Chapter Thirteen
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THE NIGHT WAS lit with a nearly full harvest moon hanging low in the sky. The dark fields around the farmhouse glowed ghostly white from frost.
Killing fields, the man thought. Endless acres of ground, ripe for graves.
Should have killed her the first time.
His stupid emotions had gotten in the way, just like after she’d come out of the coma.
Now she was in there with Bells, having sex.
Oh yes, he’d heard them going at it like rabid monkeys. It hadn’t been hard to bug the place during their little jaunt to Shelby’s office.
Bells was so smug, thinking he knew what was happening, what was going to happen.
Shelby, still pretending she didn’t remember that day.
Now, she had her files. Not all of them, but enough. Things were about to get interesting.
Fatally interesting.
But first, he wanted to play with them a little.
Because now he knew.
Bells still loved her.
Killing him would be too easy. Too quick and painless, even if he watched Shelby die first.
Refine, reorder, rework.
To make Bells really suffer, he needed to take an eye for an eye. Take someone from him whom he loved more than his own sorry hide.
Ah yes, justified revenge felt good.
Too good.
If only it didn’t involve actually killing Shelby. She was special. He would miss her.
In the end, that didn’t matter. Only avenging Peter did, along with stopping Bells from his never-ending path of destruction and mayhem.
Bells had gotten away with far too many things in his life. Hurt too many people under the guise of being a hero.
He was no hero. He was a renegade who cared about no one except himself and two other people.
Connor McKenzie and Shelby Claiborne.
Killing fields.
It wouldn’t take but a minute to change the quiet night into a maelstrom of pain and death.
All he had to do was get close to the house. Put his new plan into action.
The security system wouldn’t be a problem. The dog might.
He would have to be extremely careful, utterly silent.
His training had prepared him for this. No one would ever know, or even suspect he was the culprit.
How many times had he stared at Shelby in her coma and itched to finish what he’d started? The time and place hadn’t been right, though. Too many eyes watching.
Once she’d regained consciousness, his emotions had made him weak again. She was so tough, smart, and damn beautiful. It made him wonder if she could still be an asset rather than a liability.
If only she didn’t know the truth.
But did she? Or had her meeting with Bells that night just been to reunite with him?
If she did know, it was buried, maybe gone forever, in that damaged brain of hers. His heart had tried to convince him she would never regain consciousness, and then, after she did, that she would never remember.
But if she did or started digging around again…
He couldn’t take that chance.
The man picked up the black bag at his feet and crossed the frost-covered ground. His footprints would be long gone before anyone thought to look for them.
FOUR A.M. AND he couldn’t sleep. Lying beside Shelby had felt good—too good. He shouldn’t get used to it. Yeah, they’d made love a couple times and he’d actually let himself hope that this might become the norm again. That his luck had turned.
But luck was an expensive, hard-to-find commodity in his world. He didn’t believe in it any more than he believed in Jack Claiborne’s God.
Guilt ate at him. Shelby was in a precarious time of her recovery. She couldn’t even remember the reason she’d finally cut the cord with him.
And he hadn’t exactly offered it up last night.
Should have told her.
But damn, this woman. He wanted—needed—her so damn bad, he’d do anything to get her back. Even if it meant withholding information.
I’ll tell her today.
He would, too. Right after he figured out this damn case.
He’d gotten up at three, reheated coffee, reviewed the paper files and struggled with what he’d found.
He’d seen pictures and read accounts that turned his stomach.
Three men dead. All fellow brothers-in-arms, men he’d fought with. Respected.
Every one of them tied to Connor’s rescue mission, even if one was a secret.
Tied to me.
Salisbury whined at the back door, interrupting Colton’s concentration. He rubbed his eyes and sat back in the chair.
Scratch, scratch, scratch.
“Salisbury, get away from the damn door.”
Scratch, scratch, scratch… Another whine.
Colton sent his chair back and walked down the hall. “What is the matter with you?” he whisper-growled. “Stop that. You’re going to wake Shelby.”
But the dog didn’t even look up. He dug at the floor and the threshold, becoming more frantic.
Probably had to take a dump after those chicken fries.
“Coyotes roam free here,” Colton threatened. “They’ll eat you in three chomps.”
The dog finally sat and panted up at him, that stupid tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.
“Oh, so now you’re begging to get eaten? Fine.” He dug out his phone and hit Vesper’s button, turning off the back door sensor. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
He unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door. Salisbury flew out into the night.
Turning on his phone’s flashlight, Colton shook his head and followed.
Damn dog. Salisbury was as good as Shelby at manipulating him.
