Chapter 3
JASON
I wanted to be anywhere other than the FBI office at whatever the fuck time it was, shaking hands with Agent in Charge Miller.
I’d only worked with Miller once before, and he was a decent enough guy for a Fed, but the FBI was going to drag its feet on this case, guaranteed.
The Department of Justice had authorized protective detail with lightning-fast speed, and they didn’t move quickly unless the case involved some major collar.
I didn’t get calls for protection services anymore, and certainly not for women. Usually, they assigned a female primary for that. Was this the reward for my bad behavior on the Nelson case? That I had to watch over a stripper?
Wait, was that how my boss had described her?
He’d said she was a dancer who’d witnessed a murder.
A collar this big, it had to be another drug deal gone bad, probably some VIP from one of the cartels. Without any details, the only thing I could bring to the meeting was a set of assumptions.
This woman didn’t look like I’d expected, though, which should have been my first clue.
She was more like a girl, really. There weren’t any visible tattoos or heavy makeup.
No low-cut clothes or cheap jewelry. Her wavy, dark blonde hair fell a few inches past her shoulders and framed a pretty face above the developing bruises around her neck.
She was pale, with sunken eyes like she’d been through the wringer last night.
Despite that, she was striking, and a magnetic pull kept drawing my gaze back to her.
The girl sat alone in the bland conference room with her glassy-eyed gaze fixed on me through the window. It made me uncomfortable, and I did not like the feeling. I forced my attention away from her and back to Miller.
“Because I’m feeling generous,” I said, “or more likely, because I’m not completely awake yet, I’ll give you five more minutes with her.”
“What a guy.” Miller’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
The Fed wasn’t too happy I’d shown up to poach his case, and it was hard to blame the guy. But I ignored him, breezed through the door, and extended my hand to the woman, letting my new partner Derrick and the FBI agent file in behind.
“I’m Deputy Jason Dunn,” I said, then gestured to Derrick. “And this is Deputy Wheeler. We’re with the Marshals Service.”
She grimaced with pain as she rose to her feet and shook my hand. “Laurel Hayward.”
Her hand was warm and soft, and she withdrew it quickly, like she didn’t want to touch me any longer than necessary. Which bothered me for some fucking reason.
“Nice to meet you.” I didn’t care if it sounded hollow and all business. “We’re going to let Agent Miller finish his questioning before we move you to a temporary housing location.”
“What?” Her blue eyes filled with alarm.
“Deputy Wheeler and I are here because the DOJ requested full protection. That’s not something they’d do without good reason.”
Her expression verged on heartbreak. “What about my job?”
I’d fucked things up enough professionally, I wasn’t going to dig the hole any deeper today. I had to stay professional and keep my thoughts to myself. But it was stunning this stripper was more worried about working the pole than helping the FBI catch the son of a bitch who’d nearly killed her.
“You’re not going back to your life right now.” I didn’t bother to sugarcoat it. “Not today, and probably not for a while.”
It was obvious that was the moment she decided she didn’t like me. She tilted her chin and her jaw slowly tightened until her angular face took on a hard edge. I told myself I didn’t care, and that she wasn’t beautiful. I wasn’t here to make friends.
This girl was a job, nothing more.
I grabbed a seat across the table and glanced at Miller. “I’d suggest you hurry up and finish your questions. Beth Garrity from the OEO will be here in less than twenty.”
The Office of Enforcement Operations would make the arrangements for protective custody—if it hadn’t been done already—and my warning seemed to do the trick, because Miller slipped into his seat and gestured for Ms. Hayward to do the same.
“He admitted to the shooting?” Miller pushed the oversized glasses he was wearing up onto the bridge of his nose. He’d probably had that same pair for the last decade.
The girl folded into her chair, looking exhausted but determined. “He said he wanted to take another shot when he saw the man was still alive, but I got in his way.”
“Did he give you a reason or motivation, or discuss any aspects of the first shooting?”
“No.” She made a face like the memory was upsetting. “He said in his job, he didn’t usually kill women.”
I hadn’t been briefed on any of this. The only information I’d gotten was a disgruntled call from my boss Bill, telling me to take my ass to the Federal building and secure a murder witness from the FBI office. He’d meet me there, along with Beth from the OEO.
