Dead Heat (28 page)

He shook his head. “You’re nervous because you’re mad.”

“I’m not mad!”

She sounded angry, and she knew it. She sat heavily in her reading chair and sighed. “How do you know?”

“Because I know you. You’re the most calm, even-tempered person I know.”

She almost smiled. “Even when you met me in the pouring rain half hysterical when I found out my family lied to me?”

“Half hysterical?” Now he did laugh. “You had every right to be angry, but you were so calm about it.” He walked over to her and sat on the arm of her chair. “It’s okay to be angry. And scared.”

“Not for me,” she said. The anger was still there—the anger that someone had broken into her house, the house she shared with Sean; anger that someone had threatened her, using pig’s blood to try to intimidate her; anger that she might be pulled off a case when she was so deeply invested in it. In the people, the investigation. It wasn’t fair, and she didn’t know how to convince her boss that she needed to be involved. Maybe she wouldn’t have to. Maybe he’d already come to the same conclusion.

But she also felt a layer of calm over the heat.

Not
needed
. The only way Juan would let her stay was if she explained—calmly—why she was an
asset
to the team. Why they couldn’t let these criminals intimidate a federal agent, why letting them control the players let them control everything.

She sat down next to Sean but didn’t touch him. She said, “Do you know why I usually act so cold?”

“You’re not cold.”

“Yes, I am. I know it. I have this layer, a protective layer, that makes me come off as calm and cool.”

“It’s a defense mechanism, and it helps you do a damn good job.”

“Yes—but not in the way you think. If I don’t have the calm, the cool, I fear the pit of anger I’ve been harboring for so long will escape. I have to ice myself down to keep it from exploding. It’s so hot sometimes,” she whispered.

Sean stared at her as if he were only seeing her for the first time.

“Don’t,” she said, turning away.

“Don’t what?”

“Look at me like that.”

“Like what? Lucy, what are you scared of?”

“You know me, but maybe you don’t.”

“You’re sounding silly.”

“Am I?” How could she explain? She’d come to not only expect, but maybe
need
Sean to understand her without her having to explain. Explaining meant confronting the pit of rage deep in her soul. She didn’t want to put words to anything so dark, so dangerous.

“Do you think I would be upset if you got mad? On the contrary, I’m glad you do. Sometimes I worry that you keep everything
too
closed up, too much inside.”

“I have to, Sean, don’t you understand that? If I let it out, it might consume me.”

He took her hand. She tried to pull away, but he kept a firm grip on her. “Lucy, I love everything about you. I love the calm, I love the heat. Never hide from me. If you want to scream in frustration, I want to hear it. I’m not going to worry if you need to explode. You
should
be mad at what happened here. If you weren’t—maybe then I would be concerned.”

“But what if I can’t control it? What if I let it out and can’t stop it?”

“Trust yourself, because God knows I do.” He stared at her and she wanted to stay here, locked in his deep-blue eyes, where she felt the most safe, the most at peace, the most
normal.
“If you need the heat, use it. If you need the ice, use it. They are tools at your disposal. You think you can’t control it, but you do. Every day.” He frowned. “What are you scared of, baby?”

“I’m not scared,” she said. “I mean, I am, but that’s not what this is about. I wanted to shoot that guy. I could see myself, standing at the top of the stairs, and putting three bullets into his chest.”

“But you didn’t,” Sean said.

“But I wanted to.”

“Hell,
I
want to.”

“I’m angry that they made me scared. I’m angry that they violated our home. That they broke our window, dumped blood on our door. That they made me, for one minute, feel like a victim again.”

She stood, needing to pace again. Now she understood why Kate had to move all the time. It was the adrenaline, and it was pumping through her. She didn’t know if it was good or bad, but she felt better.

“I’m
not
a victim.”

“You’re not.”

“I’m an asset to this team. They need me. Obviously, Sanchez and his people think that I’m close to uncovering something they don’t want us to know. I’m going to figure it out, then I’m going to help stop him.”

“Of course you are.”

She finally stopped walking and stared at him. God, she loved this man. “I’m sorry you had to leave Dallas. I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I’m done. All I was going to do today was gloat when the embezzler got axed. I can write the reports for their attorney from here. And
you
are more important than anything, especially a short-term job.”

She strode over, put his face in her hands, and kissed him. “Thank you. I can do this.”

Sean watched her go into the closet to get dressed. He was both relieved and worried. Relieved because she was fine, she would be fine; worried because someone had threatened her. The device under her car wouldn’t have killed her, but it sent a message. If she got too close, they would follow through.

He pulled out his cell phone and called Kane again. Again, it went to voice mail.

