Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Everyone agreed that there were no coincidences in law enforcement. Diego announced he’d dig into the Mazzucas without leaving a footprint, probably by accessing Agency files he shouldn’t have had access to.
Jane wanted to ask how, but a glance at Rapp made her keep her questions to herself. Don’t ask, don’t tell would keep them all safer.
And if it didn’t, Rapp could handle it. She just wanted answers. Dan Simmons deserved them.
The connection between her old case and the new case might not be that farfetched. The Mazzucas had dipped their hands into a lot of businesses across the country since making a name for themselves in Philadelphia a few years ago.
Like amoebas, the organization branched out, surrounded, then devoured unprotected communities.
Despite that, the Seattle task force had no plans to let them destroy the Pacific Northwest.
At lunch, she headed for the food cart down the block to grab sandwiches for the crew since it was her turn. Remembering the incident in the parking lot, she kept her guard up.
Despite the cold, the sun shone. She might have enjoyed the walk, but she felt eyes on her. Paranoia? Maybe. She stopped a few times at storefront windows, checking for a follower.
No one. Pulling out her phone, she pretended to text someone as she walked. She kept up the ruse by stopping a few times out of the way of passersby, keeping a side-eye on those nearby.
Her plan paid off. A figure in a large, puffy coat stopped when she did. After a pause, they continued toward her.
They could be anyone.
Maybe even the Code Blue Killer.
Even if it was the killer, how could they possibly know about Jane? Did Rapp’s team also have someone on the inside?
Or maybe I’m too suspicious that everyone has a vendetta.
As the individual drew closer, Jane gripped her cellphone, prepared to defend herself. She continued to look down at it, as if engrossed in her phone.
“Excuse me,” said a man in a deep voice.
She glanced up. “I’m sorry. Are you talking to me?”
People streamed around them, so she didn’t think he’d try anything on the public street. But one never knew.
He held out a card to her. “You dropped this a block ago.”
She glanced down at a gift card she’d received in the mail from Sullivan from the office gift exchange. Her suspension hadn’t meant the team had forgotten about her.
Her pulse rate settled, and she nodded in thanks. “Appreciate it.”
The man in the puffy jacket did one better and pulled his hood back. About her height, with average features and a nice smile, dark skin, and jeans and sneakers that looked on the upside of what she’d normally spend. She put his features in her memory bank just in case.
“Sure thing.” He smiled, then turned and walked away, and she noted his gait as vastly different from the unsub’s.
Feeling like a fool, Jane ordered herself to stop looking for conspiracies in the shadows and headed to the food cart.
Yet on the way back to the office she continued to feel as if she was being followed. She passed it off as the result of her cousin’s warnings. She knew her own importance, and neither the Mazzucas nor the unsub likely cared that she existed.
She spent the next two days looking for more ties between all the victims and praying they’d get a hit on their suspect.
Nothing popped. The first victims, the doctors, had turned up a big fat nothing.
Since no one had been looking into them initially, as their deaths hadn’t been suspicious, it took extra effort to recreate the events preceding their demise.
Diego dug out a slew of pictures and social media posts and offered them to Jane for her review.
She rubbed her eyes, thoroughly tired of computers.
“Go home,” Gina said as she packed up to leave.
Despite having worked with the team for two weeks, Jane hadn’t received more than a nod and a few sarcastic comments from Gina. Apparently, Gina was holding a grudge about Jane taking credit for what she’d actually done by finding an image of the same killer at the crime scenes.
Rapp had been in and out of the office a lot lately, always frowning.
Diego, buzzed on energy drinks, kept to himself while drowning in the rough waters of computer code, streaming content, and security software.
Jane glanced at her monitor and, noting the time, agreed she needed to go home. A Wednesday night with nothing more to do than stare at the walls, yet she’d rather stare at home than look at one more still shot or video of their poor victims.
She left and realized she had to get gas on the way home.
Annoyed, she still went out of her way to the cheaper station and filled up.
She moved her car from the pump to go in to pay, wanting a snack.
She hated it when people didn’t think about others needing to refuel while they took their time paying.
Inside, she grabbed an iced tea and a pack of chips. She paused, reconsidering the tea, and stepped out of the way of the couple arguing over whether to buy light beer or the good stuff.
As she knelt to retrieve a pack of pretzels that had fallen from one of the racks, she heard the door buzz open. She stared at the pretzels, wondering if she should swap them for the chips.
An odd stillness settled. Conversation died.
Jane froze, her instincts on alert.
And heard the woman who’d been emphatic about low cal beer beg, “Please don’t hurt us.”
Jane pulled her foot out of sight behind the snack rack. She reached automatically for her ankle holster. And swore. No backup piece and no service weapon.
She typed in a fast 911 text as she heard, “Empty the register or I’ll blow your head off. You too, Coors Light. Down on the ground.”
Jane whispered her location into the phone when dispatch answered. Leaving the line open, she slid the phone down the aisle toward the front of the store and the robbery in progress, hoping they’d hear better that way.
Shifting on the balls of her feet, she slipped toward the outside wall of the store. She needed a weapon. Found nothing but paper products, soaps, and useless odds and ends.
Just her luck.
Focused, she sucked in a quiet breath and slowly let it out, edging to the end of the aisle. Still hidden, she glanced up at the convex mirror above the register. The perp held a gun on the young clerk behind the counter and two people face down on the floor.
And here she was. FBI Agent Jane Cannon.
Weaponless