CHAPTER 13
Cole
By the time the first patrol units arrive, the house is already lit up like a stadium.
Reid’s SUV equipped with a floodlight on top still blankets the backyard with high-intensity beams, washing the fence line and hedges in stark white.
Red and blue lights pulse against the front of the bungalow and Tessa’s neighbors to the left, right and across the street are awake and watching from their porches as dawn approaches.
Uniformed officers mill around while crime scene techs forage the front and back yards, looking for evidence that might have been dropped.
Two bodies.
One inside the living room on hardwood. One on the rear porch just beyond the splintered kitchen door. Both exactly where they fell.
Malik’s modified Hummer pulls up to the curb, his face grim as he steps out to survey the situation.
He speaks to a cop guarding the edge of the yard cordoned off by yellow police tape, but he’s quickly let in.
The lead detective already gave permission for the Jameson staff to come on-site, as long as they stay out of the way.
This is nothing more than the product of a working relationship between the two organizations.
I’m leaning against one of the police cars in the driveway, a place I’d been ordered to stay until the detective could talk to me.
“Everyone good?” Malik asks me quietly as he approaches.
“We’re good,” I answer.
Physically, at least.
Tessa stands off to the side near the front walkway, wrapped in a blanket Josie must have grabbed from inside.
Josie’s arm is around her shoulders, murmuring low and steady.
Tessa’s face is pale but composed. She isn’t hysterical and she isn’t collapsing, which is good.
Otherwise, I might be tempted to go over there and pull her into my arms.
More crime scene techs swarm the interior of the house where evidence markers are placed beside the bodies, beside the dropped weapons, beside the section of cut glass removed from the living room window.
The homicide detective who told me to wait here for him finally approaches me. Mid-forties, military haircut, intense stare.
“I’m Michael Frost,” he says to me, then turns to Malik and reaches out his hand. “Good to see you.”
“Glad you’re on this one,” Malik says, and I make a mental note for later to ask him why. I assume they have a prior relationship.
Frost turns to me. “You’ve been busy tonight.”
“Wasn’t on my schedule,” I reply evenly.
Frost nods, pulls out his phone. He flips open an app and hits a “record” button. “Walk me through it.”
So much for the old-style detectives who took notes on small spirals.
I give him the clean version. Perimeter alert.
Thermal signatures. Forced entry through the living room window.
Immediate threat and I fired to defend. Rear door breach.
Also fired to defend. I articulate distances, angles and shot placement.
I keep it factual without bravado or embellishment because no one cares about that shit.
“Did you intend for those to be kill shots?” he asks.
“I think the bullets to the heart might be an indication that was my intent,” I reply blandly. Also, mental congratulations to myself that when push came to shove and the pressure was intense, I was a fucking phenomenal shot.
The coroner and his assistant exit the house, pushing a gurney with a body bag zipped neatly inside. Frost nods at the covered stretcher. “No ID on either of them. No wallets. No phones. No prints in the system yet.”
Malik doesn’t miss a beat. “I’d wager you won’t find any identifying marks either. No gang ink. No military tattoos. Nothing that ties them cleanly to an organization.”
Frost studies him. “Why’s that?”
“This was professional,” Malik says. “If they were sent knowing there was a possibility of resistance, they were sent clean. No trail back to whoever gave the order.”
“Is there something going on here that I don’t know about? Why would professionals come after Ms. Ward?”
“She’s an investigative journalist,” I reply, garnering Frost’s attention. “She is working on a piece that implicates some important people in arson and murder.”
The detectives eyebrows shoot straight up, and I can see by the look on his face he’s expecting me to spill all of it.
“It’s not for me to say and I would guess that she will invoke journalistic privileges not to divulge that yet. She intends to turn the information over to the police after she completes her investigation.”
Frost’s eyes narrow on me. “If she’s holding back information about a murder—”
“Save it,” I snap, cutting him off. “This is going to turn around pretty quickly after tonight. You’ll get the information.”
Frost nods curtly and shuts off the recorder. “We’ll run DNA. Maybe we get lucky.”
Malik’s expression remains steady. “You won’t.”
The detective raises a brow.
“We operate in this world too,” Malik continues. “Shadow contractors. Off-book operators.”
Frost absorbs that without visible reaction, but I see the flicker behind his eyes.
“I’ll say this—from what I’m seeing, it’s a clean self-defense shooting.
Washington law doesn’t require you to retreat inside your own residence.
They forced entry, they were armed and you responded. End of story as far as I’m concerned.”
Stand your ground without needing to say it.
“Still,” he adds, “I’m going to need you downtown for a formal statement which I’m sure you understand is standard procedure. I’d rather do it now while it’s fresh.”
“Fine,” I say.
The cop nods toward Tessa. “I’ll need her statement, so she’ll need to come too.”
“Later,” Malik says, stepping in, his voice authoritative. “She’s exhausted and traumatized. But she’ll present herself to you after a good night’s sleep and some food.”
“Fine,” the cop says, his irritation clear. But the truth is, Tessa’s not under any obligation to talk to them at all so he knows he needs to take what he can get.
“Get Tessa packed up,” I tell Malik quietly but firmly. “She’s not staying here.”
There’s no debate in my tone but even had I not said it, Malik would have insisted she come back to Jameson.
Malik nods once. “We’ll handle it.”
Across the yard, Tessa’s eyes meet mine. The fear remains but there’s more.
Clear as day.
Understanding.
“Give me a second,” I tell Frost, who tucks his phone away.
I cross the yard to Tessa, who looks up at me expectantly. “You’re going with him?” she asks.
“Just to make it official.”
Her hand slides into mine, tight.
“I’ll be back,” I tell her quietly. “But Malik is going to take you to Jameson and you’ll have to stay there until this is done.”
She nods, no argument whatsoever in her expression. “Okay.” Her eyes cut to the house, which is now a crime scene. “I think that’s a good idea.”
I’m glad she’s finally starting to understand how dangerous her job can be.
There’s something about her tone… so utterly vulnerable that I react without thinking.
I pull Tessa into my arms and she responds by wrapping her arms around me tightly, the blanket on her shoulders falling off.
She presses her cheek to my chest, and I kiss the top of her head.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “For saving my life tonight.”
“Just doing my job, Tess.” One more kiss to the top of her head before I pull away. “Try to get some sleep. I’ll meet you back at Jameson.”
Tessa crosses her arms over her stomach, looking small and fragile. I hate leaving her, but it can’t be avoided. As I walk toward the unmarked detective sedan, the weight of what just happened settles in fully.
Two men are dead.
DelRey just lost assets.
And SAPG now knows that Tessa isn’t a soft target.