Face of a Killer

27

Somehow Sydney made it through, unlike Robert’s boat, which had more holes in it than she cared to count. Lucky for her the cutter made decent time and the helicopter pulled up and out of there, before the coast guard trained its two. 50 caliber machine guns at it.

From there it took her twenty minutes to convince them she needed to get to the San Diego field office at warp speed, when what they wanted to do was question her for hours about what she was doing in Mexican waters driving a world-class speedboat, being chased by a helicopter bearing men with guns.

Sydney, having no clue as to what Robert really did for a living these days, claimed she was merely in Mexico on a pleasure trip, when she was set upon by smugglers, who grabbed her in Puerto Nuevo, and she managed to escape on a boat that just happened to have the keys inside.

When they wouldn’t let her off their cutter, she had them make a quick call to the last person she wanted to talk to, Scotty. After a brief explanation, with as many holes in it as the boat she’d left behind, Scotty told her he’d take care of FACE OF A KILLER 211 it, his last words being for her to get on the first plane back to the city.

Five minutes later, the commander of the boat received a call, listened to whatever was being told to him, then said two words, “Yes, sir.” He looked at Sydney, said, “We’ll be transporting you to the San Diego field office.”

What was it that Vince Pettigrew had said about dealing with someone very high up the food chain? No doubt who Scotty was dealing with, because that was one quick turnaround, and all interrogations about her ordeal had instantly stopped, further proof that Scotty was investigating something she could only imagine the depths of.

When she reached the Bureau office, she was able to fend off any questions with a simple “Had a boating accident. Coast guard rescued me.” It worked since everyone there had assumed she was merely there for a bit of sightseeing, and her scraped hands, and the tear in the leg of her jeans, somewhat stiff from the dried seawater, seemed to verify her story. At least the seawater had washed off most of the dust. Her leather coat was marred from the rocky cliff, but had probably saved her a number of cuts and scrapes, and if nothing else, it added character.

She called Carillo the moment she was at the airport, gave him a quick rundown, and he said, “Well, that explains why the shit’s hitting the fan here. And I thought it was bad yesterday, after Scotty told them about the you-know-what on you that I’m not supposed to know about.”

“So he did tell Dixon?”

“I’m guessing so, since Dixon’s been holed up with him in the ASAC’s office all morning.”

“Any word on what they plan on doing?”

“Like find you a nice safe room where you can’t get into trouble? No idea. But they called me in, and asked if I knew where you took off to the other night.”

“What’d you tell them?”

“What do you think? To ask Scotty. He’s the one who took you home, maybe he knew.”

“And Scotty said what?”

“What could he say? The big nothing, since he’s the one who lost you.”

“And Dixon didn’t mention my flight to Texas?”

“He was too busy popping Tums. Lettie mentioned that you’d, uh, called in sick this morning. I’m sure he probably thought something’s up by now, but frankly, I’ve been keeping myself scarce and busy. Easy enough to do since Operation Barfly’s starting up tonight.”

“Barfly?”

“Doc Schermer came up with the name. Our multijurisdictional stakeout of the area bars, looking for Jane Doe’s killer. We got a tentative ID on her and a tip that she was last seen at one of our bars with a guy who, at least from the description given, matches your sketch of the suspect that attacked Tara Brown. I’ve got you assigned to barhop with me, but who knows how that’ll go over. Especially after today.”

“Any word on Wheeler’s photos yet?”

“Sorry. Not yet. But you know the moment we hear something…”

And all she could think was Johnnie Wheeler had three days from tomorrow.

Her phone beeped with a low battery warning. “Gonna have to go, before I lose you.”

“By the way, whose phone are you using, if you left yours behind?”

“My neighbor’s. The one who lent me his bike.”

“Nice neighbor.”

“Yeah. I should probably get him a Christmas present.”

“Before you start shopping, you might want to get your ass back here, see if you still have a job.”

“I’m boarding the plane as we speak.”

Sydney took a taxi home, stopped there long enough to shower, throw on some clean jeans, on the off chance that they might let her go out, then grabbed the same leather coat, as well as Arturo’s backpack, not having time to search out something better, because according to Lettie, her bosses were on the warpath, and Sydney was the star victim.

