Chapter Eleven
Cole eyed his lover as she got out of bed, naked, and walked to the bathroom, closing the door gently behind her.
The room was almost completely black now and he leaned against the pillows and listened to his cell buzz in his jeans. He knew it was Tess calling to apologize again, but he was still pissed so she could stew for a little longer.
Who the hell was she to tell him who to see? Her track record was nothing but whiners and losers.
He plumped the pillow and lay on his side, waiting for his lover to return. They’d met before Christmas but she was still reluctant for them to be seen together in public. Part of it was the age difference. Part was her job.
He didn’t give a damn about either, but she was sensitive and he didn’t want to upset her. His sister’s comment had made him realize, as much as he thought Carolyn’s worries were dumb, old-fashioned attitudes still prevailed. It was weird considering Tess was the most inclusive person he knew, but they’d never had to deal with an age difference before. Tess was gonna have to get used to it.
He loved Carolyn.
It was too early to say anything without freaking her out, but he was all-in with this relationship and he hoped she was, too.
He’d thought he’d been in love before, but he’d been fooling himself. He’d sat in high school chemistry classes mooning over girls just like any other adolescent male. But no one had wanted to date the zitty nerd with thick glasses and an IQ thirty points above their own.
When he’d gotten tight with Joseph, the guy had urged him to play the field. Cole had for a while, but now he was ready for a real relationship. Joseph chased anything in a skirt, taking pleasure from rubbing other guys’ noses in it. The dude was a compulsive player and better be pretending to want to nail his sister else Cole would beat the guy to a pulp.
The door opened and Carolyn gave him a smile. There wasn’t a wrinkle on her body nor a gray hair on her pretty head. She looked almost angelic and he couldn’t believe she’d agreed to go out with him in the first place, let alone have sex.
She walked across the room without a stitch on and the sway of her hips had him hypnotized. She cursed as she stubbed her toe on a box.
“Ouch.” She grabbed her foot and massaged the injury. “Can you still do me that favor on Friday I asked you about?”
Wait. What? He frowned. It was hard to concentrate when she didn’t have any clothes on. What had she asked him to do again?
“I’m not supposed to move in until the first of the month, but the landlord told me I could have the keys early as the old tenants moved out. A friend of mine is lending me his van…”
Oh, yeah. Something about helping her move her stuff to a new apartment. This place was pretty cramped. “Sure.” Her breasts swayed as she bent down to pick up her suit pants and drape them over a chair. He swallowed. “No problem.”
“I can ask someone else if you’re busy… Trent said—”
“I’m not busy.” Who the fuck was Trent?
It didn’t matter. He couldn’t believe anybody looked as amazing as she did naked. And she was worried about her age?
“You should probably be in class.” She bit her lip.
That got his back up. “Friday’s class is just about the ethics of hacking. I can skip it.”
She sighed as she came towards him, the light from the bathroom making her skin glow. “I should no doubt be worried about that statement.”
“I’ve got it.”
“I worry I’m going to affect your studies,” she admitted. “And that’s when I remember you’re still in college—”
“Hey.” He caught her hand. “There are some advantages to me being younger.” He placed her palm directly over the advantage he had in mind.
Her eyes widened and her lips twitched. “Seriously? Again?”
He grinned. “Come back to bed and find out,” he urged.
“Work called. I need to go in.” She made her voice firm but he could feel her wavering and saw the hungry way she caught her bottom lip.
“Call in sick.”
She rolled her eyes as he pulled her down beside him.
“We’re not all in college, you know. My job is important.” A frown touched her brow at another reminder about their different positions in life.
He leaned over to lick one perfect nipple.
She shuddered and threw back her head. She moaned and sank the fingers of one hand into his hair. “We don’t have time.” But she was squirming against him in a way that made his pulse accelerate.
“We’ll be quick.” His hand slid between her thighs.
She groaned and then pushed against his shoulders so he was on his back. “We’ll have to be.”
She straddled him, impaling herself, the sensation making his brain whiteout.
“You have no idea how incredible that feels.” He skimmed his hands up to her breasts and pinched the delicate tissue.
She laughed and gasped. “I have a pretty good idea.”
She started riding him, slowly, setting the pace and controlling the depth. She leaned over him and he found her nipple with his mouth. His hands slid over her ass, grinding her against him exactly how she liked it. Her fingernails bit into his shoulders.
“I’ve created a monster,” she whispered.
