Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Part of her job was to assess and analyze every possible outcome and prepare solutions to all given situations.
But were Knox’s buddies right? Was Aaron innocent? Possibly being set up?
The look on Knox’s face when she left . . . she’d wanted to whisper sorry a hundred times and maybe a hundred more.
She had to focus, though. She couldn’t let her personal feelings cloud her judgment or distract her.
Her team was about to infil Aaron Todd’s home if he didn’t peacefully surrender. She didn’t want anyone getting shot because her head wasn’t in the game.
The late August sun was beating down. Birds were freaking chirping. And from a nearby home, someone was playing a violin.
It was too cheery outside for a possible exchange of gunfire.
But it wasn’t like God could lasso in the clouds and shoot a thunderbolt or two overhead to set the scene. This wasn’t a book or a movie. This was real life. And shit-tastic things happened on beautiful days and at beautiful moments. Like when her mom died.
“You think he’ll be inside?” Calloway asked, and she averted her attention to her partner.
“If he’s innocent, yes.” If. Knox would hate her for that word, but what choice did she have? Aaron had sent the email, and unless she found out otherwise, she had a job to do.
She prepped with the multiagency team around the corner and out of sight from Aaron’s home. SWAT was also there for an assist if the house needed to be breached.
“I still can’t figure out who leaked his name to the media,” Calloway said as he strapped on his own vest. “Not one of our guys, which means it may be FBI or DHS.”
It was hard to believe anyone from the FBI or Homeland would offer up Aaron’s name, though.
“Or the more obvious answer,” Mendez joined the conversation while holstering his sidearm at his hip. “Knox or one of his buddies.”
“No way.” She bit down on her back teeth. “They’d never do that.” She positioned her earpiece and tucked the coiled wire in place, the mic hidden beneath the vest.
“Unless they wanted to give Aaron a chance to make a run for it before we knocked on his door,” Mendez suggested.
“How would they have time to do that? The media shared the news seconds before we left the office.”
“That’s enough time,” Calloway said, and she wished he’d be in agreement with her on this. But in Calloway’s eyes, Knox was the guy who’d ruined his chances of getting laid.
“Knox’s parents were shot at,” she reminded them. “He’d never put his family in danger by letting the shooter get away.”
Maybe he hadn’t always been on the best of terms with his folks, but he wouldn’t sacrifice their safety simply because Aaron Todd had been a SEAL.
“Teamguys are his family, too.” It was as if Mendez had taken a disturbing dip inside her mind.
“Until I know who leaked the name, you’re not authorized to share any details of this investigation with Knox or his people.
I don’t care what the president wants.” He stabbed a finger in the air. “Understood?”
“We got the warrant,” Special Agent Quinn announced before Adriana could answer Mendez.
“Good.” Mendez peered at Adriana as if he needed to check off the dominant box.
They weren’t in the same department, but she had to show him proper respect, even if it irritated her to be so looked down upon.
It seemed the higher up people rose in their positions, the more dick-like they became.
“I need to hear you say it before I let you come with us.”
Calloway held a gloved palm in the air between where Mendez and Adriana stood. “She’s good,” he surprised her by coming in for the defense. “Foster would never risk her career, not even for a friend.”
He really didn’t know Knox. Or her.
Because she’d absolutely risk anything for Knox, including her life.
“Say it,” Mendez demanded, refusing to back down from his ridiculous power play.
“Yes,” she said, her teeth nearly clamping down on the word.
He gave her a long, hard look. Distrust in his eyes. Then he flicked his gloved hand in the air. “Let’s do this then. Get into your positions.”
The different teams maneuvered down the street and into their assigned locations.
Calloway wrapped his hand over her shoulder from behind, giving her the all-clear signal to move.
With her Sig clutched, she shifted to the fat oak tree off to the side of Aaron’s property and waited as Mendez and three other agents moved in for the front door.
