Face of a Killer

20

Sydney stared for several seconds, certain she’d heard wrong. He looked over at her, then back to the road. “A hit? As in someone’s trying to kill me?”

“We’re taking all precautions.”

“Well, let me breathe a big sigh of relief.” Bastard. It took several seconds to cool off enough to even think clearly. Scotty’s sudden appearance at her mailbox, the way he seemed to caution her about how she came into possession of that photo, his surprise visit to her sister’s party… Her first instinct, a right hook to his chin, was not a good idea while he was driving. That could wait until after they’d parked. “How long have you known about this?”

“We got wind of it right after we learned that McKnight mailed you the photo.”

“So the photo started it.”

“That’s what we think.”

“The photo you let me walk into my sister’s house with.”

“I did try to take it from you. And if you were smart, you’d hand it over, before you do any more damage.”

She now had a copy of it and the letter, but didn’t want him to think she was capitulating so easily. “I have to think about it. Had you mentioned everything surrounding it, I might have turned it over sooner.” He didn’t respond. “Which means that Donovan Gnoble is behind this?”

“That part we don’t know.”

“How can you not know? You knew enough to show up to my house and try to steal it out of my mailbox, for God’s sake. And if it’s so goddamned important, how is it you didn’t come back to get it? At least warn me?”

“It’s… complicated. I have a source who can trace the threat to someone on his staff, but that’s it.”

“So you don’t know if Donovan’s behind it?”

“Not yet.”

“Not yet?”

“We’re investigating.”

“And at what point were you going to tell me?”

“I wanted to, but the timing was never right.”

“What the hell were you waiting for? The moment someone started taking potshots at me with my family standing nearby? My little sister as she’s blowing out her candles? Or me when I’m walking my neighbor’s dog, and some car tries to run me over?”

“We weren’t sure if that was related. We were watching your house, and they thought it was one of the neighborhood teens.”

“I’m being watched?”

“You don’t think we’d just let you walk around without protection?”

“No. What I think is that you’d fucking tell me that someone wants me dead so I don’t stupidly put myself or anyone else in danger.”

“Damn it, Sydney.” He slammed one hand on the steering wheel. “We had to make a decision. We thought we were going to get it taken care of before anything happened. We thought-”

“You thought wrong.” She turned, stared out the side window, trying to stay composed enough to piece everything together, but some idiot pulled in behind them, his headlights out of whack. One shone slightly higher than the other, making direct contact into the passenger side mirror, blinding her. She turned away, shifted in her seat, decided she needed to keep her eye on Scotty, the better to figure out what the hell was going on. “Fine. You can have the photo and the other stuff when we get back to my place.”

“Thank you.”

“And who exactly are the we you speak of?”

“I can’t discuss it.”

“It’s my life you’re screwing with here.”

“There are a couple other agencies involved, because of some national security issues.”

“National security issues? What does that have to do with me?”

“Not you. Your father.”

“So he was Delta Force?”

“Not exactly. From what I understand, his specialty was clandestine ops. Black ops.”

“Black ops?”

“The kind of things that don’t end up in any official records. Not sanctioned by any known government officials.”

Up ahead, the Golden Gate Bridge lit the night sky, but she barely registered it. “How do you know this?” she finally asked. “How do you know any of it’s true?”

“From the background on McKnight. Apparently that’s what your father had over his head, why he was demanding money from McKnight. Your father, McKnight, and the other guys in the photo worked together, possibly for or with Gnoble. We’re still trying to piece it together. Your father wasn’t a photographer. That was his cover, up until the explosion that blew off his fingers, which we think occurred on whatever their last operation was. The one your father was allegedly blackmailing McKnight about… The reason McKnight killed himself.”

“Okay, let’s say all this is true. Then what the hell does it have to do with me?”

“McKnight sent you that photo and that letter. For some reason, he thought you should know. And for some reason, it upset someone in Gnoble’s office, because that’s when we heard about the threat to your life. Apparently whatever it was they were working on twentysomething years ago, it’s something someone feels will haunt Gnoble, and no doubt cost him the election.”

