snakebyte: book 5.0 in the Byte Series (The _byte series) Page 11

  “Sam?” I said, tipping my head in her direction. “She’s standing on something.”

  He reached her in four strides.

  After inspecting the metal plate under her feet he said, “I’m going to take the tape off your face. Sorry in advance.” He handed me his shotgun and ripped off the tape. Her skin flamed almost instantly where the tape had been. Ouch. “You all right? Hurt?”

  “No. I can’t move. He told me it would explode if I did.”

  “Let’s get the handcuffs off and then worry about the possible explosive,” Sam said. My attention switched from the gaping hole that was a door and the woman. She was calm. Calm. Unusual.

  “Who are you?” Mary Tierney asked.

  “FBI. SSA Jackson and SSA Conway,” Sam replied.

  He pocketed the handcuffs.

  Mary rubbed her wrist.

  “Now what?” she asked.

  “Now you stay still and let us come up with a plan,” I replied. Sam looked around the room.

  “Sam?”

  “You know what I’m thinking?”

  Yes. I did. She was just standing on a piece of metal. Risky thinking.

  “Let’s do it.”

  Sam grinned. I moved up on Mary’s left and Sam on her right. We grabbed her just above the elbow.

  “Move. Fast,” I said. She had no a choice. We ran out the door dragging her with us. I counted as we ran. We were out the door six seconds before we heard a small bang. The ground shook for a moment. Bits of debris and dust floated out of the doorway.

  We leaned her against the wall. “Wait one,’ Sam said.

  He and I went back to the room. We’d done more damage than the explosive. It wasn’t designed to kill anyone, just maim, irritate, and slow us down.

  “Little bit suspicious?” I muttered. “She was never supposed to die, maybe lose a few toes.”

  “Perhaps Chad isn’t a total prick?” Sam replied.

  “That could be it.” Doubtful.

  “Let’s get her out of here and back to Tierney.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Another Reason to Believe.

  Daylight poured into the area beyond the menacing escalators. They jerked and ground into action, mechanical noises echoing in the cavernous area.

  I don’t know if they were less terrifying moving or stationary.

  Sam and I rode in silence. Between us, we had Jonathon’s wife, Mary. Unhurt but shaken. James Bond slid across the top of the escalator “Shaken not stirred” and disappeared in a Saville Row blur. At the top of the escalator people emerged from the street. I took Mary’s arm.

  “This way, ma’am,” I said steering her toward the light, air and freedom.

  She nodded.

  Two steps and I heard my name. My real name. Who even uses that?

  “Gabrielle?”

  My head turned to seek out the voice. I knew the voice just needed to see his face to confirm. The voice belonged to a smile and the smile to a tall lean blast from my teenage years. He grinned at me.

  “Gabrielle Conway?”

  “Yes.” A beat. “Mitchell Iverson. Mitch?”

  His grin broadened. “Been a few years …”

  “Yeah.” Just a few. I scrambled to remember how many. Twenty-three or so.

  I knew I was smiling. Sam tapped my shoulder and broke the spell. I became aware of the SWAT vest I wore and the assault rifle nestled in the crook of my arm. I blinked. Mitch regarded me with what I suspected was curiosity. People were skirting around us as the morning rush swung into high gear. Behind Mitch, I saw the door we’d opened. Someone had moved it out of the way. Security probably.

  “Busy morning?” Mitch asked, looking from me to the rifle.

  “Little bit,” I replied

  “Coffee, when you’re less … busy?”

  “Absolutely,” I replied, trying to remember where my business cards were. Under my vest. Velcro and Kevlar fail. Mitchell stretched out his hand and tucked a card into my jean pocket.

  “Call me.”

  “I will.”

  I would. I definitely would. He smiled and stepped over the edge of the escalator, or that’s what it looked like from where I stood. There was no sickening thud. It felt safe to believe he’d stepped onto the escalator and not over it.

  We continued to the car, safely ensconced Mary in the backseat, and removed our gear.

  “What was that?” Sam asked as he took the keys.

