably how I’d gotten myself into this in the first place, getting myself in a lather over Wes’ death.
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We didn’t have to wait long before our babysitters showed, summoning us to the lobby for a proper reception where we’d be conspicuous as hell. Which was the whole point. Two of Oklahoma City’s finest along with their FBI and OSBI counterparts. I hadn’t been too off after all. All we needed now was Dylan Smith to complete the picture.
One of the men in black waved a keycard in front of my face. “Same room. We can’t take the chance of having you two separated,” he said with absolutely no expression. Good thing. I really didn’t want to have to kick his ass in front of his buddies. “We also secured the room next door to use as a conference center and a room across the hall for us.” Hotel guests and restaurant goers alike were cutting us a wide swath as we stood in the middle of the lobby in all of our Fed-ish glory. The baddies out there now knew the OCPD, OSBI and FBI were all on the same page and ready to do some serious damage. As a plan, it was a pretty good one. We weren’t bait, but we weren’t exactly off the radar screen.
“I guess if we’re gonna be hanging together, we’d better get acquainted.” I held out my hand as we walked toward the elevators. “Arin Thomas, and this is Dr. Jonah Summers.”
The first FBI agent’s hand dwarfed mine. He could have been a pro athlete. “Gunnar Anderson,” he said, his lips quirking up in a smile when my mouth dropped open. “I see you’ve heard of me?”
“Uh huh,” I squeaked, pretty damned unprofessionally. Gunnar Anderson had been an NFL defensive lineman, with a stellar career right alongside Michael Strahan and Lawrence Taylor, until a blown knee had sidelined him a few years ago after more than a decade on the field. He should be sitting on a beach somewhere, drinking Mai Tais, not wearing a badge and babysitting me. Maybe that’s why I hadn’t recognized him in the flesh. Element of surprise and all that.
“I’ll tell you the whole story later,” he assured me, then nodded toward his partner who was as slight and unassuming as Anderson was huge. “Bob Simonson.”
“The profiler?” I knew my eyebrows had crept up into my hairline, but didn’t really give a shit. “Sounds like we won the daily double, Jonah.”
He’d been watching my little lovefest with Anderson with an amused look on his face. I was so happy I could entertain him. “I assume the rest of the crew will be downstairs or on the street?”
Anderson nodded as we entered the elevator. “We pulled in a few favors on this one. These guys all ended up dead on our turf with the exception of the one who tried to take you out, Thomas. Pisses all of us off. If they come back, or the money people come sniffing around, we’ll know about it.”
We exited the elevator and stopped at “our” door. I turned to Anderson and Simonson. “Debrief in ten, while you settle in? I doubt they’ve got a sniper in the next building.”
“They don’t,” Anderson said as he turned to his own door. “We already cleared the appropriate floors. See you in the adjoining room.”
I shook my head and walked through the door. This whole thing just got weirder and weirder.
“I hadn’t pegged you as a football fan.” Jonah rested his hands on the settee’s headrest. Damn, guess we’d be switching off on who got to sleep there now.
“Occupational hazard,” I admitted. “When you’re a female in a male world, you learn how to acclimate. Not many cold case or even major crimes females on the street when I came up. Holding an intelligent conversation about something a fellow agent is passionate about is a bennie. Plus, football players look fabulous in Spandex. What woman wouldn’t like football, even if it was just for that?”
He faked a scandalized look, then gave up and chuckled. “Never looked at it that way. So how are we going to play this?”
“Play what?” Innocence was my middle name. And he wasn’t buying it for a second. I used to be a better actress than this. “Fine. We’ll keep Hank and Dylan under the table for now. I want to see what they’ve got before we show our hand.”
“Why?” He was genuinely curious. As good as he looked, it was easy to forget his mind was a freakin’ steel trap. We were in this together, of that I had no doubt. My brethren across the hall were another story, outstanding backgrounds notwithstanding.
“Right now I only trust you, me and Underwood. And Underwood only because he could have stopped this a long time ago and didn’t. He’s as curious now as we are, he just can’t verbalize it. Our baddie has to have massive funds and serious connections, they wouldn’t have stayed this far underground without that. So while I may be willing to give Anderson and Simonson a chance, I don’t trust them any further than I can throw them. Hell, they might even be clean, and report to someone who isn’t.”
Jonah was silent for a long moment, digesting my words. “So why don’t you trust Heath?”
“He might, in a pinch, cover your ass, but he’s not touching me with a ten-foot pole. That man’s got a messiah complex I don’t want to be anywhere near. If you’d really stop and think about it, you’d see it as clearly as I do.”
He shook his head. “I disagree, but that’s okay. If we agreed on everything, I’d be worried. If nothing else, I’d like to give him a call this afternoon, let him know what’s happened, or at least as much as we’re telling the Feds.” He waited for my nod before continuing. “Now that we’re on the same page for the boys across the hall and in Colorado, let’s get squared away in here.” He patted the settee. “This time we toss for who gets rights to this.” His grin was pure sin.