Chapter 13 #3
“You have the search warrant?”
Agent Patterson pulled the warrant out of an inside pocket and held it up, his leather jacket creaking with the movement. “My informant told me that Rousseau makes a weekly visit to this house, usually between seven and eight today.”
Ethan glanced at the clock on his dash. Almost seven. His inner earpiece crackled.
“Butler, this is Stanton, do you copy?”
“Loud and clear,” Ethan said.
“A new model luxury sedan just rolled up in front of the house. Right on time.”
“I see it.” Ethan didn’t need the binoculars to see who was exiting the car.
Roger Rousseau, handsome, entitled, and rich.
He buttoned his suit coat and put on his sunglasses.
His extravagant clothes and car were out of place, like neon beacons.
He looked around once, then walked up the rickety steps and inside.
“Wait for our signal,” Ethan added.
Ethan and Patterson exited the car and crossed the street, weapons drawn.
A loud bang sounded and then shouts, before they even breached.
“That was a gunshot! I’m going in,” Stanton said.
“Let’s go!” Ethan barked into his mic. Ethan covered Patterson while he sprinted up the four steps on the front porch, then stood with his back against the outside wall, weapon ready.
“Go, go, go!” There was no time to wait.
“FBI, open up!” Patterson pounded on the door frame.
“Cover me.” Ethan kicked the door open, his service revolver drawn, clearing the room. Patterson followed him, checking behind the door.
The floor shifted under his weight. He barely had time to register the sharp crack of wood splitting before his boot slipped on something loose and he went down hard, his head striking the edge of a low table. Pain exploded behind his eyes, and he dropped to his knees, stunned.
A prearranged death trap for law enforcement that Roger would’ve known how to avoid.
The sound of retreating footsteps echoed down the hall. A door slammed and he heard Stanton shout.
Ethan forced himself upright and immediately stumbled, vision swimming. Dust motes floated on the stale air, and in the dim light across the room, a dead body was sprawled across the scarred hardwood.
Blood pooled beneath the victim’s head. A male. Late twenties, maybe. Long, stringy hair. Sallow skin. He had all the earmarks of a drug addict.
Ethan braced both hands on the doorjamb, jaw locked. “Scene’s not clear,” he said evenly into the radio. “Secure it.”
“Copy,” Patterson said, already moving. “Backup and medical en route.”
Every breath felt like driving a spike through his skull, but he stayed upright.
A beat later, Patterson was at his side. “You okay?”
Ethan grunted. “I am, but not this guy.” He pressed the call button on his radio. “Montgomery, call the local PD and tell them we’ve got a body.”
“On it,” Montgomery said.
Ethan and Patterson swept the living room and the kitchen, their footsteps echoing through the empty house. A few dirty dishes were scattered across the counter, along with the remnants of takeout from a local restaurant.
Two chairs sat at lopsided angles in the kitchen. Ethan gritted his teeth. “Stanton, Glover, check in.”
The rest of the team slowly entered the kitchen. Adam didn’t look happy. “There were a couple of them. They were out before we breached. They ran.”
Through the window, he saw a police cruiser stop at the curb, and an officer, along with his K-9, stepped out. When the duo reached the kitchen, the officer said, “Heard you needed backup.” He gave his German shepherd a hand motion and the dog sat. “I’m Boothe and this is Ranger.”
Boothe looked to be in his early thirties, tall and fit, dark hair streaked with gray. His brown eyes flicked over the scene with practiced calm and a dry look that said he’d already sized up the trouble.
“Butler. Deputy US Marshal.” Ethan squinted in the waning light. “I need you to check the perimeter. Suspect fled through the back door.”
“Sure.” Boothe shortened his grip on the leash. “Ranger. Find.”
The dog surged forward, nose lifting and sweeping the air as much as the ground, muscles coiled with purpose as he worked the perimeter in a tight arc around the house. Boothe moved with him, controlled, giving the dog just enough lead to work without breaking contact.
Patterson frowned. “You don’t need a scent or something?”
“He’s not tracking,” Boothe said, already following Ranger’s pull. “He’s searching for anyone hiding in the area. If he finds a person, I’ll know.”
Ethan sat on the top step and massaged his throbbing temples. Someone squeezed his shoulder. “Hey, you might want to get that looked at.” Patterson stood next to him, concern crinkling the corners of his eyes.
Ethan gently probed the area on the back of his head and grimaced. “It’s a little sore, no blood, probably have a goose-egg-sized knot tomorrow.” He gave the fed a tight smile. “I’ve had worse.”
Crime scene rolled up and began collecting evidence, what little there was. Boothe brought the dog back, the dog’s tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. “Good boy.” He patted the dog’s side.
“Well?” Ethan asked
Boothe shrugged. “Nothing. He might’ve caught a trail going through the backyard, but there was no one there. This place is a known flop house. Too many people have been through here.”
“Too bad,” Patterson murmured.
Stanton, Montgomery, and Glover grouped around, standing in front of Ethan.
“I’m going to meet with the judge and the prosecutor to get a warrant for Rousseau,” Patterson said. “He already made one mistake. He’ll make more now that he knows we’re watching him for yet another death.”
Ethan exhaled. “I can only hope. Let’s get out of here. We’ll figure out what to do in the morning.”
“Let’s go.” Patterson held out a hand and pulled him to his feet. “I’ll drive you back to the office.”