  “What?”

  “That thing that happened back there with … Mitchell, was it?”

  “Don’t know what you are talking about,” I said, failing to hide the smile on my face as I climbed into the passenger side but not before I saw the look Sam threw at me. He had more questions. I knew we wouldn’t be discussing anything with Mary Tierney in the car and felt a smug sense of secretive security.

  “Where’s my husband?” Mary Tierney asked.

  “Hoover building,” I replied. “We’re going there now.”

  “He’s all right?”

  “Yes, he’s fine. Worried about you.”

  “It was only a matter of time before something dreadful happened,” she muttered. I could see her reflection in the wing mirror but struggled to read her expression. Mitch’s smile kept sliding in front of my eyes. I was definitely going to call him. My eyes flicked to the wing mirror. Did she just smile a little? Fleeting. Imagination? Maybe.

  I watched and never saw the smile again. We pulled into the underground car park, left the vehicle, grabbed all the gear, and made our way to the elevator. I handed Sam the bulletproof vest and helmet but kept the rifle. I cradled it in my arms, the sling dangling beside me. Sam held the vest and helmet with one hand and Mary’s elbow with the other.

  Escorted is the only way to get into our building. We should’ve taken her through the front entrance and signed her in but I didn’t want her on the street at all. Just in case. So parking garage and straight up to my office. Escorted. Two minutes after exiting the car, we were walking along the corridor to my office. A hum of voices rose from the bullpen. I waved at Claude the Delta B team leader. He waved back.

  Turning the door handle, I leaned on the door and swung it inward.

  Jonathon jumped to his feet. I stepped aside to allow Mary to enter. She took three steps into the room, her hand delved inside her jacket. Jonathon held out his arms to her then dropped them, confusion raced across his face. I circled to the right, rifle snug against my shoulder. She clearly held a pistol. Unexpected. My gut twinged. I should have called it. She was too calm when we found her. Damn.

  “Drop it!” I said. My index finger slipped inside the guard and rested on the trigger.

  Sam came up on her left. “Now!” he said.

  Jonathon’s face froze.

  Mary’s finger moved. I fired. The bullet tore through her head and the wall beyond. Tierney toppled sideways as his wife crumpled, surprised, to the floor.

  Ah, crap. It would take a lot of cleaning to get the blood, brains, and skull fragments off my walls and carpet.

  “You okay?” I asked Jonathon while placing my rifle on my desk. Gotta love a SIG. A crowd gathered outside my office. I reached down and helped Tierney to his feet. He was clutching his upper arm. Blood oozed through his fingers. I unfurled his hand, took a look, and deemed the wound survivable. From the first aid kit under my desk, I took hemostatic bandages and wrapped his arm. Sam’s voice could be heard as he walked into the hallway using her cell phone to call for an ambulance. I leaned against my desk, resting on the very edge and surveying the mess in front of me.

  “Your wife. Tried. To kill you,” I said with precision.

  Jonathon was sitting on the floor, slumped against the modesty panel on my desk.

  “I don’t understand,” he mumbled.

  “Me neither. But I will. I will,” I replied. “Gimme a minute.”

  Music wound through the air, I knew no one else could hear it. One long slow breath later, I was listening to Eminem, ‘Love the
way you lie.’ I let it play to the end. It’s a song I like and I didn’t want to jump to conclusions too quickly.

  Tierney spoke, “Chad had her. We saw her on the video link.” He stared at her body.

  “You were set up. She was plan B.”

  Jonathon tilted his face toward me. “Plan B?”

  “Yeah, plan A – take out Lee, make sure Chad is seen by me to draw you out. He probably wanted a two-bird-one-stone scenario. Keep you and me out of the way, so he could retrieve his nuclear crap. But he screwed that up. Plan B – enlist Mary’s help.”

  “But she’s my wife.”

  Really?

  “That makes her perfect. Who else could get right up to you with a gun?”

  “That’s true.”

