Deadly Sins (41 page)

“And?”

His eyes widened. “And . . . there’s some guy on the other end using a voice distorter, claiming to be the DC killer. Says you guys don’t have dick on him—I’m paraphrasing here—and that his messages aren’t getting out to the public. He wants his side told, says I’m the one to do it, and sends something along he claims you can use as a clue to the next victim. Says to call you . . .”

Everything inside her froze. “Wait. He said to call
me
?”

“That’s right. Think I don’t have contacts higher up in the agency to take this to? But he was asking about you, so I told him what I know. He told me to set up a meet, and I got back to him with the specifics after I talked to you . . . just left a message is all.”

Time seemed to slow down then. “Bolton.” Her voice was urgent. “Did he tell you where to meet me?”

“Yeah.” He reached into the envelope and pulled out a Ziploc bag. With a white note card inside it. “Said to show you this.”

A car horn blared on the street across from them at the same time her cell went off. Something had her looking in the direction of the horn. Adam had driven up the street and stopped across from them, and his driver’s window was down. He was shouting something. Waving frantically. Pointing at the parking garage directly behind him.

Suspicion turned to comprehension. She tackled Bolton even as she was drawing her weapon.

But the sound of the rifle shot was heard before either of them hit the ground.

Adam heard the shot. Saw them both fall. And his lungs stopped drawing in air. People on the sidewalk were screaming, pushing each other frantically in an effort to escape. A bus rumbled by then, blocking his view.

And the thought of Jaid lying crumpled and bleeding on the sidewalk a few yards away made him want to give a primal howl of anguish.

He raced around the edge of the bus and was halfway across the street before he saw Jaid rise, and bile rose in his throat. She was covered in blood. In gray matter. And Bolton wasn’t moving.

“Are you hit?” The words were torn from somewhere deep inside him.

She shook her head vehemently. She had her weapon in one hand, her cell in the other. “Secure the garage!” she shouted.

Cars blared their horns as they passed him on each side. He was in the middle of the street and wanted, needed to go to her. To assure himself she was unhurt.

He didn’t ever recall having to wrestle between duty and emotion. But this time, it wasn’t even a battle. Adam headed toward her.

“Go! I’m fine!”

If nothing else, the urgency in her voice convinced him. Grimly, he backtracked, halting for vehicles that showed no signs of stopping, dodging between others to get back to his car. It took an endless minute to get to the entrance of the parking garage. He left his vehicle in one of the lanes and got out, dialing 911 as he strode up to the attendant’s booth.

“Hey!” The attendant ignored the car on the other side waiting to pay. “You can’t leave your car there.”

“There’s been a shooting in front of the
Gazette
building.” He rattled off the address. “One person down. An FBI agent securing the scene. Shooter is likely still inside the parking garage directly across the street. Send cars to secure both entrances.” The attendant’s eyes had grown huge as Adam spoke.

Ignoring the dispatcher’s questions, he dropped the phone back in his pocket. Fished in his pocket to flash his ID at the attendant. “Get security to the area. Have them posted at every exit. Shut down the elevators. Is there another way for cars to get out of here?”

One of the vehicles waiting to pay honked impatiently. To his credit, the attendant, a twentysomething with a bad case of acne, was already on his radio. “Yes, sir, the east entrance.”

“Radio that attendant. Have any cars currently in the lanes vacated and left in place.” They would act as a sort of barricade. “Have security lock down the elevators. Take anybody on foot to a secured area. Vehicle in question is likely a panel van.”

Adam didn’t wait to see if the man obeyed. He was already moving to the cars in the lanes next to him. “Out of the vehicle. FBI.” His temporary ID was pressed against the driver’s window. The man, a midthirties suit, started to argue until he saw the gun in Adam’s other hand.

“Leave the keys,” Adam barked. He heard the sound of running footsteps. Turned his head to see a security officer approaching. “Go with him.” The man was slow to obey so Adam gave him a slight push. “It’s important that you cooperate, sir.”

“But what about my car?”

He was moving on to the next vehicle. The driver, an elderly woman with a mop of improbably gold curls, was staring at him with her mouth an O. He repeated the direction and got her out of the car. He vacated several more waiting in line, and the guard hurried the drivers away. Then Adam waited, hoping he’d chosen the right entrance.

The garage’s back entrance would provide the shooter with the most privacy. It opened onto Klur, a street much less well traveled than the one out front. But Klur was one way, with no stoplight at the next corner. Cars could sit for an hour trying to find a break in traffic to get across it.

If it were him, he’d try this entrance.

“Do you have the other exit blocked?”

The attendant looked frightened. “I think so. I told him what you said to do.”

Adam nodded. Then looked at the vehicle doing a slow roll around the second level. “You need to find a safe place. Follow that guard to wherever he took the others.”

The young man needed no further urging. He hurried away. Adam didn’t watch to see which direction he went. He was too busy looking at the black panel van rounding the corner and rolling toward him.

His weapon aimed at the vehicle, he approached it, keeping close to the parked cars along the wall. If he was wrong, he’d scare the hell out some driver who would never use public parking again. If he was correct . . .

He noted the exact moment the van driver realized the cars in the lanes ahead were empty. Adam stepped out from his cover, weapon aimed. “Get out of the vehicle. Hands in the air.”

There was a second when the man driving turned to him. Smiled. Adam had an instant to observe that he was younger than he would have thought. Then the driver threw the van in reverse, before switching gears to accelerate forward.

