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What went before... Three years ago, Topeka, Kansas
Stakeouts, as a general rule, suck. The fact today was the anniversary of Bianca's murder made it even worse. The only thing making the day reasonably bearable was the story Wes was spinning. It wasn't so much what he was saying, but the obvious joy he took in the telling. The man was a born storyteller, but I could never tell if he was pulling my leg or giving me the truth. Which was saying something considering my specialty.
He finished his tale, then turned to me, his unusual teal eyes alight with laughter. "Your turn." He poked me in the shoulder. "Tell me something none of the other agents know."
I knew he was asking for something funny, something fluffy, but I just didn't have it in me today. "My sister was murdered six years ago today. I joined the FBI to avenge her." The words just popped out, and the lightness I felt as they left my mouth was astonishing. It was because of that relief I could look him in the eye without flinching.
I expected to see condemnation or shock. Not compassion, not understanding.
"Did you?" he asked, his voice quiet and strong and sure. His question was open-ended, giving me an out; I could affirm that I'd joined the Bureau for that reason, or attempt to weasel out of it. Then I realized what he was really asking.
“Not yet.” I chose to answer truthfully. “But soon.”
Wes’ mouth twitched at one corner. “Good.”
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Now...
I hit the wall in frustration. "Damn it, it’s all one big circle that keeps leading back to Wes. Has been since day one. He started all this, right? And even after he died, it continued, first with the anonymous call to me, and now this.” We stood outside the interview room with Underwood and Kavenaugh. Inside, Monica and Sara continued to talk, while Roney paced the room like a caged lion. Mentioning Green hadn’t exactly soothed the savage beast. “What’s next, and why, for God’s sake? It can’t just be about the damned school.”
Jonah ran a comforting hand down my arm, as if I’d been the target all along, not him. “This is all about Gordon, not Wes or even Green. Both of them are dead, but Gordon’s the one pulling the strings. Maybe he has been all along,” he added, almost absentmindedly.
“What do you mean?”
“Obviously not from the very beginning, because he was too young when CASI was closed, but he and Wes were peers and they disappeared together.” His voice hardened now with conviction. “I can damn sure guarantee he and Wes were raised together. They felt something for Green, be it love or hatred.”
As soon as he said the words, I felt the rightness of them click in my head. It was the only thing that made sense. Green had snatched both boys, made them disappear, and then tried to further the agenda Farrell had ripped from him when CASI closed. Jesus. Gordon’s victims were tally marks in a blood vendetta over a decade old, put into motion by a man who was years dead. Gordon was trying to prove his worth to the man who’d “made” him, and part of that was bringing Farrell down in a ball of flames.
Underwood and Kavenaugh had been listening quietly, and we all knew there was more to say and do, just not in the hallway. Kavenaugh jerked his head and we stepped into the conference room we’d been using as our headquarters.
The pictures of the dead Russians seemed to mock me now that we knew why they’d been here, and at who’s behest. Simonson sat at one of the tables, studying God only knew what.
“Removing Summers doesn’t solve his problem,” Underwood said with no pomp or circumstance. “We know who he is now, what he looks like, and all his henchmen are gone, at least according to Foudy. And much as it pains me, I’m inclined to believe her woo-woo experience, given everything else we’ve seen. It’s going to be all or nothing for him, and it’s going to be soon. He’s got nothing to lose.”
“You don’t think he can step back, make a new plan?” Jonah asked, and I knew he’d voiced the question not because he didn’t believe Underwood’s statement, but because he wanted to hear the SAIC’s reasoning.
“I doubt he’s as much of an organized killer as we’ve given him credit for. Just look at how the Russians imploded. If he had real control of them, or even vaguely peripheral contact, and a real plan, then they would have continued their mission through to the end. Instead, he was so successful in taking out the first set of victims that he got greedy.”
His reference to the first set of Spetsnaz vics was sobering. It was too easy to forget there’d been others, others who hadn’t even had the luxury of knowing they were targets.
Simonson rose and joined us. “He’s already proven he’s cocky by showing up here, taking the chance we wouldn’t figure it out. He was poking at us then, proving how smart he was. I don’t see him settling down now, not when his goal is within his grasp. Honestly? I think he believes his money and his genius will get him out of this, and then he’ll get to run CASI because he’s shown such ‘initiative’. This is him having a bit of fun, showing he can be effective and decisive.”
I choked back a curse. “That’s sociopathic.”
“Unfortunately, given less sensational circumstances, he probably would have been rewarded or recruited, by either one of our alphabet soups or another country. But he went too far. He may be a genius, but he doesn’t understand what makes people tick.” He paused. “I’m about to give some wild conjecture, but bear with me. I don’t think he realizes what he’s done.” He held up a hand, stopping my outraged burst before it began. “By that I mean I don’t think he’s aware of how badly he screwed up. He still thinks this is just about Heath and Summers, with a few other soft targets thrown in. That’s why you and Monica were unharmed this morning. You’re not valuable to him as anything other than a tool. Back at CASI when he had Igor take a shot at you, it wasn’t because he cared if you lived or died. I doubt he cared who Igor hit. He wanted to terrorize Farrell and scare Summers away. That he could so badly misjudge their characters goes back to what I said. He’s smart as hell, but has no idea how to understand other humans, unless they’re of use in his manipulations.”
