CHAPTER 2
The lump in my throat grows as I watch the black bag on the stretcher get loaded into the medical examiner’s transport van.
I didn’t kill the man it contains. None of my bullets pierced his flesh.
Judging by the angle his head had been at when I’d crept forward with Stephano in my arms and taken a look at him, he broke his neck in the fall.
But that doesn’t make the bitter taste coating my tongue any easier to swallow.
Maybe I should have waited. Not taken the shot. If I had, would the man still be alive? I’ll never know the answer. What I do know is that as long as he was in the tree, I was safe. It would have been impossible for him to hit me where I was hiding behind the truck.
It’s possible he would have died in a shootout with the Feds when they arrived with their lights flashing and their sirens blaring to take him into custody. But if he hadn’t, if he had survived, would he have talked?
Could I have gotten the answers to some of the questions twisting and turning through my mind with the force of an F5 tornado? More importantly, could I have had the blood of one less of my fellow humans on my hands? One less face to haunt my dreams when I close my eyes at night?
I’ll never know now, and it’s all my fault. I release a heavy sigh, aware that I need to stop thinking like this. It’s accomplishing nothing.
Besides, it’s not like I don’t have an idea who’s behind what happened. The first preliminary hearing is tomorrow. I’ll be a key witness in the trial. Even without my testimony, the prosecutor has a strong case. But with it?
Well, chances are that this day would have been much less eventful if at least one person didn’t think that silencing me would make a difference. But the people who murdered my parents had to have anticipated that it wouldn’t be easy. I’m not the type of woman willing to just lie down and die.
I faced nearly insurmountable odds when I took them down, facing them on my own, and still I prevailed.
Not to mention that I’ve been an FBI agent for the last fifteen years.
True, most of that time was spent behind a desk instead of out in the field.
And I’m technically on medical leave at the moment—again.
Still, I’ve been assured that the Bureau still considers me a valuable asset.
I’d assumed that was why I haven’t been pushed to retire yet, considering that I turned down the offer made by the Miami field office to join their ranks.
Though I haven’t had the time to plan my next steps with everything that’s happened since I returned home to the Everglades, I’ve made my intentions to stay here clear.
I figured they were hoping that their patience would pay off.
Now, for the first time, I can’t help wondering about the agency’s motives for keeping me on.
It’s not just that the jury might be slightly more swayed by my testimony if I’m a current and not former agent.
If today’s attempt on my life had been successful, it would have been considered a federal crime.
And given how dangerous the murderers who are going to trial are, I can’t help suspecting that someone out there in our judicial system would prefer that. To be able to take charge and have the ball in their court, even if the expense was my life.
Spotting Agent Gellar approaching, I do my best to keep my expression emotionless, to not betray the fear that’s slowly replacing the adrenaline in my veins. Though my experience with the agents at the Miami field office hasn’t been the best, she hasn’t given me a reason to distrust her. Yet.
“We’re wrapping it up now. Should be out of your hair soon. How are you holding up?” she asks, giving me a sympathetic smile.
“Just fine.”
“Did you get a look at the perp?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t suppose you recognized him?” She releases a disappointed sigh as I shake my head. “He didn’t have any identification on him. We found a car abandoned about a mile down the road. Stolen, of course. We’re running his prints now, but…”
She doesn’t finish the statement. She doesn’t have to.
Knowing what we do, I’m sure none of us are holding our breath that the dead man’s fingerprints will hold the key to his identity.
These people have proven their ability to access the system and alter records like that before.
Records that only members of law enforcement have access to.
“Still, I think it’s safe to assume that he has ties to Bianchi,” she says.
Tony Bianchi is one of the people whose trial I’m responsible for. I’m the one who found the evidence linking him to my parents’ murders. The one who got a recording of his accomplice discussing their roles in the crime. The one who’s planning on testifying against them all.
But being a seasoned killer isn’t what makes the man so dangerous. It’s the breadth of his reach into the dark corners of the shadowy underworld. A reach that apparently still exists, despite being in prison awaiting trial.
Money will do that, I suppose. And if there’s one thing the drug kingpin has, it’s money.
“Janine’s hearing is tomorrow, isn’t it?” Agent Gellar asks, even though I suspect she already knows.
“Yes.”
She looks toward the barn, where Jake’s in silhouette as he finishes feeding and watering the animals for the night.