She had. He was insatiable for her and didn’t care who knew it.
She held his gaze as she reared up and fucked him harder. He found her clit and squeezed. She bucked uncontrollably against him and her muscles contracted around him like a vise. She grinned as she caught her breath, never breaking rhythm, and reached behind her to stroke the taut skin behind his balls. Despite trying to make it last longer she shot him over the edge like she’d lit a fuse. Then she curled over him, laughing as his tried to figure which way was up.
“I love you,” he blurted as his heart galloped. He closed his eyes and swore to himself.
But she didn’t protest the way he’d expected. She pulled him with her into the shower and kissed every inch of him, once again proving that a woman in her sexual peak beat a college girl in every way imaginable.
* * *
Mac stared out across the crisis action team room they’d been assigned. A sea of faces from at least eight different agencies stared back, including ASAC Lincoln Frazer of the BAU via video-uplink from his home office. It was midnight, but night was indistinguishable from day inside the windowless, hermetically sealed SIOC.
Special Agent Mark Ross—the guy who’d been so pissed by Mac’s visit to the crime scene on Monday—slumped in the nearest seat and watched him through red-rimmed eyes. The guy probably hadn’t slept since Judge Thomas’s murder. The WFO agent recapped everything they had so far: No witnesses. No definite evidence. No recent threats. No obvious skeletons in the closet. No clear motive outside the fact the man was a federal judge with dark skin.
The homicide detective from Capitol Police took her turn updating the briefing. Annabel Dunbar had glossy, black hair cut brutally short and wore pants so tight Mac was surprised she could breathe, let alone walk. “Unlike the judge and his wife, Sonja Shiraz had been inundated with threatening letters, email and tweets.”
Mac was old enough to find the idea that they were investigating “tweets” stranger than the fact the DJ had undergone a sex change.
“I want all the letters sent to the questioned documents lab for analysis. I want all the authors traced and put into a database.”
“That’s a lot of people,” the detective commented. “Mainly trolls.”
“Trolls go in the database, too.” The anonymity of the internet brought out the worst in some folks. Maybe the hatred it nurtured had spawned a murder campaign. “I want it noted if they make a habit of harassing people—and see if any of those other people have ended up dead.” Mac named Libby Hernandez to work on it. “Pay particular attention to Sonja’s blog and other social media outlets where she posts about her transition. Also comments on news articles about her.” Where the real trolls hung out.
A couple of agents shifted uncomfortably. One raised his hand. “What pronoun do we use in the reports. Birth or…reassigned?”
A couple of the guys giggled like children. Detective Dunbar put her fist on her hip and glared.
Mac gave them an easygoing smile but they better be paying attention to his eyes before they smiled back.
Faces straightened. A little color entered the cheeks of the agent who’d asked the question. Fact was, a lot of people struggled with the concept of gender reassignment. Mac had struggled for a time, too, and then figured that if people cared enough to willingly have their genitals altered with a scalpel, then it was a serious matter and it should be treated as such.
“Let’s show Ms. Shiraz the same respect you’d want for your sister or mother, shall we?”
Detective Dunbar visibly relaxed. “Sonja’s parents arrive from India today. When I spoke to them on the phone they were inconsolable. They’d thought she’d be safer here than back in India.” She pressed her lips together and stared at the charcoal carpet. “I felt like I’d personally let them down, let Sonja down with this occurring in DC. I want to catch this bastard before he does this to anyone else.”
Mac recognized that driving desire for justice. The need to make the bad guys pay. It burned hot enough in some people that the long hours and crappy wages didn’t seem to matter.
Taking these bastards down was his personal catnip and he could tell Dunbar felt the same.
After the detective finished Mac took over the briefing. “We have four victims. Two slugs in each vic and no stray bullets have been found at this time. Evidence Response Team techs are continuing their search of the crime scenes. No shell casings at the first two scenes, so this UNSUB is careful and meticulous, but,” he grinned, “an ERT Team tech got lucky at the most recent scene. He found a casing that rolled under a car and down a storm drain.”
A stirring of excitement ran through the assembled agents.
“Agent Gabriel Harm is the leading ballistics expert with the Bureau and he’ll be examining the casing and spent bullets.” Mac pointed to Gabe Harm, who sat at the back of the room. He’d traveled up from Quantico to collect the evidence and stayed on for the briefing while the ME did her thing. The bullets from the other scenes had already been examined for fibers, fingerprints and DNA and those samples had now been sent to the lab at Quantico to be further analyzed.