The office buzzed with activity when she walked in, agents who normally would’ve been winding down, getting ready to leave for the day, were now just coming in, checking weapons, cuffs, and radios for the upcoming task force operation. Lettie cornered Sydney the moment she saw her. “Dixon wants you in his office right away.”

“I’ll be right there.” She passed Carillo, who gave her a once-over at the sight of her sunburned face and scraped hands, then grinned.

“This the new Baja look?”

“You know me. Cutting-edge style.”

“Never seen you dressed casual before.” He leaned back in his chair, propped his feet up on the desk. “Want a bit of advice before you go in? Off the record, since Scotty informed me I know nothing.”

“Go for it.”

“Deny, deny, deny.”

“Gee, aren’t you the helpful one.”

“I’m here for you.” As she started toward her desk, he called out, “You look hot in black leather, but the whole reflective backpack? Gotta go.”

She walked back toward him, dumped her backpack on his desk, then leaned down so only he could hear. “Which reminds me. Inside is a bank pouch. That’s what they were shooting at me for, and maybe what Scotty and his crew are searching for.”

He eyed it with new interest. “That right?”

“Don’t ask me what the hell it is, but maybe you’ll have better luck. Just don’t go waving it around unless you’re wearing body armor.”

She left it with him, walked to Dixon’s office, ignoring the stares of her coworkers, who all seemed to know that something was up. She tried to look calmer than she felt, then knocked on the door.

Dixon gave a terse “Come in.”

She opened it, stepped in, saw him glance up at his Tahiti brochure next to his retirement calendar, as he popped a couple of Tums in his mouth, no doubt wishing for something stronger.

The ASAC had his back to her, talking, or rather listening to someone on the phone, and Scotty stood to one side, his arms crossed, a vein pulsing in his temple as he pinned his gaze on her. She tried not to look at him. “You wanted to see me?” she asked, then immediately regretted it. Of course he wanted to see her. Everyone in here knew it, and apparently everyone in the outer office knew it as well.

Dixon held up one finger, indicating she needed to wait until the ASAC was off the phone. She’d be lucky if he didn’t have her transferred to some safe house in Alaska, then ship her fifty boxes of data entry, just to keep her busy while they finished up their investigation.

Finally the ASAC hung up the phone. He stood maybe two inches taller than Sydney, salt and pepper hair, blue eyes, and pale skin. His wide mouth was set in a stern line as he turned toward her, clearly upset. “Special Agent Fitzpatrick,” he said, eyeing her clothes before meeting her gaze. “You are, of course, acquainted with Special Agent Scott Ryan.”

As acquainted as sleeping with the guy for six months could make her, she supposed. “Yes, sir.”

“I have just spent the past several hours with Special Agent Ryan, discussing an ongoing investigation into one or more persons on the staff of Senator Gnoble, whom I believe you’re also acquainted with. ..”

She waited, knew what was coming next, not sure what she could say that wouldn’t get her in more trouble than she was already in.

“Damn it!” He slammed his fist on Dixon’s desk, and she jumped slightly. Even Dixon and Scotty moved back an inch as he looked at her. “No one, and I mean no one threatens one of my agents and gets away with it.”

She stared in incomprehension. “Sir?”

“I don’t know how to tell you this. Someone in the senator’s office has made a threat to your life.”

She glanced at Scotty, his face impassive, before looking back at the ASAC, and saying, “A threat?”

“It may be worse. Special Agent Ryan, please inform her what you told me yesterday morning. And what you are asking of her.”

Scotty eyed her, nodded toward the chair, said, “Perhaps you should sit.”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“We have reason to believe that someone in the senator’s office has hired someone to… kill you.”

“ Kill me?” No one answered. She walked over to the window, looked out to the street below, doing her best to act surprised, shocked, realizing this was how Scotty intended to cover himself, inform her and let her bosses know-and not a word about Mexico. Finally she turned, faced them. “Do you know who?”

“We think so. We don’t know if he is the only one involved, or if

…” Scotty took a breath, held her gaze, as though he weren’t sure how she’d take this. Not bad, she thought. “Or if there is anyone else higher up who is in on this.”

“You mean the senator?”

“Yes.”

“I find that hard to believe. He’s a family friend.”

“We know that.”