“Something to do with that big banking scandal?” When he didn’t answer, she took that as a confirmation. “But you don’t know if it is Gnoble?”

“No. It could just be someone in or connected to his office who wants to ensure his position there.” Scotty slowed as they neared the tollbooth, the line blissfully short at this hour. “But that’s one of the reasons we decided not to tell you right away. We knew you’d be meeting up with him when he came out here for that rally. We wanted to make sure you didn’t act any different around him. In case he or whoever it is on his staff was watching you. There was so much press around, and so many undercover agents, we knew you’d be safe.”

“How comforting.” Her thoughts raced, tried to fit the pieces, determine what was so important about this photo of a handful of men just standing there. Even the accompanying alleged blackmail letter didn’t make sense. And then it struck her. The missing element. “The suicide note,” she said aloud.

Scotty said nothing.

“There was something in that note that ties all this together.” When he didn’t respond, she said, “Did you get the copy that I asked about?”

“I told you, I can’t get it. I wasn’t lying about that.”

“Do you even know what it says?”

No answer.

She wanted to scream at him, but he pulled up to the tollbooth to pay for the bridge crossing. She glanced at the clock on the dash, its neon green digits showing half past nine. Her redeye to Houston took off in a little more than three hours from then, and it didn’t take a secret agent to figure out that if she were to mention her little trip to Scotty, he would find a way to stop her. The government wanted whatever this was kept under wraps, and for the good of the government, Scotty had done and would do what he was ordered.

“So, just how close am I being watched…?”

He looked over at her, no doubt trying to read something behind her question, and she figured it was time to act as though she trusted him and the government to do what was right. “What I mean is, how am I supposed to know that the person following me is a good guy or a bad guy? How many people are watching my house, tailing my car?”

“Two cars are sitting on your house, and two others are designated to you and wherever you go.”

She crossed her arms, then uncrossed them. The need for protection was clear, something she could appreciate, but right now she needed the freedom to move around, fly off to Houston without interference from Scotty and whatever government entities he was involved with. If her situation weren’t so dire, she could almost laugh. One week ago, if someone had told her she’d be skirting rules right and left, creating fake cases to investigate a crime of blackmail long past the statute of limitations, she would have told him he was nuts.

Apparently she was the one verging on the brink of insanity.

Past the bridge, Scotty turned off, took a different route to her place. She looked over at him, then started watching the side view mirror, seeing the same car with the headlight needing adjustment. “How long has that car been following us?”

“From the time we left your mother’s.”

“Tell me it’s one of yours.”

“It’s one of ours.”

Since he didn’t take evasive action, she believed him. Which meant the unusual route was probably another precautionary measure. She focused, tried to plan how she was going to get to the airport without him finding out. Last thing she needed was for him to make a couple of calls to Houston PD, get her banned from the building, or worse yet, stopped at the airport before she even got there.

When he finally pulled up in front of her house, he radioed whoever was watching her place, got the “all clear.” If they were watching her this close, was it possible they were monitoring more than just her physical presence and her home? Her phone calls, perhaps-not that she was about to ask him. “I’d say thanks for the ride,” she said, opening the door, “but I’m not sure I’m grateful.”

“I’m only the messenger. Maybe I should come up. Check out your apartment.”

“Whatever.” Okay, so she was being short with him, forgivable under the circumstances, she figured. Even so, she had an agenda, something she couldn’t afford to forget, and countdown to takeoff was now only two and one-half hours. She tried to smile, said, “Sorry. It’s just a lot to absorb right now.”

“I know. And if I could make this all go away, I would,” he said, sounding so apologetic, she almost sympathized with his position. Almost.

“Who knows about this? Who am I allowed to tell?” she asked as they walked up the stairs. She saw Arturo through his kitchen window, drying a dish, and wondered what delights he’d cooked up tonight.

“No one in your office knows. We’ll be informing the SAC, once we get clearance.”

And she could well imagine what Dixon would do the moment the Special Agent in Charge, Dixon’s boss, walked into his office, notified him of what was going on. Dixon was going to know in a hot second that her trip to Houston had nothing to do with their serial killer case, something she’d have to deal with later. Right now, she needed that suicide note.

