Chapter 11
Mateo’s head snapped up, his hold on Mari’s corpse loosening as he shifted his gaze to the master bathroom doors.
Permeating the deep, black pit of his grief came shuffling feet—he was certain of it.
Sniffling and swiping at his tear-soaked face with his sleeve, he released Mari and covered her to her chin with the sheet.
He took one last look into her open eyes, the hazel orbs staring sightlessly back at him.
The honey-toned flecks had been snuffed out, leaving them dark. Dead.
“I’m so sorry, Mari,” he rasped, voice hoarse. “So fucking sorry.”
He used two fingers to lower her eyelids before covering her face.
Gaze narrowing on the bathroom doors, he reached for his sidearm.
The sound hadn’t come again, but he knew someone was in that bathroom.
The person who had raped, mutilated, and murdered his wife.
The person who would, at the end of this, know Mari’s pain.
Clenching his jaw, he raised the sidearm, inching forward without bothering to be quiet about it.
The UNSUB had heard him wailing and sobbing.
He heard each crunch of Mateo’s shoes over the broken shards of a vase. The bastard knew he was coming.
He paused with his hand on the knob, inclining his head and listening.
The sound came again, this time unmistakable.
Rage overtook him, hot and quick, until he existed only to rip apart whoever stood on the other side of this door.
Turning the knob with one quick motion, he kicked the door in and raised his sidearm.
With nothing but shadows greeting him, he hesitated to step inside.
He reached for the light switch just within the open doorway.
A startling pop and shattering glass preceded a rapid burst of light which quickly faded.
Before the light could die away, he registered a dark shape coming at him.
Blackness swallowed them. Hands fisted his shirt and yanked him off balance.
He struggled and his gun dropped. They went down in a tangle of limbs.
Rolled this way and that. He swung his fist, finding soft tissue and bone.
The UNSUB struck back harder. So hard that Mateo could swear his jaw had swung off its hinge.
They wrestled, bashed against the side of the tub, grunted and grappled for dominance.
The UNSUB’s breath was hot and harsh against his neck, the deranged whisperings of a lunatic.
“Blood and breath … Blood and breath … Blood and breath.”
A heavy weight pressed against Mateo’s chest, grinding him into the floor. The whisper of air and the instinct to move his head at the very last second. Something bit his ear, sharp and sudden.
A knife … the asshole had nearly taken his ear off with a knife.
He roared, hopelessly pinned beneath a man who seemed to have a slight build while possessing the strength of ten.
The knife struck again, between his ribs.
Then again and again and again. His shoulder, his chest, his abdomen.
He writhed and fought for breath. Liquid fire poured through his lungs.
The coppery tang of blood overwhelmed every other sense.
He fought but grew feeble, his blows ineffective against the knee caving in his sternum.
The sawing breaths of the UNSUB stilled.
The knife clattered to the tiles and the weight on his chest eased.
Mateo swam in a river of his own blood, every precious breath coming shorter and harsher.
The darkness grew heavier, as oppressive as the knee pinning his chest had been.
“I …. I …”
A flood of copper. He turned his head. Spat a mouthful of blood.
The UNSUB loomed over him, a presence unseen but felt. The rasping voice reached out to him from the void. “You what, Agent?”
“I … will … I will …”
“Die, Agent. Continue pursuing me and you will die, as will the very last thing you hold dear.”
Wide brown eyes filled Mateo’s vision, innocent and tearful. Soft, rounded cheeks. A dusting of freckles. Rainbow sneakers with loose laces. A ballet tutu and matching slippers.
Angelica. His little girl.
“I am … going to … kill you!” he barked out between coughs.
More blood splattered his chin. They were the last words he said, for every breath required intense concentration. Consciousness began to slip away. The world loomed above him and he was sinking.
The chilling voice reached out to him just before he lost consciousness.
“You may try, Agent.”
Mateo jerked awake at the sound of someone pounding on his hotel room door. He rolled onto his back and pressed his fingers against dry, tender eyes. The pounding wasn’t just in his ears; it was in his head, relentless. His entire body ached, and the taste of soured Scotch lingered on his tongue.
“I’m fucking coming!” he bellowed, pressing a hand to one ear to try to block out the thumping. “Jesus fucking Christ!”
