Chapter 14
The image had been captured from the adjacent hotel’s security feed just before the Russian had climbed into his car.
It was pixelated and grainy, but at least it supported that part of Jordan’s story—especially as he was also on camera in the background of another image as he chased down the Russian.
Despite the terrible angle, the Bureau was running the image through every facial recognition software program they had access to.
No hits so far.
He glanced at his watch. They’d refused to allow him to observe Daisy’s interviews, but at least she was nearby—a short walk away in the main Academy building.
He figured the more he hovered in a secure space, the more others would suspect they did, indeed, have something to hide.
So he forced himself to trust that she could handle herself, and trust Ackers to look out for her best interests.
Director Rhodes had reluctantly agreed to organize a task force to track down Bocharov—or at least determine if the fucker was still alive.
Jordan had zero doubts.
Would Rhodes let him be involved?
She’d be foolish not to, but the potential conflict of interest might make her take the high road. Balancing that against a possible attack with nuclear weapons should be a no-brainer.
What he’d do, if and when he caught up with the Russian, was something he couldn’t afford to think about.
The desire to hurt the other man was like a physical ache.
He wasn’t sure he’d be able to resist. They had to catch the sonofabitch first and ascertain the terrorist threat.
Neutralize it. Then he could weigh the benefits of revenge versus carrying on in the career he loved.
His insides twisted. The idea of not beating Bocharov to a bloody pulp or not covering him in gasoline and lighting him up felt like a betrayal of the people he’d loved.
Didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except finding the bastard.
Analysts were trying to track down the vehicle he’d seen the Russian climbing into before being driven away, in the hopes of collecting fingerprint or DNA evidence.
Nothing yet.
“How’s this?” the sketch artist asked.
“Jawline is tighter. Chin not as heavy.” He refused to look at the old photo of Bocharov. He didn’t want to taint the memory of what he’d seen last night. “Nostrils were broader than you have there, and the cheekbones a little more pronounced.”
Assuming this was Bocharov, the guy had undergone major facial reconstruction that would have taken months if not years to complete and recover from.
Had he been blown up by those explosives? But rather than dying he’d miraculously survived? If anyone could, it would be a cockroach like Bocharov. Was that the reason for the extensive surgery? Or was it simply a ruse to avoid detection?
Jordan would bet the farm on the latter.
Had the bastard been in Russia this whole time? Why had he been in Mexico? The timing of the conference on nuclear engineering couldn’t be a coincidence. Bocharov never did anything without a reason.
“Any way we can compare Bocharov’s ears to this new guy’s?” The shape of ears was as unique as a fingerprint.
The sketch artist glanced at the surveillance image. “Not from that angle.”
Jordan compressed his lips. “Could he have changed them too, do you think?”
The tech shrugged. “Wouldn’t be easy, but then none of this would be easy. Only thing he can’t alter to any large degree is his height and his cellular DNA, but ears, yeah, it’s possible.”
Jordan’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the text. Director Rhodes. They’d found the black limo in the mountains, burned out on the side of the road.
Jordan swore.
The registered owner of the company ran a fleet of similar cars. The Bureau was applying for a warrant to covertly access the company’s records.
“Everything all right?” The sketch artist was in her mid-fifties, and he’d seen her around the campus, but he’d never worked with her before. Not much call to when he worked Hostage Rescue. She was extremely talented.
“Another dead end.” Except it proved the Russian who took off in that vehicle wasn’t some innocent tourist. You didn’t torch a car and set the cartel on someone, unless you had a big fat reason.
“How’s this?” She held up the drawing that looked so alive he wouldn’t be surprised if it started breathing on its own.
Jordan scanned the picture and compared it to his memories from last night, that brief glance, then nodded. “That’s him.”
“I’ll load it to the system and see if it gives us any hits.”
She gathered her things and left, just as Ackers walked in the room with Daisy in tow.
The relief was instantaneous. Jordan strode over and took her by the shoulders. “You okay?”
She nodded quickly, although she was pale, her lips almost the same shade as her milky cheeks. She crossed her hands over her chest, her expression mutinous.
His stomach twisted. “What did they do?”
“I don’t like being treated like a murderer or a slut just because I spoke to some guy on the beach who was known for his philandering ways.”
Anger snaked through him. “You told them I was there too, right?”
“They made it clear they didn’t see having a boyfriend as an obstacle for a woman like me when it came to advancing my career.
I felt like I’d traveled back in time sixty years, and then I remembered not that much has actually changed—not when there are people today who believe women shouldn’t have a vote. Like we’re subhuman.”
Anger glittered like shrapnel in her eyes.
It wasn’t fair, but he knew investigators often wanted to throw their suspects off by pissing them off or scaring them a little.
“I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault—unless you’re of a similar opinion, in which case we can skip straight to the goodbyes.”
“Believe it or not, I’m not a complete asshole.”
She looked unconvinced, which made him feel like a peach.
Ackers watched them together, and Jordan quickly dropped his hands away from her shoulders so that they both stood awkwardly. Then his boss’s mustache twitched before he broke out into a full-on smile.
Shit.
So much for being convincing.
Jordan opened his mouth to try to save the situation, but Ackers held up his hand.
“Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it. I still have to report to the director for the next four weeks until Kurt gets back from leave and is ready to take over.”
“Do you know who’s in charge of this task force?”
Ackers shook his head. “Only that they’ll be arriving soon.
Director Rhodes isn’t confiding in me.” He shifted his feet.
“I’ve no idea what made her believe I was running some sort of black-ops mission south of the border, but hopefully she knows better now.
” He looked from him to Daisy and back. “And I think I have a pretty good idea what’s going on.
Be careful, is all. The knives are out.” His cell buzzed, and he checked it and then put it back in his pocket.
“That was admin. We’re between New Agent intakes, so the members of the task force will be bunking at the academy for the next week or so. ”
“Any idea if I’m going to be on it?”
Daisy shot him a frown but didn’t speak.
Ackers shook his head.
Jordan turned to Daisy. “I suggested you could be a consultant on the case if you have time, but Rhodes hasn’t decided yet. I’ll get you set up with somewhere to work, regardless.”
“Okay.”
“Are you all right?” He touched her arm with concern.
She shrugged. “It’s not just being questioned by assholes. I checked social media, and there are thousands of vile comments, death threats, and rape fantasies on my account, plus emails from just about everyone I’ve ever met wanting to know if I was involved in Tremblay’s death.”
He swore. “Give me your phone.”
She shook her head. “I locked down my accounts. It doesn’t matter. It’ll blow over. Eventually.” She hunched her shoulders.
“We take death threats seriously, Daisy.”
“That’s not true.” Her lips pinched. “I see women in online spaces threatened with rape and murder all the time.” The tendons in her hands stood out with strain as she hugged herself. “Nothing ever happens to the assholes.”
Shit.
The sheer volume of vitriol made online hate hard to combat. Most offenders never acted on their threats. They hid behind their keyboards and wielded their fake bravado and then pissed themselves when a cop came to the door.
“Let me at least pass the information on to our analysts. See if we can track the source and vet them for threat levels.”
“Okay.” She nodded, reluctantly.
Jordan sent a text to an analyst he knew in HQ who worked in SIOC and probably saw this sort of thing on a daily basis.
“You look exhausted.” As if she might shatter if he touched her. But pissed too. Incredibly pissed.
“I’ve had better days.” Gooseflesh pebbled her skin.
He wanted to wrap his arms around her and warm her up. Something about her expression told him not to touch her.
Which was good.
Touching her led him into all sorts of trouble.
Her cell phone rang, and she looked at the screen. “I have to take this. It’s my supervisor. Assuming he hasn’t decided to throw me out of the program because he’s scared to be in the same room with me now.”
She walked away to speak in private and stood staring out of the window.
He hated to see her down, but the past 24 hours—hell, the past two months—had been a lot for anyone.
“You think Bocharov will come after you?” asked Ackers.
Jordan nodded. “I have no doubt of it.”
“Isn’t having Daisy close by a risk to her safety?”
“Yes, but she’s in danger wherever she goes now and, as we know, she isn’t a fan of protective custody.
” Jordan closed his eyes for a brief second and thought of beautiful Ana, who’d had her throat slit for having had sex with him once.
He wished more than anything he’d never accepted Kurt’s request.
She was in more danger than ever thanks to him, and he didn’t think breaking up with her would change that in Bocharov’s eyes. She was marked for death.
“Anyone close to me, that includes Daisy and everyone I work with, will be in danger until we neutralize this sonofabitch.” He cleared his throat. “You need to warn everyone at HRT, including support staff.”
Ackers nodded. “I can do that. I can arrange a room for you both at the academy for tonight also.”
“That would be great, short term.” Jordan nodded his thanks.
“Can you arrange for my place to be swept, including getting a bomb dog in there? And how about we reactivate those cameras TacOps installed around my place a couple of weeks ago?” He remembered something else.
“My closest neighbors gave me a key to their place as they’re off for six months in Australia and New Zealand.
Told me I could use it for emergencies. We could set up surveillance and some sort of quick reaction force there. ”
Ackers frowned. “Good idea. I’m fine with forming a covert protection detail. Gold Team have been twiddling their thumbs since they got back from the Caribbean.”
Hardly.
“However,” he lowered his voice. “That request to TacOps might come better from you than me. Jon Regan hates my guts.”
The two didn’t get along.
“I’ll call him.” And Cisco.
Jordan straightened as six people he recognized walked into the room, including Jon Regan and Florence Cisco, who sent him a warning look, and one of the agents who’d interrogated Daisy earlier.
At least, he now knew who was running the task force—ASAC Steve McKenzie, a hard-nosed, but competent supervisor from HQ, who’d worked with HRT while Jordan had traveled across the African continent with Kurt.
With him were Alex Parker, a civilian cybersecurity expert who regularly consulted for the FBI.
And Detective Tobias Granger, a man who’d once been Jordan’s best friend and whom he hadn’t spoken to since the night his family were murdered.
His mouth went dry.
Daisy came to his side, and he was surprised but grateful when she slipped her hand into his. Not because he deserved the comfort. But because they still had a relationship to sell and he’d completely forgotten about everything except the memories of that awful night a decade ago.