“Has that caused any… complications?”
Removing the fingertip that’s somehow found its way between my teeth from my mouth I say, “No.”
“Really? I find that hard to believe.”
I give her a sharp look.
“Listen, I’m not trying to pry. But you have to admit, it’s unorthodox. Testifying against your boyfriend’s mother at her murder trial.”
Swallowing down what feels like a burning lump of charcoal, I clench my jaw, refusing to react.
Janine Walker had been my mom’s best friend.
And Jake had been mine. He’d been a part of my life from the day I drew my first breath, and if I get my way, he’ll be a part of it until the day I draw my last.
But decades passed where we weren’t in touch. After my parents died and Jake’s mom abandoned him our lives took separate paths. It’s been less than six months since we found our way back to each other. I don’t intend to lose him again.
And I won’t, I assure myself.
“Jake and I have spoken about it,” I say in a low voice as he approaches. “He supports what I’m doing. He has no allegiance to his mother.”
It might seem cold, but Jake has his reasons.
Because after Janine Walker helped kill my parents, she’d left Jake with his abusive father.
Even when she returned over thirty years later, it wasn’t to reunite with him.
It was to find the evidence she’d hidden at my grandfather’s house so she could blackmail Bianchi after they’d fallen out.
But things didn’t quite go according to her plan. Though she’d known that my grandfather had recently died, she hadn’t known that I’d be at the sanctuary. And despite having had her fingerprints swapped in the system with another woman’s, I figured out who she was—and what she’d done.
Agent Gellar gives me a tight-lipped smile that suggests she doesn’t believe me. “Well, anyway, I wanted to offer to post a couple agents here overnight. I doubt they’d be foolish enough to try again so soon, but—”
“That won’t be necessary,” I say, ignoring the look Jake gives me as he joins us and hears what’s being said.
As much as I’d love to give him the peace of mind that a federal security detail might provide him, I can’t. And I refuse to feel bad about it.
I don’t know how many cops—or agents—Bianchi has on his payroll, but it’s clear that he has at least one person on the inside. Considering that I don’t have any idea who that might be, it’s too big a risk. There’s no way I could trust the people assigned to protect me.
I’d have to constantly look over my shoulder inside my own home as well as out, and the truth is, I’m exhausted.
I need someplace—some time, as fleeting as those moments might be—to let my guard down enough to just breathe.
Inviting a skilled enemy into my domain is the last thing I want to deal with.
“Why bother? Girl’s got more lives than a dang cat.”
Correction. Having to watch my back against an armed and trained federal agent with the possible intent to kill me is the second to last thing. Speaking to the man whose voice just made my teeth grit together hard enough to chip a molar is the first.
“You don’t have to sound so disappointed by that,” Jake says, slinging an arm around me as I turn to face Sheriff Kingston.
The man scowls. “And where were you when all this was happening?”
Swallowing down a splash of bile at the memory, I point toward the chunk of wood missing from the doorframe. “Here getting shot at, same as me.”
But I don’t think he gets the chance to hear what I’ve said, because Agent Gellar’s response is louder and holds more menace.
“The real question is, where were you, Sheriff?”
He turns his glare to her. “Doing my job. Which, believe it or not, includes more than being a full-time babysitter for this one.”
My mouth drops open. The only time the man could be accused of keeping an eye on me is when I tried breaking up with his son back when we were in high school, and then it was only to make sure his threats had done their job and I stayed in the relationship until his son was through with me.
Jake must notice my hands curling into fists because he tightens his arm around me.
“That might be so,” Agent Gellar says, “but are we really supposed to believe that there were so many calls in your tiny town that you couldn’t dispatch a single officer for”—she makes a show of checking her watch—“over two hours?”
Kingston shrugs, not even having the good grace to look ashamed.
“Are we done here?” I ask, having neither the energy nor the patience to prolong my suffering a moment longer than I have to.
“We are.” Agent Gellar gives me a curt nod.
Trusting me to behave myself for the ten seconds it will take us to get inside, Jake releases his hold on me and opens the door.
“Goodnight, Agent Knox,” Agent Gellar says as I’m stepping over the threshold. “And, Cassidy? Good luck.”
I wave over my shoulder, not trusting my expression right now—or my voice. Because the way she said those parting words? It suggests that I’m going to need them. And honestly, I’m afraid she might be right.