“Why would anyone in his office want me dead?” she asked, trying her best to look mortified, and hoping one of them might slip up, tell her something Scotty hadn’t mentioned.

“We’re not sure,” Scotty replied. “But we think it may have something to do with what your father did for the government quite some time ago when he worked with Gnoble. And that material is classified.”

“Which means you can’t tell me?”

“Correct.”

She crossed her arms, having no trouble acting angry over that statement. It still galled her. “But of course you’re going to go out and arrest this person? Take care of it?”

Scotty’s gaze flicked to the ASAC’s, then back to her. “We could. But our case isn’t… where we’d like it.”

She thought of the pouch in her backpack, wondered if that had anything to do with any of this. “I don’t understand.”

And the ASAC said, “Apparently this is a joint investigation, the details of which I can’t go into right now. But they’re asking for your help.”

“ My help?”

“They’re worried that if we suddenly pull you from your duties, it might tip off someone to their investigation. I, however, don’t care what they’re investigating. My concern is for your safety.”

She looked at Scotty, his face still unreadable. So he’d done it after all. Kept his promise to keep her on the street. Now it was her turn to make sure she didn’t blow her chance. “What kind of help?”

And Scotty said, “Nothing more than you going about your day-to-day job as though nothing were amiss.”

She looked out the window long enough to appear as though she were thinking about this, before she turned her attention to the ASAC. “I’ll do it. If someone’s trying to kill me, I want to make damned sure there’s enough evidence to put whoever’s behind this away.”

“You’re sure?” the ASAC said.

“Damned sure.”

He turned to Scotty. “And you and your team can provide the security necessary to ensure she’s not in danger?”

“We’re equipped to provide all necessary security, assuming she can follow orders, understand that I’ll be her handling agent, and that if necessary, if we determine it’s too dangerous,” he said, his gaze holding hers, “we call off the whole thing.”

Okay, so he got in his last dig. At least she was assured of some freedom. But was it enough to do what she needed?

Dixon, however, looked unconvinced about the entire affair, his gaze moving from her to Scotty and back again. But it was the ASAC who said, “If anything happens to her, Special Agent Ryan, I’ll have your job.”

“Yes, sir.”

There was a knock at the door. Dixon got up, answered it. Carillo stood there, handed him the op plan to approve. “We’re, uh, ready to start the briefing,” he said, then looked at Sydney. “We definitely need copies of that report, and uh, your sketch.”

Sydney said, “Any chance you can burn them for me?”

Carillo nodded, left, and Dixon looked over the plans. “You’re partnered with Carillo on this,” he said. “You can bow out tonight if you like. I’ll get Ren Pham-Peck to take your place.”

“No,” she said, standing. “I think it’s best to keep things normal. Don’t you, Special Agent Ryan?” she asked, looking right at Scotty. “Make sure no one else knows what’s going on?”

Scotty’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

The ASAC said, “Well, looks like we have everything taken care of.” He looked right at Sydney. “I’m glad you’re taking this so well. You’re an asset to the Bureau.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said, and almost felt guilty.

He gave Dixon a pat on his shoulder, his public show of confidence. “I’ll leave you to handle this, Dave.”

After he left, Dixon told Scotty, “Before I get started on the task force meeting, I’d like to speak to Fitzpatrick. Alone.”

Scotty pulled a cell phone from his pocket, handed it to her. “You left your phone behind. For safety reasons, we need you to keep it with you.”

“Well, this would’ve come in handy.” She smiled at him, took the phone, and, if truth be told, was amused at his ire as he strode from the office.

Dixon, however, wasn’t amused at anything. He picked up a felt-tip pen from a container on his desk, then stood. “Normally,” he said, making a show of marking off a day on his retirement calendar, “I wait until I’m leaving for the day to do this. The way things are going around here, I’m not sure I’ll get the opportunity.”

She knew better than to speak.

“Your trip to Texas…” He snapped the cap on the pen with enough force to break the thing. “How was it?”

“Just as you thought, cases weren’t related. Probably a big waste of time.”

He eyed his calendar, then dropped the pen back into the container, before turning his gaze on her, and then her scraped hands, his expression unreadable. “Let’s hope it wasn’t. I’d hate to think you went to all that trouble for nothing.”