Mac had worked with Harm before. The guy was a genius when it came to guns and ammunition.
“Slugs recovered aren’t in decent shape,” Harm said quietly. “But I’ll do what I can with them. Recovering that casing is helpful. I can run it through the National Integrated Ballistic Information Network (NIBIN) to see if the gun that fired it has been used in another crime. It’s slow, time-consuming work. Don’t expect miracles.”
Mac nodded. “We need to know if we are dealing with one offender or multiple offenders, so narrowing down a murder weapon is key.”
Mac’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He checked the screen in case it was urgent, but it was Heather trying to call him, again. Apologizing for her angry texts and wanting to meet. Again.
He ignored it.
Forgiving and forgetting wasn’t in his nature. If he had a flaw—and he had plenty—holding a grudge likely topped the list. He wasn’t proud of it, but he’d deal.
He’d offended her pride and he knew from experience she would now be determined to bring him to heel. Which in her case meant inventive sex and lots of it. A small part of his brain was tempted just to prove she’d made a big mistake when she dumped him. The brain attached to his skull appreciated it was a bad idea.
Her affair with her boss had offended his manhood and he’d been busy proving how wrong she was with more than one woman over the last two years. He wasn’t about to take a major step back for the sake of his ego.
He drew his attention back to the meeting.
“Agent Makimi.” He’d worked with the agent in Minneapolis and appreciated her meticulous attention to detail almost as much as he enjoyed winding her up. She’d driven up from Quantico where she was doing a stint with the hostage negotiators. “I want you searching ViCAP and talking to other agencies looking for any other possible crimes that might be linked to these three incidents. This shooter didn’t start assassinating people like a pro right off the bat. There has to be some build up. Somewhere he or she gained experience.”
“Agent Carter.” Elijah Carter was from the Washington Field Office and had a reputation for being an intellectual who could actually tie his own shoelaces. Made a change from some of the geniuses Mac had worked with. “Look for any connection between the vics. There has to be a reason these people were chosen.”
“Walsh.” Dylan Walsh had been his second in command in Minneapolis. They both came from similar backgrounds of broken homes and worked their way up via grassroots police work. Whereas Mac looked like a cowboy in a suit, Walsh looked like an MMA fighter, which was useful for undercover work but tended to scare the newbies. Walsh had flown down from New York. “I want you to work with the Hate Crimes Unit, looking at any potential links to known domestic terrorist groups or right-wing extremists.”
The woman from the Hate Crimes Unit raised her pencil. Agent Harrison was an attractive woman. Her hair was blonde and pulled back in a severe bun. Her first name was Debbie and, according to Hernandez, everyone called her “Blondie.” Mac was gonna stick to calling her Agent Harrison.
“Have we determined from a legal standpoint whether this is a hate crime or domestic terrorism offense?”
Now she was trying to show him up as an ignorant hick.
Mac put his hands on his hips. This was a sticky issue the press loved to jump all over and she doubtless wanted to put her stamp on the proceedings as the local expert, which she was. To a point.
“Until we determine motivation and intent the legal definitions will have to wait. Obviously, there’s a big overlap between right-wing extremism, domestic terrorism and hate crimes.” This he knew from personal experience. No one could be charged with committing a “hate crime” per se. But the term could be used to enhance existing charges and increase the severity of the punishment.
Domestic terrorism was a different beast, but the rules and criteria surrounding those charges were confusing even in law enforcement circles. So confusing the FBI and Bureau of Prisons couldn’t agree on the number of people currently incarcerated for terrorism offenses.
“We’re looking for a killer or killers of these four victims and it’s likely that the primary reason they were targeted was either race, religion or sexuality.” Mac surveyed the room. Everyone was paying close attention. “Terrorists target civilians to push an agenda that makes sense to them—doesn’t have to make sense to anyone else. This killer has killed civilians and I suspect has some agenda in mind. That makes him a terrorist in my book, but the media relations people can fight it out in the press releases. That’s not my battlefield.” Thank God. “Hate crime offenders have been identified broadly as either thrill seekers, territory defenders, retaliatory offenders or mission offenders and I don’t yet know what kind of suspect we are looking for. I’m hoping the BAU can help us with that.”
The hate crimes agent glared at him as if he’d burst her bubble.
What could he say? He disappointed people a lot.
“Send me the files,” Frazer told him. “I’ll look at them ASAP.”
