Chapter 2
2
CAS
T he thick wooden door trembled on its hinges beneath my pounding fist. In my periphery, several heads popped out from various offices along the short hallway in the U.S. Department of the Interior’s headquarters, staring with suspicion and a bit of fear in their gazes. It was apparent to everyone that I didn’t belong here. The admins and directors who milled about, still staring, were dressed in fancy-ass business suits or nice dresses, while I stood outside my boss’s boss’s boss’s office in full tactical assault gear.
Apparently it was unnerving, even though I was standing in the middle of the United States Park Police headquarters. Our particular division of the Department of Interior was the oldest uniformed federal law enforcement agency in the US. We held both federal and state jurisdiction across the country. We were highly trained, deadly—some more so than others—and tasked with protecting the national monuments, the president, and his visiting dignitaries when needed.
We were hot shit, and we knew it.
At the curt command to enter, I resituated the snug Kevlar vest across my chest and turned the doorknob. Once inside, I cataloged every detail of the spacious downtown DC office. The oversized leather chairs, large dark mahogany carved desk, and the man sitting behind it were exactly what I expected to find. The director of park services continued to type on his laptop. He looked the part with his buzzed silver hair, deep wrinkles along his forehead and cheeks—from years of playing the political game, no doubt—and tired, cunning eyes.
Those eyes cut from the screen and ran a quick, assessing gaze. Having zero idea as to why I stood here, pulled this morning from the protection detail I’d been assigned, was unnerving.
What the hell did I do this time?
Fingers templed beneath his chin, he flicked a pointed look to the chairs, which I ignored.
“You wanted to see me, sir.” A shadow shifted at my back. All senses zeroed in on the threat while I maintained eye contact with the director.
“Have a seat, Sergeant Mathews.”
“I prefer to stay standing, sir.” Every muscle twitched, eager to face the person still hiding at my back. Instead I focused past the director to the windows behind him. Using the reflection, I monitored the blurry form until it shifted closer to where I stood in the middle of the room.
The man’s hand barely brushed my shoulder, snapping me into action. Jerking his wrist tightly against the middle of his back, I slammed his face against the closed door.
Heart racing, blood thundering in my ears, somehow his low chuckle flooded through.
I had him pinned, about to break his arm and dislocate his shoulder if I breathed too hard, and the man was fucking laughing.
“Damn, Mathews, still as quick as ever, you jackass. Good to see you haven’t gotten any slower in your old age.”
The voice tickled a memory. Slowly I released his wrist, then forced him to turn and shoved his back against the door.
“Peters?” I said, very confused.
What the hell? I hadn’t seen this jackass in years. We served two deployments together, but he was the type of person you wouldn’t forget. Smart as hell, calculating and dangerous—similar to me. Well, all marines, I guess. There had been an edge to him that I recognized, making us both immediately respect the other and form an instant bond. Chandler Peters was someone you could call at any time, even if it’d been years, and he’d come running guns blazing to your aid. It seemed he felt the same way, which must’ve been why he was in the damn office.
“Have a seat, Sergeant Mathews. I won’t ask again,” the director ordered.
Peters smiled as his brows rose high on his forehead, taunting me. Bastard. With a growl, I released his shoulder and stalked to one of the leather chairs to do as I was instructed.
“I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here,” Peters said. At my subtle nod, his smile widened. “I almost don’t want to tell you, just to drive you fucking insane.”
The director cut in. “I do not have time for this, Agent Peters?—”
“Agent?” My shock registered in my tone.
Peters nodded. “FBI. BSU—sorry, Behavioral Science Unit.”
“Couldn’t hack staying in action so you found a desk job. Nice,” I said with a smirk. “Not surprised. You always were a lazy ass.”
“Lazy ass, me? You’re the one who’s put on the pounds since the last time I saw you. Drinking too many carbs there, Mathews?”
“Fuck off,” I grumbled. Because what else was there to say when he was fucking spot on. I had put on a few pounds since my demotion from team lead last month, and he was also correct to the cause. Damn beer.
“Gentlemen,” the director cut in, once again trying to regain control of the conversation. “I have another meeting in ten minutes. You’ll have plenty of time to catch up later. Now we must discuss Sergeant Mathews’s new assignment.”
That didn’t sound positive.
Brows raised in curiosity, I leaned forward, pressing both elbows onto my thighs. A pointed cough swept my suspicious gaze from the director to Peters, sitting in the other leather chair across from me.
“I’ll fill you in on the specifics on the plane tomorrow, but long story short, you’re with me now.”
What the hell? “Why me?” I demanded.
Peters shrugged and leaned back in his chair, but his tight shoulders and sharp movements radiated the tension he was trying to play off. “Why you? I know you, I trust you, and with you being USPP, your federal and state jurisdiction might come in handy at some point. You’re mine until we’re done.”
“Done with what? What’s this new assignment?” Damnit. A low throb pulsed behind my eyes as a headache began to set in. I hated vague, and the fucker knew it. Facts and strategy helped you make informed decisions. Both were needed for every assignment.
Sweat beaded down the column of my spine.
The last time I moved with too many unknowns, men died.
My men.
Peters’s eyes held my gaze with cold intensity, making my pulse race with excitement. “We’re headed to catch a potential serial killer.”
Venti black Starbucks cup in hand, I marched up the short stairs of the FBI’s private plane. Inside I had to duck not to whack my head against the low roof. Angling sideways, I shuffled to the open seat across the aisle from where Peters sat typing furiously on his laptop. The only acknowledgment to my on-time arrival was a quick nod.