He hit the first car blocking the lane at the same time that Adam’s shot shattered the driver’s window. The impact had slammed the first empty vehicle into the next one. But the lanes were still solidly blocked.

Adam moved parallel to the vehicle. It remained unmoving. Then it’s passenger door opened. The driver got out. Raised the barrel of his rifle.

Bullets tore into metal. Adam’s face was on the pavement, his cane lost in his dive to safety. He used the fender of the nearest car to haul himself upright, saw the man running toward the exit.

“Drop your weapon.” He fired a warning shot.

The shooter turned then. Brought up his rifle again.

Three shots sounded in quick succession. Adam watched the man wheel back, drop his weapon. Fall to the garage floor.

“Put down your gun! Hands behind your head.”

The police had arrived. Adam set the weapon on the trunk of the nearest car and clasped his fingers behind his head. He watched two uniformed officers approach the man as another came toward him, weapon aimed. Arriving late on the scene, they’d have no way of knowing how it’d gone down.

“FBI. My ID is in my left inside-coat pocket.”

“Take it out,” the officer told him, his weapon still pointed. “Carefully.”

Adam obeyed, holding it out so the man could take it. Examine it more closely. After he did he lowered his weapon but didn’t holster it. “We’re clear here,” he called to his colleagues.

“Is he alive?” Adam called out to the other two officers who were rising. But he was afraid he already knew the answer.

“Not a chance. Three shots, center mass, all within an inch of each other. That’s some pretty good shooting.”

But Adam wasn’t feeling celebratory. They’d just lost a chance to tie the assassin to the mastermind behind the DC killings.

“I already went over this a half-a-dozen times,” Jaid said tiredly. “I’m sure Adam has, too.” At least she hadn’t had to go through a shooting review like he would have been put through.

“Not with me, you haven’t.” Recognizing the tone in Hedgelin’s voice, she ran through it once more. Then listened, with growing horror, as Adam gave a brief recitation of what had occurred in the parking garage.

“A security guard has backed up your story.” Hedgelin inclined his head toward Adam. “Although it’s unfortunate you killed the shooter, effectively shutting down that avenue of questioning, we at least have an identification. Cody Tweed. Did a stretch at Leavenworth, disappeared five years ago, and his parole officer never heard from him again. This is the first time he’s surfaced.”

“What was he sentenced for?”

“Murder one. He ended up getting his time commuted in return for his testimony that brought down a drug cartel in Miami. The same cartel he’d provided muscle for. Either he started a solo business and started hiring out, or he developed a strong dislike for the four DC victims.”

The number had her wincing slightly. Four. Bolton had been executed right in front of her. In mid-sentence. Midlife. If she let it, today’s events would drag her into a dark place it would take time to recover from. “Who was the target? Me or Bolton?”

Hedgelin looked at her sharply. “We’re assuming the reporter.” He reached for a file folder on his desk, flipped it open, and turned it around so they could see the digital picture of a white card. Red lettering. Encased in a Ziploc. “I’m told he had an alcohol problem.”

“Gluttony.” Adam’s gaze met hers. “That’s what he was showing you when I caught your attention.”

She nodded tiredly. “I’d already gotten spooked because it sounded like he’d been told not only to arrange the meet with me but where. There was only one reason for that to be predetermined—if the killer was planning to be there, too.” Jaid wanted nothing more than for this day to end. She was wearing ill-fitting sneakers and scrubs that someone had brought her. She didn’t know where her clothes were. Didn’t care. There was no way she wanted them back.

Every time she had an instant to think, anxiety filled her. She’d had a chance to send a quick text to Stacy, telling her to keep Royce away from the television, but there was no way of knowing if the girl had been successful.

Whenever she recalled the reporter’s words, ice water washed through her veins. What had the man told him? And how much of it was about Royce?

“I read your linguist’s report denying a match of authorship from the communications found on Lambert’s computer and his written statement.” The assistant director directed the words at Adam. “Intriguing. Naturally, I’ll want to duplicate the tests with our own experts.”

Adam inclined his head. “Naturally.”

“We thought we could also run authorship match tests on that e-mail found on Lambert’s computer and writing samples of the people of interest in this case,” Jaid put in. “I got some statements from Senator Newell, his two sons, and Joseph Bailey today. If you can get us a sample from Dr. Harandi, we can at least start narrowing our search.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Hedgelin shifted his attention to Adam. “How does this latest death affect the profile?”

The demand implicit in the question was ridiculous. A profile was a researched, tediously developed document, not something offered off the cuff. So she was surprised when Adam answered the assistant director. “I think it supports the last profile I gave you. Tweed’s background makes it likely that it was a work for hire, allowing the mastermind of these killings to remain in the background, safely pulling the strings.” He smiled grimly. “Chess pieces. That’s how he’s likely to think of all the people affected. He’s personally motivated and gratified by each death. And he’s not done.”

“What makes you think that?”

“He orchestrated that last death in front of an FBI agent.” She read the apology in the gaze he sent her. It fortified something inside her. “He’s taking things up a notch. Thumbing his nose at the attempts to stop him. He’s saying, ‘See this? You could be next.’ ”

“You think he’s escalating?”

“I think he’s had every act planned from the start,” Adam said flatly. “Executed to a tee. And he’s working up to his grand denouement.”