The night was beautiful. The orange moon hung over them and lit the rows of harvested wheat. An owl hooted overhead, perched on the roof of the house.
Colton’s breath fogged in front of his face. He watched the owl, wondering if it was hunting.
Of course it was. How desperate was it for a meal, though? Desperate enough to go after a 12-pound dog?
He shined the flashlight on Salisbury who was sniffing his way around the west side of the house, stopping only for a moment to pee.
“Where are you going?” Colton said locking the door and hitting the button on the security system app.
Oblivious, Salisbury made his way around to the driveway, nose to the ground. He went around and around Colton’s truck as Colton stood and watched.
His phone buzzed in his hand and he looked at the screen. What the hell is she doing up right now?
Thank goodness, he’d turned off the ringer and left it on vibrate only. Otherwise, Shelby would have been woken by Green Day. He clicked the button to accept the call, putting it on speakerphone and lowering the volume so he could keep using the flashlight. “Hey, boss. What’s up?”
It became clear as he heard Sloane cooing through the speaker. The baby was awake and so was her mother.
“I’ve been going over your missions,” Beatrice said. “Your naval ones. The AARs from Connor’s rescue don’t match.”
AAR—after action report. “What do you mean, they don’t match?”
“The one filed by your CO matches the one filed by the Bureau. However, there was a third, filed anonymously a few weeks later, and was then deleted—Rory found the ghost file on the Bureau’s server and was able to retrieve it. It does not match the two official reports.”
Salisbury disappeared behind a tire. Colton followed, glad he had no idea what a ghost file was or how Rory had accessed the FBI’s main server. “Why does that matter?”
“The anonymous, deleted report states that Iman Quan was not killed by you.”
And ah, shit. Who knew that?
Him. Shelby. And…?
No one. Just the two of them.
Right?
Had Shelby told someone else? He certainly hadn’t, but maybe her fellow agent that night, Calisto, had seen something or she had confided in him.
Had she filed this anonymous ghost report?
If so, who had then deleted it? Shelby? Had she filed the report and then changed her mind?
Clouds moved across the moon, blanketing everything in shadow. “It’s bogus, don’t worry about it.” He needed to get Beatrice off this train. “Did you find anything else? Anything that connects Evers, Bard, and Edmonton?”
His boss was never one to be redirected. “Is there something you’re not telling me? Scratch that—I know you’re not telling me a lot of things, and I’ll trust there’s a reason for it. Bard was part of the planning team who worked closely with the Bureau on Mission Liberate Green Frog, Dr. Edmonton was part of the medical team who treated Connor, and Evers… I’m not sure how he fits in. But then, you know, don’t you?”
Colton’s gaze snagged on a dark patch of ground by the back bumper. “Yes, ma’am, I do, and with all due respect, I’m not going to share that with you for your own good. My question is—there were a bunch of people involved in Liberate Green Frog, many of whom were not part of the ground mission. Why these three men?”
“You grew up with one, you trained another, and you had your life saved by Edmonton when you took the six bullets that ended your SEAL career, correct?”
So she’d done more than review his missions. Colton eyed the dark patch closer. Was that a shoe print?
His gaze went to the right and sure enough, there was another. “Ah, fuck,” he murmured under his breath, scanning the area.
“But perhaps this isn’t about you,” Beatrice added.
Colton whistled softly at Salisbury and started tracing the footprints leading away from his truck. “Come again?”
“The leader of 12 September was killed, and another man on the team, Lt. Peter Moore, nearly died as well. He was severely wounded and is currently a catatonic quadriplegic.”
The dog caught up to him, wagging his tail and then taking off a few feet over to sniff at something in the street. “The STS pilot.”
“The reports say he was hit by enemy fire.”
“He was.”
“I ran TrackMap to look into possible correlations between all of the players of the taskforce and the terrorists.”
TrackMap was an Emit creation that found relationships between people and organizations. “And?”
Colton held his breath. Salisbury had found a second set of tracks. Barely there in the street, but noticeable under the flashlight beam.
A buzz set up under Colton’s skin. Someone had been here. Recently.
Messing around his truck.
“I found nothing unusual about the 24th Special Tactics Squadron pilot or your team. No direct correlation between him and you.”
Releasing his breath, Colton walked backwards to the bed of his truck, once again scanning the area, his gaze zeroing in on the empty house shell on the other side of the street. The windows were dark holes, staring back at him. “I take it from the sound of your voice that there’s an indirect correlation?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll send the information to you once I look it over one more time. There’s something I’m missing. I want to review all of this again and maybe have Trace do it as well. With your permission, of course.”