“Get Brennan to do it,” Mac said with a sharp grin. “He owes me a lot of lost sleep.”
Mac had worked with Jed Brennan in Minnesota last November. The guy had squirreled away the main witnesses to the mall shooting and nearly got the three of them killed. Then the bastard had thrown himself in front of a bullet meant for the President of the United States which had made kicking his ass a little difficult. He must be recovered by now.
“Brennan’s busy. You’re stuck with me. What I can tell you,” Frazer said, to the visible irritation of the hate crimes agent, “is that violent extremists are more likely to have suffered severe childhood sexual abuse and many of them will have faced serious neglect as children.”
That made Mac think back to another time and place, but his sympathy was firmly with the current victims. Abused or not, everyone got to make choices about which direction they took.
“Around sixty percent of white supremacists studied reported having considered suicide at some point, and also have histories of mental health issues or a family history of mental health issues. Psychological issues appear to be even more prevalent in lone wolf offenders.”
It helped to know a lot of these people suffered from some sort of mental illness although he had to wonder at the ones operating without that basic excuse for being Grade-A assholes.
“Typical far-right lone wolf offenders also,” the hate crimes lady put in eagerly, “tend to be males who live alone, like guns, have military experience, select government targets, and generally die in the offense.”
Mac nodded. “But this isn’t typical and already breaks the pattern of a lone wolf terrorist. We can’t afford to make assumptions, especially when we don’t know how many suspects we have.” He wasn’t a big fan of inductive profiling—it was too easy to miss something vital. But quick and dirty was sometimes useful, and not just in the bedroom.
Naturally an image of Tess in that flimsy bathrobe chose that moment to flicker through his brain.
“It’s worth noting that when examining mass murderers,” Frazer said, “the more indiscriminate the attack, the more indicative of serious mental illness.”
“And these attacks are discreet, calculated and precise,” said Mac thoughtfully.
Frazer nodded, looking way too serious for Mac’s liking. “Which is why I think we’re dealing with a coldly-calculating psychopath who is planning these attacks meticulously down to the last detail. Someone who thinks they’re superior in every way to both victims and law enforcement. Someone who doesn’t want to get caught—at least not until they’re finished. I’m leaning toward a mission offender at this point.”
“And the mission might only be getting started,” Mac agreed. It was a sobering thought.
According to experts, psychopaths made up about one percent of the general population, and twenty-five percent of the prison population. It was one of the many reasons Mac and his colleagues enjoyed job security. Thankfully, not all of psychopaths turned to a life of crime.
“Agent Ross.” He addressed the WFO agent who’d chased him off the murder scene on Monday. His grin held a sliver of victory. “I’d like you and Detective Dunbar to talk to the rabbi’s family and members of his synagogue. See if Rabbi Zingel had any recent runs-ins or threats, or if he’d ever met Judge Thomas or Ms. Shiraz. Cross ref those findings with any threats against the judge, his wife and the DJ.” He checked the time. “It might be worth concentrating on the rabbi first because there’s less noise in his background.” Zingel wasn’t high profile. He wasn’t even the chief rabbi for that synagogue. “Any other thoughts?” he asked the room at large.
“What about your work on the David Hines case? What’s your perspective on these murders?” Frazer asked him out of nowhere.
Mac narrowed his eyes at the screen. He hadn’t realized Frazer knew about that. “I wasn’t planning on bringing that up.”
Frazer’s mouth quirked.
“You worked on the Kodiak Compound investigation?” The other hate crimes agent leaned forward in his seat. Blondie was now on her computer, presumably reading up on the case. Or playing Candy Crush.
Mac opened his mouth to play it down when Frazer continued. “He didn’t just ‘work’ on it. He spent a year undercover and formed the entire basis for taking them down.”
There were some surprised faces in the room, including people he’d worked with repeatedly over the years.
“It was before I joined the Bureau.” Mac tried to downplay it, but apparently Frazer had a hard-on for him today.
“He managed to find the cache of stolen weapons the Pioneers were selling off to various other ring-wing extremists to fund their upcoming war. ASAC McKenzie’s work shut down an entire network of white nationalists before they were able to enact their plans to bring about another revolutionary war.”
“Were you there during the raid?” The hate crimes guy appeared excited by the prospect.
Mac nodded. He didn’t like to remember it, but today it seemed people wouldn’t let him forget. Unlike Waco and Ruby Ridge, it had been considered a tactical success that the state police liked to flaunt over the Feds.