It was a small two-story white shingled home. A bit run-down. The grass overgrown. Weeds reclaimed the flower beds along the front of the house.
There was a chance Aaron was still home and with a rifle pointed at them right now, and so they had to be on guard. And if part of Knox didn’t believe that chance existed—he wouldn’t have been so scared to let her go.
Mendez gave the signal, and then he rapped at the front door with a heavy fist. “FBI! Open up!” He shifted off to the side of the door and out of the line of sight of the window a foot away.
“FBI!” he hollered again and pounded. “Move in,” he gave the command a few seconds later, and SWAT approached.
“Preparing to breach,” Mendez announced over comms.
This wasn’t her first time out in the field. She’d been assigned to hunt down possible threats in the past. But this was the first time her heart nearly exploded from her chest because so much was on the line.
“All clear!” someone said over comms a few minutes later. No sign of Aaron.
She resisted the urge to reach for her phone and text Knox.
“Calloway. Foster. See if the neighbors are home. Find out what you can,” Rodriguez ordered over comms, and she’d happily take a command from him over Mendez any day.
“Roger that.” She stowed her weapon and slid on her Ray-Bans with the far-too-cheerful sun in her face.
“Look at you,” Calloway said with a smile.
“We’re outdoors, and it’s sunny.” Her glasses hid her eye roll, but she shot him one anyway.
She pointed to the house across the street, which offered the best vantage point to Aaron’s home.
The yellow home was well-maintained, unlike Aaron’s house. It had character. It was loved. It belonged in the sunshine with violins and chirping birds.
A woman, maybe in her late seventies, sat on the front porch, which stretched the length of her home. One rocking chair, so she was probably the only one who lived there. Well, aside from the Yorkie she had on her lap.
“He’s not home,” the woman announced as they climbed the three steps of her front porch. “As you can see.” Her Southern accent was more Alabama than North Carolina. “And who do you work for?”
Adriana showed the woman her commission book, which held her Secret Service badge, photo ID, and credentials.
The woman leaned forward and read the Secret Service motto inscribed there. “‘Worthy of trust and confidence.’” She scooted back in her seat. “Are you trustworthy?”
“Yes, ma’am.” But was this woman?
“Do you know when Aaron left?” Calloway asked.
“Yes, about twenty minutes ago.” She arched a brow, her forehead creasing even more. “I was on my porch when I saw him leave.”
“Car?” Adriana asked. “Motorcycle? On foot?”
“Bike. Not a Harley like my husband had. Sportier.”
Adriana exchanged a quick look with Calloway. “He have anything with him?”
“Not that I saw.”
“Let Mendez know,” she said to Calloway, and he hurried back to Aaron’s house. “Did you happen to notice if he was home on Monday or yesterday?”
“I was spending time with my son in South Carolina. I got home early this morning.”
Too bad. It would’ve been nice to find out if Aaron had been away from home at the time of the shooting, or the night before when the gunman had been trying to get close to Sarah. Maybe another neighbor saw something. “Anything else you can tell me?”
“I have him over for dinner every Friday evening. He’s never stood me up, either, even when he started dating that new girl.
” She set her dog down, and the Yorkie scurried off the steps and began barking up a storm at all the uniforms across the street.
“Aaron’s a nice boy. He’d never hurt anyone.
” She smiled. A genuine smile, too. “Well, aside from bad guys. He’s a military hero like my honey was.
” She stood, her long pink cotton PJ gown skirting the wood planks beneath her feet.
“If you find Aaron, be sure to tell him I’m still expecting him for dinner Friday. Making pork chops. His favorite.”
Yeah, she was pretty sure Friday dinners were off the table for now. “Do you know his girlfriend? Her name? Where we might find her?”
Her attention dropped to her feet. “If I tell you, you’re going to think he’s guilty.”
Oh, shit. “Please, ma’am.”
“His girlfriend works at the hotel. You know, the one where the gunman shot at Mr. Bennett.”