Miller took notes, his pen weaving across the page. “He said it was his job?”
“That’s how I understood it. But he didn’t say much after that.” Her voice was detached and eerie. “Not anything that would be helpful to you.”
Miller’s pen stopped mid-scribble. “Don’t worry about that. You’ve already been helpful. There’s a laptop down in IT forensics right now because of you.”
Laptop?
“I hope it still works,” she said. “I did swing it into his face.”
There was a hint of satisfaction in her voice that I couldn’t help but like.
Miller had a half-smile on his face as well. “I’m sure it’s fine.”
Forensics had certainly seen worse, hard drives with fire damage, and laptops with bullets in them.
Having any kind of data could help build a case, so this was a good sign.
She pushed her hair back behind her, ear and I noticed the scraped skin on her palm.
There was a bruise darkening her bicep that wasn’t quite as bad as the one on her neck.
There, I could make out the perfect outline of fingers. Someone had strangled the hell out of her.
“Who was the man he killed in the theater?” she asked.
Theater? Well, shit.
All the puzzle pieces fell into place, and I kicked myself for being so stupid. Not an exotic dancer, but a ballet dancer. That information shouldn’t have made a difference, but it did, reminding me I was such an asshole sometimes.
“A federal judge.” Miller said it flatly.
The second one to be murdered this year, and I wasn’t sure where this put me. It was a high-level assassination case, definitely the biggest of my career. But I wasn’t really working the case, now, was I?
I was only protection detail.
“Bill’s here,” Derrick said, cutting through my thoughts.
My freckle-faced new partner didn’t talk much, so his deep voice always caught me off-guard. Our boss pushed open the glass door to the conference room and strode in with his full attention on the witness.
“I’m not anywhere near finished,” Miller whined.
“You’re welcome to stay, but only to listen,” Bill said.
Miller’s eyes narrowed, but he chewed back whatever response he wanted to say. Instead, he gathered his notes, moved to the doorway, and turned to Ms. Hayward a final time.
“I hope we’ll get to speak again, but if not—thank you.” His gaze shifted toward me. “Good luck.”
It wasn’t clear if that was directed toward her general future, or her more immediate one with me.
“Ms. Hayward, I’m Deputy in Charge Bill Bradbury. My deputies here have been assigned to your case for the next forty-eight hours. They’re going to transfer you to a safe place while the OEO assesses the situation. They’ll determine what kind of ongoing protection you might need.”
“You think he’s going to come after me again?” Her concern grew with every word.
Bill’s people skills were far superior to mine, and he delivered a gentle look. “The fact that he did it once has us worried he may try again.”
On the surface, the girl looked calm and composed, but her eyes betrayed what was going on inside. I felt an odd sensation of sympathy that was unsettling. Maybe it was because underneath the pain and exhaustion, she was undeniably gorgeous.
Internally, I cursed a blue streak. It’d be so much easier if she weren’t. The last thing I needed was this . . . distraction.
“Thanks for waiting for me,” a sarcastic voice said.
Beth came in like a sudden storm cloud. She reached across the table, thrusting her hand out to Ms. Hayward, and wordlessly demanded a handshake. “I’m Beth Garrity, an inspector for the Office of Enforcement Operations.”
Beth’s handshake was aggressive, and she didn’t notice the girl’s wound or the way she winced.
As soon as the handshake was over, Beth dropped into a seat, and I wanted to knock the chair out from under her.
I’d never liked the woman. She reveled in pointing out others’ mistakes while being completely oblivious to her own.
“Typically, we conduct an interview,” Beth continued, “to determine if you should enter the program.”
“WITSEC?” I asked.
A vent kicked on somewhere, and Ms. Hayward shivered. “What’s that?”
“That means witness protection,” said Bill. “We’re not there yet.”
Beth shook her head. “It’s not your call.”
“The hell it isn’t. She’s under protective detail until all this shit gets sorted out.”
Bill was a friendly, outgoing guy in general, but he was one hundred percent capable of playing the asshole card when needed. Beth pretended to be indifferent when his tone set her aback.