Mac accidentally cut the video link with Frazer when he started saying something else. “I didn’t mention it because it isn’t necessarily relevant to this case.”
Eyeballs watched him attentively now.
“I don’t want to bias the investigation in any particular direction and I know you Hate Crimes people along with Agent Walsh will do a thorough job going through the current list of all the alt-right and alt-left wing nuts, correct?”
“What was it like?” Agent Ross stared at him intently, ignoring the back off signals. “Living in that kind of bigoted society?”
Mac flashed back to the Nazi and Confederate flags on the walls and the bust of Hitler that had held pride of place in the so-called church. He remembered every time he’d been forced to salute that megalomaniac Hines like a stab to his soul, like a betrayal of every value he held dear. He remembered them kicking the shit out of a guy for wearing a Chicago Bulls T-shirt and trying to mow down a black man with their truck. The guy had jumped clear and managed to get away, thank God.
What was it like? “Like drowning in tar. Like sucking in toxic smoke.” He shrugged.
“Did anyone ever suspect?”
Mac stared at Ross. Why was he so interested? “David Hines’s wife—Francis—never liked me, but I think that was more to do with my rough and ready manners than suspecting I was working undercover. The woman didn’t mind sleeping with a lunatic, but God forbid you put your elbows on the table.”
“What about the daughter who survived?” asked Ross.
“She was only ten at the time of the raid.” Mac eyed him narrowly. He’d hoped to keep Tess out of this investigation.
“Old enough to understand her family died in a shootout with the cops,” the hate crimes lady put in. She was really starting to get on his nerves.
“I knew her. She wasn’t like the others. She was a good kid.”
“People change,” said Ross.
“I spoke to her earlier today.” Irritation eroded Mac’s patience. Investigating Tess was a waste of FBI resources. “I found out she lives in Bethesda and decided to pay her a visit. Her home decor didn’t incorporate any burning crosses or third Reich imagery.” And her tattoo had been cute in a way the average white supremacist wouldn’t understand. “I was talking to her at the time Rabbi Zingel was murdered. She isn’t the killer.”
“She could still be involved in the conspiracy or know who is,” Hate crimes persisted.
“As far as I’m concerned she’s as innocent now as she was then.”
“So you don’t think the Pioneers are involved in any of this?” Hate crimes lady glanced up from her computer screen with a smug expression he didn’t trust.
“Most of the Hines family are dead or locked up. Were there others in the compound who might have carried out this sort of attack? Possibly.” Mac scowled. “The ones who turned State’s Evidence pretty much scattered after the trials. The ones who went to prison weren’t smart enough to commit these sorts of murders without leaving a trail of evidence a mile wide. I’m not saying ignore them, but don’t lose focus on the big picture.”
“It’s the twentieth anniversary of the raid.”
He was aware. “The raid happened in August.”
“Maybe they’re building up to the anniversary?” Ross suggested.
“Did you realize last Monday, the day the judge and his wife were murdered, would have been David Hines’s sixty-fifth birthday?”
Fuck.
“Did his daughter mention that during your private interview?” Hate crimes lady’s eyes sparkled with spite.
Tension worked its way into every muscle in his body. Tess must have known but she hadn’t said a fucking word.
It changed everything.
“She has a steel-clad alibi for the rabbi’s murder and gave me information to check her whereabouts for the DJ’s murder, but we can talk to her again.”
Precisely what he’d hoped to avoid but it was her own fault. Goddamn it. Of course she’d realized this had all started on her father’s birthday. Anger fused his jaw. He couldn’t believe she hadn’t told him—but why would she? Despite everything they’d shared, he was a virtual stranger. One who’d once left her to the capricious mercies of her family on the eve of their apocalypse.
“Walsh,” he said to the agent he trusted the most. “Talk to her in the morning.” He needed someone objective, someone who hadn’t seen her running out of that barn twenty years ago looking like the devil himself was on her heels. “Get a warrant for her little brother’s records, too. They’re sealed and she said he isn’t even aware of his parentage.” Suddenly it was a priority.
“On it, boss.”
Mac scrubbed his face. “Okay people. Lots of leads to follow.” He checked his watch. “Let’s reconvene at nine a.m. I’ll be on the video uplink.”
“Video?” asked Walsh.
Mac smiled grimly. “Unfortunately, I have a plane to catch.”