He managed to get to his feet, casting a bleary glance at the clock on the nightstand. It was six a.m. He’d been asleep for a grand total of one hour. He had just as much time to shower and pour himself into a suit before meeting the team at the field office.
One member of that team stood in his doorway, impeccably dressed and frowning at him.
“You knock like a goddamn cop,” Mateo growled.
Donovan pushed his way inside. “You look like a blender chewed you up and spit you out.”
“It’s how I feel. Come in, by the way.”
“Yeah, we don’t have time for pleasantries. What happened?”
Mateo groaned while sinking into his desk chair, easing back against the headrest. Going to sleep had been a bad idea. He was pretty sure he had a concussion. Finding half a bottle of water on the edge of the desk, he tore it open and chugged it in a few swallows. Donovan paced, waiting.
“I got photos and footage of an exchange. Women, dozens of them, for something in wooden crates.”
“And then?”
Mateo ran a hand over the stubble on his jaw. “Someone spotted me. I was followed.”
Donovan sucked in a sharp breath. “Shit.”
“I fought him off, but barely. The guy was jacked up on something I think, maybe PCP. He was strong … too strong. And he was drooling and rambling, saying crazy shit.”
He lifted the pad he had used last night to scribble down what he remembered of his attacker’s words and handed it to Donovan.
“Blood and breath. You can’t escape the truth. Azrael sees all.”
Donovan’s steely eyes snapped up to lock with his. “Well, that puts the question of whether all this is connected to rest.”
“That’s not all,” Mateo said, retrieving the round, plastic device his attacker had left behind. “The guy didn’t have any ID on him or anything, but there was this.”
Donovan plucked the hard plastic from his hand and turned it over. “What is it?”
“Hell if I know. I heard a clicking sound before he attacked me, and then a cough. I think this was what made the sound.”
Donovan pressed his thumb against the side and a square section pressed inward with an audible ‘click’. He squinted and peered closer before bringing the device to his mouth.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Donovan pushed the button again and inhaled, then pulled the device away from his mouth.
“I think it’s an inhaler. My mama has something like this.
It administers medication for heartburn.
There’s a cylinder of pills or something inside and the device crushes them into a powder that can be inhaled.
Whatever was in here is gone, though. It’s empty. ”
“Definitely a drug. Maybe not PCP, most don’t snort or huff that.”
“We can have it tested. See if there’s any trace amounts.”
“I’ll leave that on your plate for the day. I got other shit to do.”
Donovan raised an eyebrow. “Like explaining to Carlisle how you got those photos, the footage, that inhaler?”
“For a start.” Mateo stood and fought not to whimper like a little girl.
His every muscle protested movement, but to sit and let himself get stiff would only make matters worse.
“I’ll brief the team when I get to the office.
Stop off somewhere on your way and get me the biggest café au lait on ice you can find. ”
Without waiting for a response, Mateo crossed into the bathroom and slammed the door. On the other side, he heard Donovan muttering under his breath before the outer door closed behind him. He switched on the shower and began peeling off his clothes.
After arriving back at the hotel a few hours ago, he had gone right to his desk to scribble his notes.
Then had come a few tumblers of Scotch while he uploaded the photo and video files to his laptop to prepare them to send to Carlisle.
He hadn’t meant to fall asleep while waiting for the large files to upload, but had somehow nodded off.
The memory of what had happened after Mateo discovered Mari’s body had come back to him in pieces over the past year.
He had awakened in the hospital with Smith on one side of him and Williams on the other.
They had filled him in on how the SWAT team arrived almost too late to find Mateo still alive.
The UNSUB had fled by then, and a neighbor could only report having seen a figure in black fleeing the house in the dark.
His hair and face had been covered, and he’d worn gloves.
Not a fingerprint or strand of hair had been left behind.
They were testing the blood found at the scene, but were fairly confident that most, if not all, of it was his.
Angelica was safe in protective custody.
He had sustained seven stab wounds and a collapsed lung.
He might suffer nerve damage to his shoulder.
The rest returned to him in snatches, and after the attack last night, it had snapped into focus with startling clarity. Mateo stepped into the shower, bowing his head under the spray. He left the water as hot as possible, letting it singe away the goosebumps that rippled along his skin.