  “You the devoted operations manager/handler, always on call. Her the vulnerable lonely wife. I assume she couldn’t talk about you or your work … regular friends are hard to come by in that sort of circumstance.” That much I knew from experience. “Bet you were absent a lot too?”

  He nodded. She was also younger than her husband, or maybe just better preserved.

  “This is in no way your fault, Jonathon, Chad was furthering his cause and he found a way to exploit your wife.” I paused. “I take they knew each other?”

  “Yes. They met many times. Company picnics, functions.”

  “And they hit it off?”

  He nodded. “Sometimes they attended plays together, usually a crowd would go, and often I was working. I knew she was safe with him.” He looked at her body. “I thought she was safe with him.”

  The unmistakable clack of ambulance gurney wheels resounded down the corridor.

  “This will be your ride,” I said, helping him to his feet. “Be better if we went out.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Why Aren’t You Dead?

  While my office was being cleaned, I moved into the bullpen. Sam perched on my desk and leaned toward me.

  “Tell me about Mitchell Iverson.”

  I swallowed the smile that brewed every time I thought of him.

  “A family friend.” I tried for dismissive but he wasn’t in a hurry to move on.

  “That’s all you got?”

  “What more do you need?”

  “Nothing, the guy made you smile, feels like it’s been a long time.”

  Hold your horse’s boyo. I detected slight secretiveness.

  “What do you know?” I asked.

  “He’s clean. Been working for the same company since he left college. If he’s a serial killer, he hasn’t been caught yet.”

  “He’s not a serial killer, Sam.”

  Protective much?

  “How good a friend?”

  “Sam, it’s all good. Trust me.”

  ***

  An hour after I shot and killed Mary Tierney, survived Sam’s big brother act, and spoke at length to the assistant Director and Director regarding the incident I was back outside the theater. Called by Andrews to identify a body.

  NEST were still on site. I picked my way around the multitude of law enforcement vehicles carrying the SWAT gear I’d used earlier.

  I banged on the mobile command unit door.

  “Hey Ellie, come on in,” Andrews called.

  I climbed the steps and entered the close atmosphere that was the SWAT command vehicle.

  “This is yours, thanks.” I said dropping the vest onto the counter. Andrews took the rifle and leaned it next to him.

  “Thanks. We have three bodies. We think one is your man.”

  Good result.

  “Did NEST find the fissile material?”

  “Yes, and employed intelligence gathered from your ventriloquist prisoner to locate four other transport routes. Various teams are handling the recoveries, as we speak.”

  “You interviewed my prisoner?”

  Andrews grinned. “No, your SAC took that.”

  Not surprising they got good Intel then.

  “So where have you been?” Andrews asked as I shielded a yawn.

  “Hostage rescue. Rosslyn Metro. The fucking hostage shot my guy in my office.” I nodded toward the rifle. “Yeah, that was fired.”

  “Fun night,” he commented with a wry grin. “How’s Lee?”

  “Don’t know,” I replied and hoped no news was good news. “Let’s ID those bodies so I can go find out.”

  He led the way.

  The first body was the one I’d already seen. Second body, a young male, early twenties. Slightly familiar, but not in a murderous way. Third body. I found my fingers crossed. Hoping against the odds that they got the bastard.

  Andrews peeled back the tarp covering the body. It was him. My heart pounded. I was looking at Mac lying bleeding on the road all over again. I didn’t expect the shock wave and it almost dumped me on my ass. I staggered backwards trying to find my footing as the cold dead body on the ground superimposed over my dead husband’s bloody body.

  “Ellie?”

  A sharp breath wracked my body.

  “It’s him. That’s Chad.”

  The tarp dropped back over his face. I looked away.

  “You okay?” Andrews asked, touching my arm.

  Spiderman scampered up the building in front of me, a speech bubble hanging on the cold stone beside him. The words shimmered. It’s over now.

  “Yeah. I’m okay. It’s over. I’m outta here.”

  Spinning on my heels, I strode back to my car and pulled the card from my pocket. I leaned on the car and made a call.

  “Hey, Mitch, it’s me. You free for coffee later today?”

  “Gabrielle?”