The thing she was missing she wouldn’t find in those reports and neither would Trace Hunter, no matter how much of a super soldier he was.
But it was interesting that she was offering Colton the option to keep his heroics quiet. He hadn’t expected her to ask for his permission.
Beatrice Reese, always keeping him on his toes.
“Whatever you think, boss.” Right now, he had bigger problems. “I’ve got to go.”
A quick inventory of his truck bed showed it was empty save for his normal pile of junk—a few tools, a tarp, some disposable coffee cups that hadn’t flown out on his way there.
Better check under the hood.
Maybe under the whole damn truck.
He did just that, starting at the back and working forward as the night thinned in anticipation of the rising sun. Then he checked all around the foundation of the house, the bushes…nada.
He’d have to set up perimeter trip wires. Connor could help him.
A flash of headlights and the sound of an engine brought his head up from under the hood a minute later. He’d found nothing with his visual scan, using his flashlight, but he still felt on edge.
Someone was coming. He shone the flashlight around the ground near the engine again. If there’d been any tracks, they were gone now. Maybe he’d interrupted the visitor before the guy had a chance to do anything.
Whistling at Salisbury, he drew the dog back to the side of the house and clicked off his flashlight. The approaching vehicle slowed before turning into the driveway.
Which—fuck—effectively spotlighted his hiding spot.
He put up his hand to shade his eyes, ready to go for his weapon, when he realized it was Connor in the rental.
He killed the headlights and Sabrina waved from the passenger side as she bounced out of the truck before Connor could get around to open her door. “Aw, look,” Sabrina said. “A dog!”
Connor rolled his eyes as she bent down to make friends with Salisbury.
“What are you two doing here this early?” Colton asked.
Sabrina looked up and cocked a thumb at Connor. “Your friend couldn’t sleep, like usual. Plus, I’m on Eastern time. We were both awake, so thought we’d swing by and see if you needed extra eyes on the files from Beatrice.”
“She hasn’t sent them yet. She’s reviewing them one more time.” He motioned them around to the back of the house. “I had company right before you got here. Not sure who it was, but they left footprints near my truck. Let’s get inside.”
He unlocked the door and held it open. Once they were in, he reset the security alarm and they followed him to the kitchen. “Shelby’s still sleeping, so we need to keep it down.”
“Who was it?” Connor asked. “Your visitor. Any ideas?”
Colton shrugged. “No clue, but you know what I’m thinking. I need to get Shelby out of here, move her somewhere off the grid. Even with the security system, me, and the dog, she’s too exposed.”
Sabrina stared at the mess scattered on the floor. Beside her, Connor did the same. “What the hell happened here?” he asked.
Colton grabbed the broom from the utility closet and started sweeping up the food, to Salisbury’s disappointment. “You don’t want to know.”
Connor went to the French press and started prepping it for fresh coffee. Sabrina sat at the table and Salisbury jumped in her lap. “What a good boy.” She accepted a sloppy kiss and pinched Salisbury’s cheeks. “You’re a charmer, aren’t you?”
“Prints?” Colton asked. “Did you find any on that wrapper?”
“Several full, one partial.” She nuzzled Salisbury’s forehead. “The full prints matched a clerk at a gas station in Tulsa. He’s a former juvie, and probably got his prints on that wrapper from stocking the shelf or checking out the customer who bought the bar. Nothing in his file indicates he’s a killer—his juvenile record is from shoplifting at age thirteen. I’m running the partial through IAFIS, but it’ll take some time.”
“IAFIS?” Colton put the broom away. “Translation?”
“The FBI’s Integrated Automated Fingerprint Identification System. Partial prints are a disaster to match and there are millions of fingerprints in the database. Plus, there are more than 15,000 law enforcement agencies in the US, most of which are overworked and don’t always get prints uploaded to IAFIS.”
“Can you run it against members of the military, specifically snipers?”
“Afraid it’s not that simple.”
“But they’ll be in that database, won’t they?”
“Possibly, but the military, as we all know, moves in mysterious ways, and if the sniper served before 1999, when IAFIS was created, their prints might not be in there at all.”
“Fuck.” He jammed his hand in his hair. “I feel like we’ve got nothing. This guy is out there, I know it. I can feel him sniffing around even without seeing those shoe prints tonight.”
Connor slapped him on the back and handed him a mug of coffee. “If he’s sniffing around, bring it on, cuz he may be good, but we’re better.”
They clinked mugs, Sabrina laughing at another Salisbury kiss.
A second later, a scream pierced the air.