Marcus walked into his office and threw his leather jacket over the back of one of the black visitor chairs in front of his desk. The whole room smelled of new leather and old vinyl. The leather scent originated from the new furniture he had purchased on the Shepherd Organization’s tab. The old-vinyl smell came from his collection of records sitting in one corner. Movie posters lined the walls—Jack Nicholson films, the first Predator, the second Aliens, the first three Indiana Jones movies, Die Hard, and an assortment of his other favorites. All were signed by the cast and crew. A growing collection of screen-used film props rested in a display case in one corner. He had a lot of disposable income and spent what little downtime he had on eBay. The office contained no family photos.
He had sensed the man sitting on his couch as he entered, but he feigned ignorance until he sat down at his desk and started to open his mail. Without looking up from a package in a padded manila mailer, he let the other man know that he was aware of his presence. “You should be careful who you sneak up on. I typically shoot first and ask questions later.”
“How do you know that I haven’t already removed the firing pin from your Sig?”
Marcus looked up at the Director of the Shepherd Organization and almost reached to his shoulder holster to check. “That sounds like something you’d do.”
“I’ve told you, kid. Most situations you face are far beyond your control. So you need to control the ones you can.” The Director nudged a pillow and blanket resting against the arm of the couch. “I heard you got rid of the apartment we leased for you and moved into your office.”
“The apartment was pointless. I’m on the road ninety percent of the time, and when I’m not I spend all my time here. Think of all the taxpayer dollars we’re saving.”
“It’s hard to have a home life when you don’t have a home, Marcus.”
He spread his arms. “This is my home.”
The Director looked around the office at the various collections, then his eyes settled on stacks of crime-scene photos resting on the desktop. “Are things any better between you and Maggie?”
Marcus said nothing. He stared expressionlessly at the Director for a moment and then pointed at a file folder tucked under the older man’s arm. “We have a new case?”
“Old case, actually. New developments. But you didn’t answer my question.”
He didn’t respond.
“She loves you. You know that, don’t you?” the Director said.
Marcus stuck out his hand. “Are you going to give me the file? If it’s anything like the other cases we work, there’s no time to screw around.”
The Director stood statue-still, the file pressed firmly under his left arm. “How have you been sleeping?”
Marcus blew out a frustrated breath and came around the desk. “You brought me in to do a job, and that’s what I’ve been doing non-stop for the past year. I live and breathe it. I’ve brought down every bad guy you’ve put on my desk. Do you have any doubts that I can do the job you recruited me for?”
The Director’s gaze didn’t waver. “You know I don’t.”
“Then give me the damn file, and let me do my job. If you’ve got a problem with the way I’m handling things on a professional level, feel free to bust my ass for it. Anything beyond that, keep it to yourself.”
The Director was quiet for a moment. Neither of them moved. Then the Director’s right hand reached across his chest and took hold of the file. His arm straightened, and he stuck the file out between them. Marcus snatched it from the Director’s grasp, leaned back on the corner of his desk, and opened it at the first page. “The Anarchist?”
“That’s right. We don’t actually know how many he’s killed, but there’s definitely some type of an occult connection. Details are in the file. He’s been dormant for about a year and a half. Allen worked the case briefly before the killer went under and is planning on meeting you in Chicago. This guy killed three women and then five more disappeared without a trace.”
“No bodies were ever found for the five?”
“Not yet. But, of course, they’re assumed dead. Remember, let the police do their jobs and keep a low profile, but do whatever’s necessary to stop this guy.”
Marcus nodded. When he had first been recruited, the Director had made it seem that their only desirable outcome was to kill the men they hunted, but sometimes it worked out fine to just help where they could and let the police take the killers down. He hoped that he wouldn’t have to do any killing on this trip.
The Director started toward the door but added, “I want you to get at least a day’s rest before jumping into this case. The police can start laying the groundwork, and you’ll be there in plenty of time. We need you at one hundred percent. Is that clear?”
“Absolutely, crystal clear. One hundred and ten percent.”
The Director’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t comment further. As he closed Marcus’s door, he said, “Godspeed and good hunting.”
Marcus walked back toward his desk and cleared off a spot for the file. There was a thumb drive in a plastic baggy attached to the cover page. He slipped it out and plugged it into his Macbook Air. He wondered why the Director still brought him paper files. Since taking over, he had transitioned his entire team to digital. He opened the case files and dropped them into a secure email for Andrew and the other members of the team. Then he brought up pictures of the women that the Anarchist had killed a year and a half ago and the girl from the previous night. The images were candid shots of happy smiling faces. He imagined some of these pictures probably adorned missing-persons reports posted around the Chicago area. These women had once had families. They had once had hopes and dreams, wants and desires. But everything they were and would ever be had been stolen from them. He studied the eyes. He memorized the faces.
After a few moments in silence, he retrieved the cell phone from his pocket and dialed Andrew. “I just sent you an email.”
Silence stretched on the other end of the line. “We’re going out again already?”
“No rest for the wicked. I want to be on the road in a few hours. Start gathering our things.”
Andrew sighed. “You’re the boss.”
Marcus hung up and then punched a key on his computer keyboard to bring up the case files. He felt for the pills in his pocket and stared down at the bottle. Then he dropped it into his desk drawer and shut it away. Innocent lives hung in the balance, and he had a lot of reading to do before they headed out for Chicago.