Hunter entered his office and realized one cup of coffee wasn’t going to be enough. He hung his coat on the rack behind his door, grabbed the slightly deformed coffee mug Amy had made him when she decided to try pottery, and walked toward the breakroom where fresh, warm coffee would be waiting for him. He smiled as he looked at the mug decorated with a red heart and a yellow arrow through it, the mug splashed with every color of the rainbow around it. Some of the paint had run before it went in the kiln and it came out looking like something a second grader would make and give to their mother for Christmas. He loved it.
As he approached the breakroom, there stood two other agents blocking his path to the coffee pot. Dennis Hall had worked with the Bureau for almost fifteen years. When he took a bullet in the leg, he was given two options: retire or learn how to type. He took the desk job.
The other was Judd Fowler, a twenty-something hothead three months out of the academy, full of ideas with no clue what unexpected surprises his career would throw at him. But just like Hunter, Judd would figure it out on his own.
Dennis was leaning casually against the wall, sipping on his coffee, showing absolutely no interest in talking or listening to Judd, but pretending for the sake of killing time. Hunter had no idea, and didn’t care, what Judd was boasting about this time. Judd just wanted to fit in and be one of the guys, but there were many times when Hunter wanted to jab him in the face, just to deflate Judd’s puffed up head. Unfortunately, Hunter drew the proverbial short straw and was Judd’s supervisor and partner.
“No coffee,” Dennis said, interrupting Judd’s story as Hunter reached for the coffee pot.
Hunter stared at Dennis with incredulity. “What the hell do you mean, no coffee?”
Dennis let out a short but steady laugh. “It’s out. Make it yourself, you lazy bastard. You got two hands.”
Hunter glanced at the full cup in Dennis’s hand. “The mystery of who emptied the pot will baffle us for years.”
Dennis smiled and took another sip, just to rub it in.
“It’s times like these I bet you wish you had a secretary to do that kind of stuff for you, huh?” Judd asked in an effort to be included.
Hunter smiled and put a friendly hand on Judd’s shoulder, casting a sideways glance at Dennis, who was also smiling. “You know, you’re right, Fowler. A secretary to make my coffee sure would be nice. Then again, that’s what we have you for.”
Dennis quickly drained his cup and handed it to Judd. “Black, two sugars.”
Hunter handed Judd his empty mug. “If you don’t know how I like my coffee, then you clearly haven’t been kissing my ass. Do not break my mug.”
Hunter and Dennis cleared the breakroom, leaving Judd holding two empty coffee mugs and wondering what the hell just happened.
***
His coffee fix fulfilled, Hunter sat in his office reviewing case files, notes, coroner reports, and everything else available in preparation for testimony he would soon be giving, provided everything for the trial went as planned. He was the agent who pursued and arrested Mack Finley for the double murder of two Louisiana state policemen who pulled him over for a broken tail light. They were killed due to Mack’s fear of them finding the suitcase of drugs he had in the trunk of his car. Hunter was nothing if not meticulous, and he was going to make sure Mack Finley suffered the consequences.
“How’s it going in here?” Dennis asked from the doorway of Hunter’s office, watching the focused determination on Hunter’s face.
Hunter started rifling through the files on his desk. “I could swear I’m missing something. Part of the coroner’s report.”
Dennis let Hunter do his search and destroy for the missing document. It only took about a minute before Hunter pulled a sheet of paper out from under the keyboard, then he lifted his eyebrows to Dennis with a what-can-I-do-for-you expression. Dennis pushed himself out of the doorway and took a chair in front of Hunter’s desk. Hunter didn’t like the look on Dennis’s face; it was the look that said he didn’t want to have to be the one to talk to Hunter about something, but he was the only one who could. It was the look Hunter received when Dennis told him about Amy. No, he did not like this look.
“So?” Hunter asked, trying not to sound put out or impatient. “Spit it out, man.”
“You been watching the news lately?”
“I catch a piece here or there when I think about it. Why?”
Dennis lightly tossed a file on Hunter’s desk, upsetting his organized chaos. Dennis sat silently as Hunter apprehensively picked up the file folder and cracked it open. The first thing he saw was a police report completed and submitted by the State of Colorado, County of Boulder. It was obvious that it was a homicide report; there would be no reason for Hunter to receive any other kind. The report cited a hit and run, and witness accounts said that nobody saw anything except some kind of car, maybe a truck, maybe a sedan. It could have been a moped for as much as these so-called witnesses paid attention. There were photographs that made him catch his breath and threw him back in time. Unfortunately, this was not the first time photographs like this had opened up old wounds that he couldn’t seem to close.
Hunter looked at Dennis, desperately trying not to take his anger out on him. “How long have you had this?”
“Came in about an hour ago. Boss gave it to me to look through before showing it to you.”
“How does it feel always having to be the one breaking news like this to me?” Hunter asked.
“Sucks ass, man, but I’m the only one who can give you bad news.” Dennis cracked a smile. “Everyone else thinks you’re a dick.”
Hunter shook his head and let a chuckle escape under his breath, thankful for Dennis trying to make him smile while simultaneously hitting him with another Black Rose Murder. He picked through the photos and sucked in his breath when he found the one he was looking for. The picture was exactly what he expected and told him everything he needed to know. It was, of course, the black rose with the letter P on the victim’s back—the same tattoo that showed up in six other files that had come across his desk over the past six years. The same tattoo his wife had.
“This is the seventh,” Dennis pointed out, and received a look that said Hunter already knew that piece of information.
The first murder known to law enforcement occurred at a home improvement store in Indiana where a woman bearing the tattoo was gunned down while standing in line to pay for her painting supplies. Then Amy was murdered, followed by two in California who were found hanging from the second story balcony of a shopping mall at Christmastime. Next was a home invasion in Ohio, and another in New Jersey who had been shot while standing in line at the ATM outside her bank during a lunch break by somebody who knew exactly how to avoid all the security cameras. Finally, this soccer mom from Colorado. Seven women in the past six years, all with the same tattoo, all very public deaths, and all with witnesses who had given useless statements. All with no leads.
It was no secret that these cases were taken personally by Hunter.
“The profilers…” Dennis began, but was cut off by the look Hunter gave him.
Not bothering to hide the anger, Hunter let out a disgusted scoff. “Profilers. In six goddamn years the profilers don’t have anything fresh to say. They’re as clueless as the rest of us. Every time we think we have a lead, every time we think we have a name, every time we think we have something, we come up empty. And it pisses me off!” With rage running through his veins, Hunter forcefully swept his arm across his desk, upsetting everything on it. Papers and pictures floated in the air until they landed softly on the floor. His nameplate and pencil holder hit the wall. His keyboard hit the floor. His computer monitor wobbled on its stand.
Judd happened to walk into Hunter’s office at the same time that Hunter kicked his desk and yelled to nobody in particular, “Fuck!”
Stunned, Judd looked from Hunter to Dennis. Dennis shrugged and gave Judd the look that said everything would be okay, but it would be best to turn around and leave the room immediately. Fortunately for Judd, he took the hint and left as quickly as he had arrived.
Hunter let out a calming breath. “I’m good.”
Dennis stood to leave and nodded his head in understanding, looking at the papers and desk supplies strewn on the floor. “You know I’m not helping you clean any of this shit up, right?”
Hunter looked around his office, hands on his hips. “Maybe I should call Fowler back in here. Have him clean it up.”
Dennis left Hunter’s office knowing Hunter would eventually be fine until the next file landed on his desk. Then it would start all over again.