“I came here to brief the witness,” she started, then reloaded with more confidence. “Your witness.”
“We can’t get you to move on other cases for weeks. Now you’re suddenly screaming I’m slowing you guys down. What’s the rush?” He leaned forward in his chair. “You’ve got a packet pulled together? Great. You can hang on to it for another day or two.”
The two continued their power struggle while my focus drifted across the table. The girl’s dark blue dress was torn on the side, and she used one hand to hold it closed. She held her shoulders close to her body like she was freezing. Why hadn’t someone given her a sweatshirt or a blanket?
I’d thrown my jacket over the back of the chair. I could offer it to her.
The thought surprised me. It wasn’t that I lacked compassion, but it had never been my strong suit. Chasing. Investigating. Confrontation. These were the items in my wheelhouse, not handholding. Yet the fact remained, I wanted to . . . what? Offer comfort?
Christ, I thought. I needed to get some sleep; I didn’t feel like myself.
My gaze went back to my boss, who was laying into Beth like he enjoyed it, which he probably did. But then I could sense the pair of eyes that were on me, drawing my focus back to the girl, causing her gaze to immediately drop to the floor.
Shit.
She flushed, embarrassed to have been caught staring, and the innocent reaction stirred something inside me I had to ignore. Why was she paying any attention to me, anyway? She should be listening to Bill talk about—
“Sounds like a plan,” he said, and looked expectantly to me.
Shit.
Whatever they’d agreed upon, it must have been Bill’s idea because Beth looked pissed. She stood too quickly, hinting at her frustration.
“Fine. I’ll see you Monday.” It sounded like a threat. She gathered her things and went in a huff, leaving Ms. Hayward alone with us.
“Always a joy to work with,” I muttered.
“Yeah, because you’re a real delight yourself,” Bill said. “Now hurry up and get out of here before her boss sends her running back with something I can’t sidestep.”
I stood and moved toward Ms. Hayward. As she rose gingerly out of her chair, I lost all common sense and slipped a hand under her elbow to help her. She gasped and recoiled from my touch so violently, she almost toppled over.
I stepped back, immediately giving her space and lifted my arms as if to say, “my mistake.” Her haunting eyes peered up at me, but she offered no explanation for her reaction. I didn’t deserve one, anyway.
“You ready?” My voice was quiet and even.
She nodded slowly.
“Thank God,” she uttered when she spied a brown suitcase waiting beside a desk, a pink ribbon knotted through one zipper. Her bag had been sent over from the hotel. I grabbed it by the handle and wheeled it to the closet-like restroom.
“Do you need anything?” I asked and checked to make sure it was unoccupied. She shook her head and darted inside, shutting the door behind her.
I busied myself studying the case file that had been sent to my phone.
I read the witness statements and examined the pictures of the theater and the aftermath of the assassination.
My gaze lingered on the image of Ms. Hayward in her stained costume, her hands soaked in blood.
Two separate thoughts competed in my mind.
How pretty she must have looked in her glittering costume before the shooting—and how brave she’d been following it.
Uncomfortable tightness banded across my chest.
Information was still coming in, but once I’d read everything and was sure I was up to speed, I began to worry.
She’d been in that bathroom for a while. Too long.
I could hear the ragged sounds beyond the door and knew exactly what was happening, even if she was trying to be quiet.
“Ms. Hayward?” I tapped on the door, my voice low.
She didn’t answer.
I waited, unsure. “Laurel?”
Nothing.
“Wayne?” I asked of the man working a desk nearby.
The guy looked displeased. “Dwayne.”
“Did they search the suitcase brought over from the Opulent?”
He shrugged and his attention returned to his computer screen.
I was too preoccupied with my concern for my witness to give Dwayne any attitude.
The girl had been through hell, and I could sense how unstable it had made her.
What if she had something in that suitcase she was using to numb herself? Or worse, to hurt herself?
“Laurel.” My voice was firm enough I even drew Dwayne’s attention. I tried the doorknob, but it was locked.
“There’s a box,” he said.
“I know,” I snapped. I typed in the code, overriding the lock from the outside. “Hey, I’m coming in.”