  “Sorry, yeah, Ellie, please.”

  “I can do coffee. When and where?”

  I checked my watch and glanced at my clothing. Not ideal. Blood splatter is not conducive to a coffee date.

  “Oneish, my place?”

  “Sounds good, any chance of the address?”

  The smile in his words caused a similar event on my own face. I gave him the address.

  “Just buzz at the gate. I’ll let you in,” I said.

  “Buzz?”

  “Yeah, buzz. You’ll see.”

  I hung up. A smile still plastered on my face, climbed into my car, and headed back to work.

  A strange silence enveloped the hallway as I strode to my temporary office. The minute I crossed the threshold chairs scraped across carpet, everyone stood up.

  Mass exodus? Do I smell that bad?

  Confusion clouded my mind and forced the smile off my lips.

  They were clapping. Clapping? I glanced over my shoulder, no one there.

  Sam stepped forward.

  “Chicky Babe,” he clapped slowly and stopped. “We heard. Nuclear threat neutralized, the guy who shot Lee is no longer with us, and Tierney is safe.”

  “Yeah, I heard those things too.”

  Sam laughed.

  “Welcome back. We missed you around here.”

  I waved an arm over my head to stop the nonsense.

  “Thank you all. Team work, it’s what we do.”

  Claude stepped forward.

  “Thought you were working the Rock Creek Strangler case?”

  “Me, too. You know how it is. One thing leads to another – nuclear disaster averted.” I laughed. “So many freaks in the world.”

  “A few less now, Conway. A few less now.”

  “If you’re all done embarrassing me I have paperwork to start on and a hospital to call.”

  The room erupted into a cheer. Color flooded my face. It burned.

  “Great Job, Chicky Babe,” Sam whispered into my ear as I slid into the chair at my temporary desk and disappeared into Sentinel to write up the reports. Figured I should start with discharging a weapon inside my office, killing a rescued hostage and work backwards from there, while I waited for SWAT, bomb techs, and NEST to copy me with their reports.

  An hour later, my fingers hurt from typing fast and I hauled myself out of the chair. My gun, badge, and
phone were lying on my desk. Sam attracted my attention.

  “Lee is in ICU but he’s doing okay so far.”

  “Visitors?” I inquired.

  “Family only for the next forty-eight hours,” he replied.

  “We go together as soon as we’re allowed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where’s Kurt?” I asked.

  “Sleeping, I hope. Had a car pick him up and take him home,” Sam said.

  “Good, long night.”

  “Told him we’d see him tomorrow.”

  “Did anyone get a chance to interview Blanchard, Latham, and that bird?” I wanted to sign off on the case.

  “Caine stepped in. He’ll write the report and add it to the case file.”

  Good. I didn’t have to worry about it.

  “Did he tell you anything?”

  “Latham was the Rock Creek strangler. Blanchard was a contact of his and had no idea that Latham killed his cousin. Blanchard was there to pick up a package and deliver it to …”

  “Chad?”

  He nodded. “That’s the feeling. Blanchard reckons he’d never met Chad in person and was supposed to take the package to Rosslyn Metro.”

  Interesting.

  “Thanks Sam. Go home. Get some sleep. I’m heading home myself now.”

  I holstered my weapon, stuck my phone and badge in my pockets, and headed out the door.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Blood on Blood.

  Traffic was a pain in the ass. I got home with fifteen minutes to spare. Just time enough to put the coffee on and remove all evidence of the tequila bender. That wasn’t an impression I wanted to give. I managed to have a quick shower and put on clean clothes. No time for nerves.

  The gate buzzer filled the hallway. I pressed the gate release and opened the front door. There I stood on the front porch wiping my palms down the legs of my jeans. Not nervous.

  A mid-blue Ford Taurus cruised to a stop by the front door. There he was, smiling at me as he hopped out of the car carrying a supermarket bag.

  “Having a good day?” he asked, leaning in and kissing my cheek.

  “Busy, you?” I ushered him inside and pressed the door closed. “How are your parents?”