Taking the ‘I’m busy’ hint, I twisted in the leather seat, getting as comfortable as possible in the tiny thing for the flight. Out the window, I saw the pilot and crew toss all my bags under the plane. The plane jolted as the final black duffel landed in the belly. Hopefully it didn’t tip us over the weight limits for the jet. All Peters said yesterday after we left the director’s office was to pack warm with enough firepower to make me feel comfortable, which meant a lot, then jotted down the address to the hangar.
The marines taught me how to use my hands and body as a deadly weapon, but still I preferred being heavily armed in hopes it never came to that. Hand to hand, I couldn’t hold back, unlike the distance a gunfight provided.
The still-too-hot coffee scalded the roof of my mouth at the first sip, but I downed another swig anyway, hoping to clear the ever-present fog from my mind. Last night was another restless night. Hell, I couldn’t remember the last time I slept through the night without waking up in a crazed panic with a loaded gun in hand.
Shortly after takeoff, Peters snapped his laptop closed and tossed it onto the seat across from him.
“Start talking,” I demanded, my hot breath pushing against the window, fogging the thick plastic. “I understand I don’t have a choice in taking this assignment, but I need to know what I’m walking into.”
Peters’s hard stare pricked at the nerves along my neck, making the hair stand on end. The soft leather groaned as I shifted in the seat and leaned back against the window.
He shook his head. “We need to get something else out of the way first. What happened to get you demoted?”
Wondered when this would be brought up. I sighed and scrubbed at my clean-shaven cheeks. Might as well get it out of the way now. If we were a two-person team on this assignment, he had a right to know what he was getting into.
“What? They let you in the FBI without knowing how to read?” I deadpanned. Yeah he needed to know. Didn’t mean I’d make it easy for him. “You want to know what happened, read the damn report.”
Peters smirked, knowing what I was doing. “I did read it, fuck face, but it was one-sided. I want to know your side.”
“My side,” I said with a huff.
“We served together, you fool. If you think you’re the only one who deals with past shit on a daily basis, then you need to pull your head out of your ass. Who knows, I might understand why you did it. But all in all, I need to trust that you won’t lose your shit again.”
“I didn’t lose my shit,” I growled, my fingers tightening around the thin armrests.
“Tell me.”
I scrubbed a calloused hand across my face and leaned back to stare at the ceiling. Maybe he was right. The person who documented my side of the incident wasn’t someone who’d been in close-quarters combat, didn’t understand the triggers that lay beneath the surface of every man who’d been cornered in the past and believed they were out of options.
“My team and I were on protection detail, stationed along the route the president would take that day to meet other dignitaries. We had a few protesters due to who he was meeting with, but it was orderly and nonviolent. There were even a few kids in the group, holding their parents’ hands.” I downed another swallow of coffee. Fuck this small plane. Sitting in the damn, tiny chair was too confining. “A group showed up minutes before the president was due to cross our path. The group was different than the others—we all knew it the second they walked up—so when the first guy drew his gun, we were prepared. Several of the guys yelled at everyone to get down, and we went into action?—”
“You mean you went into action.”
“We all did, but with my training, it came easier. Instantly. I took out the threats with the help of my team.”
“You put seven men in the hospital.”
I shrugged and turned to gaze at the clouds beneath us. “I took out the threat.”
“The report mentioned all seven men had multiple fractured bones. No bullet wounds, no lacerations.”
“I took out the threat,” I repeated.
“Without endangering civilians around you.”
Without looking to him, I nodded.
“And they demoted you because….”
“Excessive force,” I said through gritted teeth.
“The men said you were amazing to watch. That you were efficient and calm through the entire attack, which lasted less than three minutes.”
“I’m trained by the best to be the best. You know that.”
“They also said they had to drag you off one of the men. That you were seconds from snapping his neck.”
I turned, glaring at Peters. “He fucking stabbed me.”
He raised both hands in the air. “I get it, man. Don’t be pissed at me. Is close combat your only trigger?”
“You mean is getting stabbed my only trigger to want to snap a man’s neck?”
“I guess,” he said with an annoying smile. “Anything else I should be aware of on this assignment?”
“Nope.”
“We’re staying in the same cabin. What about sleeping?”
“Don’t wake me up or move around at night and we should be fine.”
“‘Should be’ doesn’t give me much to go on.”
At that, I smiled. The man could handle whatever I threw at him, and he knew it. “Damn, you’ll probably do it now to see if you can survive. You’re that much of a dumbass.”
Peters’s smile grew up his lean cheeks, making deep lines form along the edges of his eyes. “Challenge accepted, fucker.”
“Hell, don’t be pissed when I shoot your ass,” I said on a chuckle. A sliver of tension eased from my shoulders. Everything was on the table now. A bit of the relief came from being with someone who understood. “Now that you know I won’t go postal, give me the details of the case. Start with where in the hell we’re headed.”
The leather of his seat groaned as he leaned back and stretched his long, lean legs down the center aisle. “Estes Park, Colorado. We’ll stay there while we work the cases in Rocky Mountain National Park.”
Ah. So that was why he needed my state and federal jurisdiction. Interesting.
Clasping the warm paper cup between my hands, I leaned forward and focused on the white lid now dotted with splashes of coffee.
“Tell me everything.”