We stood there in shocked silence. Jesus. How spot on was that? I’d give even money he was about ninety-five percent right. Even Jonah was nodding, a new light of respect in his eyes for his fellow shrink.
Everything he’d said was on target. A true organized killer would have backed off after Vasily went down, taken stock of everything, and then taken another target of opportunity to solidify his standing. Gordon had done none of that with me or Monica, and he could have.
“So he’s a great logistics officer, but not so good at wet work,” Jonah concluded, drawing on his military background.
“Precisely,” Underwood replied. “We need to be ultra vigilant, because I have no doubt he’ll pop up within the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. Everyone goes back to the safe house, including Summers and Farrell. We need to know our assets are protected.”
“What about other potential targets?” I asked. We knew he’d killed off most of the R&D folks who’d worked on Simple Simon, as well as the folks at the FDA who’d put it into trials.
“Anyone who had anything to do with Simple Simon has either been moved to another location or is under voluntary lockdown until we run him to ground,” Kavenaugh leaned back in his chair, contemplating the ceiling.
“We’ve got ears to the ground, and surveillance on everything and everyone he could ever go after. We’ll get him, and we’ll get him fast.”
“And then what?” Jonah asked quietly. All eyes swiveled his way as we waited for him to explain.
“I’d ask that you seriously consider the ramifications of what I’m about to say before you repeat it,” he cautioned. “Have you considered the consequences of Gordon’s ‘work’?” Our expressions must have been blank, because he blew out a frustrated breath. “I told Heath this was going to be an issue. Think about everything we’ve seen so far. Highly trained soldiers, made incomprehensively susceptible to long-range suggestion, or implanted suggestion prior to receiving their mission. Hell, you don’t even have to be talented to control these guys. You just have to drop in the suggestion or activate it via phone. The Spetsnaz were human guinea pigs, plain and simple. If they had been able to work through the fog of the drugs, we wouldn’t be sitting here today, because their mission would have been a success. The military applications to this are staggering, and I can’t believe the FDA didn’t know that when they approved the trials.”
“Maybe the only ones who did are dead,” Underwood said wryly with a hopeful look on his face.
“I doubt we could be so lucky.” I switched my attention to Jonah. “So what did Farrell have to say about this? He’s still got his finger in the NSA pie.”
Jonah shifted, almost uncomfortably. “He’s concerned about CASI’s Board of Directors, to be honest.”
What the hell? This was the first any of us had heard about this. My anger must have shown, because Jonah hurried to explain. “I didn’t even know about them until this morning. Given who they are, I understand Heath’s reticence. They’ve been following this the entire time, pulling strings where we needed them pulled, without any of us realizing it.”
And there went what little trust I’d begun to garner for Heath Farrell. Asshole.
“I don’t much like being a fucking marionette,” Kavenaugh said, his face stony with sudden fury. “I won’t rescind my offer to house the two of you until this is over, but understand that’s the extent of my professionalism. Farrell screwed the pooch by keeping us out of the loop, and I won’t forget it.” He pushed away from the table and stood. “I need some air.”
I could understand his ire. He was the SAIC of this neck of the woods, and Farrell’s decision to keep him out of the loop had to cut deep, on a professional level. Never mind the fact Farrell had withheld information that might have helped us. He wasn’t God, he didn’t get to make those kind of decisions. Not when we had nine dead civilians. Not when we ourselves had been in fucking Russian Special Forces’ sights. The fact he’d kept it from Jonah as well showed just how much he valued his own ass, and had no problem in letting us twist in the wind.
From the expression on Jonah’s face, he’d really just realized the import of what Farrell had done. Had his friendship with Heath blinded him to the man’s poor decisions?
“I’m sorry,” Jonah said, his expression a bit lost. It wasn’t a look that set well on him.
“You’re not the one I’m pissed at.” Kavenaugh stalked to the door. “And don’t think I won’t let him know that.”
As he slammed the door behind him, I remembered Monica’s expression just a few moments ago, her claim that Heath ruined everything he touched. From the look on Jonah’s face, I was afraid she might just be right.
Jonah and I settled into a corner of the conference room while a few agents rolled in and out, gathering paperwork or looking at something on our murder board.
“So how did you even meet Farrell?” I’d never asked the question before. Hadn’t felt the need to. I did now.