Ethan tossed the fed his keys, and they headed back to the parking lot. Quiet settled over the car, and they rode in silence back to the courthouse.
“Thanks for driving.”
Patterson handed him the keys. “Thanks for the backup.”
“Anytime.”
Ethan waited until the other man pulled away and his vehicle disappeared before getting into the driver’s seat of his truck. Habit. Protocol. One last scan of the street before he turned the key.
Aubrey’s face surfaced unbidden. He admired her steadiness, the way she held herself together when everything around her threatened to come apart.
Something unfamiliar tugged low in his chest. He turned the key and put the truck in gear.
He needed to see her.
Not to say anything.
Just to be sure she was safe.
He rang the doorbell at the safe house, and Liam answered the door. Ethan filled him in on the operation and how Roger got away as they went into the living room.
Aubrey rushed past Liam and touched Ethan’s forehead. “Are you okay? You look awful.” She tugged him inside and into the kitchen.
“Thanks for noticing.”
Liam chuckled.
“Let’s get some ice and ibuprofen.”
She handed him the pills and he swallowed. She smelled sweet, like chocolate and sugar. The entire house smelled good. He leaned for another whiff. Mmm. She’d baked.
Whoa. What was going on? Must be the hit to his head. He needed to put some space between them. Ice pack pressed against his head, he leaned against the counter, careful not to disturb the fancy iced cupcakes sitting on the cooling racks. “Can I have a cupcake? They smell amazing.”
She pivoted and started arranging cookies in a huge plastic container. “Since you’re injured, I suppose you can have one. After all, you did bring me to this lavish accommodation.”
“Stingy.” He bit into the chocolate cupcake and groaned. “You’ve got to stop baking.”
“Why?” Her green gaze bored into his. “These are for a birthday party, remember?”
“Too much of a temptation.” He ate the remaining section in one bite, his gaze never leaving hers. Aubrey’s eyes widened, and a light-pink blush covered her cheeks.
The atmosphere in the small kitchen turned thick and sweet. Like honey. And he didn’t want to leave.
Aubrey stepped back. “I thought you were immune to my baking.” She held the plastic container in front of her like a shield.
He stepped closer. “Oh no. Not immune at all.” She was captivating.
He watched as she swallowed.
“I, uh, need to let Liam know these are ready if he’s leaving now.” She matched him step for step until she backed into the kitchen counter.
He removed the container and set it on the small breakfast bar. They stood staring at each other. Him wanting to tell her, and Aubrey? Well, he didn’t know what she wanted. After a long interval, she ducked around him and scooted to the family room.
Well, that little rejection just threw a bucket of cold water on his hopes. Which was a good thing. He did not want his feelings to override his good sense.
She stood in front of the television, eyes unfocused. Arms crossed at her waist.
“Aubrey…” He grasped her hand and slowly turned her toward him. Ouch. Any movement made his head pound, but he needed to see her reaction. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you off.”
His gaze landed on her lips, and she inhaled. Time froze. They stood staring at each other until Aubrey looked away. Whatever had just passed between them disappeared like morning dew on a hot summer day.
She cleared her throat and stepped away, putting the brown sugar and chocolate chips in the pantry, then went to the freezer. “Why don’t you sit on the couch, and I’ll make another ice pack?”
“Since you asked nicely…”
“I did.” She handed him an ice-filled freezer bag wrapped in a dish towel and pointed to the couch. “Sit.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He sank into the cushions, his head screaming for relief. She dimmed the lights, and they sat in companionable silence, shadows dancing across the gentle planes of her face. He sighed. “I need to leave.”
But he didn’t move. He wanted to sleep for at least a couple of days.
“By the way, if we apprehend Finn Donovan, why don’t you come to Bible study with me tomorrow night?”
Panic flashed across her face. “I don’t know.”
He raised his hands. “Hey, no pressure. I need to recenter myself, that’s all. Thought you might want to go.”
He didn’t want to push. This was a decision she’d have to make for herself.
He tossed the ice pack on the scarred coffee table. “See me out to the hallway?” He held out his hand, and she grasped it as he pulled her to stand.
“Sure.” She smiled.
They stood in the foyer for a moment. He had so much he wanted to tell her—how he felt about her, what he really wanted in life—but now wasn’t the time. Or the place. “Stanton will be by in the morning to pick you up for your appointment. The follow-up for your ankle. I’ll see you after.”
He stepped closer. Aubrey was so close he could see the gold ring around her irises. He leaned forward, then heard someone clear their throat. He glanced up and groaned.
Not someone. Liam.
“Hey, you two.” Liam was eating a sandwich, his wet hair slicked back. “Leaving so soon, Butler?” He grinned, his gaze ping-ponging between Ethan and Aubrey.
Ethan glanced at his watch. “I need to get back to the office and write up a report. See you later, Aubrey.”
“I’ll be here,” Aubrey said.
“Bye, honey.” Liam closed the door, and the last thing Ethan heard was Liam’s laughter.
Aubrey was searching, he knew it. He was pretty sure she was a believer, but it seemed as if she had lost her way. Like him.
He’d been trying to grow closer to the Lord for years, a little bit every day. God had never left him, and he wanted to show Aubrey that God was there for her too.
That no matter what happened, God was still good and He had a plan for her life.
And his.