She unlocked her door, and to make it seem as though she were buying into Scotty’s presence and all he’d told her, she asked, “You want to check out the place, make sure it’s okay?” There was really only one way in or out, and that was via the front door, or, if desperate, through the kitchen window, accessed via the balcony. The only other windows, her bedroom and the front window, were fairly secure, being on the second story with no access unless one used a ladder, something that might be noticeable, since they’d have to prop it up in the front or side of the house, both visible from the street.

Just as she thought, he walked in, checked out the place, then walked out. “I can stay, if you like.”

She handed him the originals of what McKnight had mailed to her. “Actually I might have to go to the office tonight. Finish up a couple reports with Carillo from our search at the park.”

He hesitated, before saying, “Do you know how long you’ll be?”

“Couple hours at the most. Would’ve done it earlier, but I wasn’t about to miss Angie’s party.” And then, just to get a bit more info on how close they were watching her, she asked, “Do you need me to call when I get to the Bureau?”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll know.”

“What if they lose me?”

“They won’t. But if you’re worried, don’t drive too fast.” His laugh sounded forced. “Actually it might not be a bad idea if you do let us know what you’re doing. Eliminate the surprise factor. More importantly, Syd, eliminate your routine factor. Go running earlier. Or later. Better yet, don’t run until we get this cleared up. And if you can’t reach me, call this number.” He took out a pen, jotted a number on the back of one of his business cards. “Jared Dunning. He’s in charge of your surveillance, and if he’s not on, he’ll have this number forwarded to who is.”

She took the card, noted it wasn’t one of the local FBI prefixes, and wondered what agency this Jared Dunning worked for. Something else to check out, she figured, dropping the card into her purse.

He leaned forward, kissed her cheek. “This will all work out. Trust me.”

In a heartbeat, she thought, as she closed and locked the door. When she heard his engine turning over, she took out her cell phone to call Carillo. Somehow they were going to have to figure out how to get to the airport and shake this surveillance. Her thumb poised over the send button, she eyed the brand-new phone, issued just a few days ago.

Because hers had stopped working.

Suddenly stopped.

Her glance strayed out the window, to Scotty’s departing car, wondering if they would go that far, jam her signal so she’d have to be issued a new phone. A phone they could listen in on, or at the very least track her movements with GPS…

A disturbing thought. The little bit Scotty had told her did nothing to help. She was still upset he’d kept this from her, which made her wonder who had issued the orders keeping her in the dark, and just how far they were going to keep tabs on her.

Don’t drive too fast.

She looked over at the number Scotty had left her, this Jared Dunning, and what bothered her was Scotty’s mentioning that other agencies were involved. So, other than the FBI, who?

She started pacing. Her father had worked black ops for the army. .. That scenario didn’t fit with the FBI, a domestic law enforcement agency. Army, covert operations…

Son of a bitch. She stopped, upset she hadn’t thought of this earlier. Then again how could she, since they’d purposefully kept her in the dark? How the hell had she not seen this?

Calm down. Maybe she was wrong.

Calm down, my ass. She grabbed the recycle container from beneath the sink, and then her keys, and marched downstairs, pushed in the code for the garage in the keypad, waited. When it opened, she walked past Arturo’s motorcycle and headed straight for the recycle bin, throwing the top open and dumping her container into it, promptly dropping several cans on the ground. They bounced and clattered, one rolling beneath the car.

Right where she wanted it.

She bent down, made a show of looking for the can, then walked to the front of the car where she wouldn’t be seen from the street. She knelt, shone her tiny blue light from her key ring on the undercarriage.

And saw it. The GPS tracking device attached near the wheel well. That meant she was right about her phone. They had no doubt jammed her signal, making her think something was wrong with it, so she’d be forced to get a new one, which they conveniently had waiting for her. If she had to put money on which organizations Scotty was working with, she’d bet NSA or CIA.

Didn’t matter which one. Both played by their own rules. Only one problem. No one knew what they were.