Jonah got a faraway look on his face. “I was finishing up my masters at the University of Oklahoma, got caught up in something I shouldn’t have. I didn’t have real control of my talent yet, besides what I’d learned in the Navy. We were partying like college kids do, and it got out of control. One minute we were hanging out, enjoying beers, the next, a full scale brawl broke out. Chairs were flying, girls were screaming, the bartender had a shotgun out, so I acted without thinking. Shut them all down, one-by-one, until I was the last man standing besides the bartender. We stayed in a Mexican standoff until the cops showed up. No one could explain what I’d done, and they didn’t have any grounds for arresting me, but they did anyway, and I guess the report made its way to Heath. A few weeks later I get a knock on my dorm door and it’s Heath, asking if we can talk about what happened. I watched my father fall apart at the seams, saw him use his talent as a tool to control others—my mother, my sisters, me. I didn’t want to turn into him, and then all of a sudden I was him, that day in the bar. Heath knew what was going on with me, about my talent, and he promised to help me in controlling it, in turning it to something good. Then he offered me Harvard. Kind of hard to turn that down when you live in the poor part of town, when you’re getting your master’s on the government’s dime. When you’re truly not sure what’s going to happen when you touch someone. What the hell else was I going to do?”
I let his words flow over me; they explained so much. Why Jonah felt beholden to Farrell. Why he’d taken the high road and left with Heath the other day, to keep an eye on him. He was loyal, but not blinded by that loyalty.
“So where do we go from here?” I asked, including myself into the equation. For better or worse, we were lovers and entangled in this whole thing. This was a partnership, scary as that might be.
“I talk to Heath after Kavenaugh is finished chewing his ass, see if there’s anything we can use. I don’t expect him to be very forthcoming with the FBI, regardless of who wins the knock-down-drag-out between the two of them.”
I chose my words carefully. “You’d be spying on him, Jonah. Are you really comfortable with that?” In all likelihood we needed the information, but the thought of Jonah surveilling Farrell broke my heart a little.
“We were all targets, Arin. He has contacts at the fucking DoD, for God’s sake. How much of that information went right to them when we discovered Simple Simon? I won’t be selling him out, because he already breached whatever relationship we might have had. It took Kavenaugh really boiling it down for me to see it, because I didn’t want to. I was nothing but another pawn to him.” He stared down at his hands. “Heath saw something special in me, made me somebody. Hell, he showed me there were others out there just like me, with special talents, and that made me almost normal. Because of that, I’ve spent the last two years trying to make CASI something, and Heath just flushed it all down the toilet.”
I rocked back in my chair, more than a little surprised at the vehemence in his tone, and the one-eighty he’d done in the last few minutes. He’d told me the story of how he met Heath not to show his allegiance, but to show me he wasn’t just angry at Farrell, he felt utterly betrayed by him. Given his loyalty to his friends, his family, there was no way Farrell was ever coming back from this.
And even more surprising? The pain his words made me feel. I hurt for him. I hadn’t hurt for anyone or about anyone since Bianca died.
I took a deep breath. “Okay, what do you need me to do?”
He smiled and threaded his fingers through mine. “Just being able to talk about it helps. There was only Heath before, you know? If you weren’t here, I...” He trailed off, as if he didn’t know quite how to finish.
I squeezed his fingers. “I know.” I infused every bit of myself in my answer, hoped he realized how much it cost me. “I know.”
And was there really anything more to say than that?
––––––––
That night I made the grown-up decision and had Jonah stay in his own room. While I would have liked nothing better than to fall into oblivion with him, I needed some space, some time and room to think.
My conk on the head didn’t hurt overmuch, but it was a good excuse to use to put a cushion of distance between us, at least for one night. Until I figured out what the hell I wanted from Jonah Summers. Because after today, I was pretty sure I could have almost anything I asked for.
He’d shown me yet another layer today, and I was starting to think that maybe, just maybe, there might be something worth pursuing after this was all over. Provided we got out of it alive, of course, but that was looking better and better with the Russians dead.
And because of that possibility, I had to look hard at what next week, next month might hold. I’d already conceded the point that what Jonah and I shared needed to be explored, and today’s events had only cemented it. But how realistic was it? The arguments I’d made to myself earlier in the week, about Jonah going back to CASI and me hitting the road, were still valid points. I loved my job. But was I beginning to love Jonah as much? Or were we both feeling adrenaline-fueled lust, quick to come on and just as quick to burn out?
I didn’t think so, but I’d never really put myself out there this far. I had nothing to fall back on, and the feeling was pretty damned scary. Right now the best way to describe my feelings was vulnerable. And I didn’t do vulnerable well. Hadn’t since Bianca died.
Her death had wrecked me, even though I’d put on a strong front. For my parents, for the world. But at home every night? I cried myself to sleep for over a month, the ache in my heart so raw and open that I’d wished I’d died right along with her. Time did heal all wounds, or at least mostly, and eventually I narrowed my grief and guilt to lighting Bianca’s candle.
So was I really considering opening myself up to that kind of vulnerability again? Jonah and I could have hot sex, but was I ready to make it more? Was he? And what would I do if he wasn’t?
I blew out a breath. This sucked.