“Dammit, Kane, call me back. It’s important.”

CHAPTER 23

Though Juan had ordered everyone into the office at oh-eight-hundred, he wasn’t in the conference room when Lucy, Nate, and Ryan walked in at five minutes to. Neither was Brad Donnelly. The SAC’s door was closed and there was a quiet buzz in the office. Lucy felt eyes on her from colleagues she didn’t work with on a day-to-day basis, the agents who made up the squads in the other divisions.

She hated being the center of attention—especially,
this
kind of attention.

Once she was in her sanctuary, the Violent Crimes Squad, she relaxed. She wasn’t going to get a chance to plead her case. Her boss might be taking that away from her, with this closed-door meeting.

She had to trust Juan. They were federal agents, after all. If they cowered when the bad guys struck, who would be left to stand for justice? No one—and that wasn’t acceptable. She wasn’t going to be intimidated, she wasn’t going to be locked in an office simply because she was doing her job.

Her phone rang and she grabbed it.

It was the secretary to Special-Agent-in-Charge Ritz Naygrow.

“Please come to the director’s office.”

Lucy hung up and stared at the phone. “Dammit.”

When Nate gave her a questioning look, she explained. He said, “Don’t sweat it.”

“I’m not.” But she was.

She walked back down the long hallway to the front of the building and turned into the administrative wing. A large bull pen, of sorts, was in the middle—eight cubicles of support staff for the ASACs. Three ASAC offices along the far wall, then human resources, the media information officer, accounting, and in the corner the small suite for SAC Naygrow.

The SAC had as many responsibilities outside of the office as in it, partly political, partly community building, and he had the reputation of trusting and relying on his ASACs to keep the office running smoothly. He had little field training, having moved up in the ranks administratively through the main FBI headquarters in DC until he was transferred as an ASAC five years ago. Two years ago, when his predecessor retired, he was promoted. Juan had said, during a family dinner at his house when he was relaxed, that it had all been planned by headquarters when Naygrow was first transferred. Lucy didn’t know what Juan really thought of the SAC, but he had always been professional and respectful.

Naygrow was considered smart, trusted his field agents, and fair—but he expected every squad to run smoothly. He didn’t like surprises, and he particularly didn’t like bad press.

His administrative assistant, Thomas Xavier, said, “Go right in, Agent Kincaid.”

She did, hesitating only momentarily before knocking and turning the knob.

SAC Naygrow sat at the head of his small conference table. He was an impeccably dressed man in his late forties with graying, conservatively cut hair and dark eyes. He looked more like a businessman than a cop. Next to him was ASAC Abigail Durant, whom Juan reported to. Juan, Brad, and SWAT team leader Leo Proctor were there, as well as two people Lucy didn’t know, a man and woman who both wore guest badges.

“Agent Kincaid, please have a seat,” Naygrow said.

Juan nodded to the seat across from him, between Brad and Leo. Lucy clasped her hands, forcing herself to remain calm and detached. The two strangers—both from DEA—introduced themselves. The woman was Samantha Archer, assistant director and in charge of the San Antonio DEA office.

Naygrow said, “Juan filled us in on not only what happened last night, but your current case, Agent Kincaid. I called you in to let you know that no one gets away with going after one of my agents.”

“Yes, sir,” she said.

“This is an unusual situation, as you’ve been working on a joint task force with the DEA. SSA Donnelly has asked that you stay on the case, even though you’ve been singled out.”

Lucy glanced at Brad, but he wasn’t looking at her.

Naygrow continued. “I don’t like my agents being attacked, and I like less that they’ve been compromised. But as my colleague Assistant Director Archer reminded me, when the bad guys start going for us, it means we’re doing something right. And apparently, you’ve done a lot right this week.”

He smiled. Lucy didn’t think it was anything to smile about; nor did she understand the direction of this conversation. But she nodded.

“If the DEA didn’t want you on board,” Naygrow said, “I’d pull you. You’re a rookie, you’ve been a sworn agent for barely three months, and you have no training with this level of criminal. No drug background, no organized crime. I don’t want to see you injured, or worse. But there’s no time to bring in someone else and get them up to speed, and because we have a missing child, every minute counts.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m not going to order you to do this,” he said. “It’s your choice. You’ve been singled out by one of the cartels, and that is terrifying.”

“With all due respect,” Lucy said—stunned she had the courage to speak at all—“I’m not terrified. I’m not going to back down just because someone comes after me. If I were scared of the criminals I pursue, I wouldn’t have become a federal agent.”

Naygrow nodded. “I guess that’s your answer.”

“Yes, sir, it is. I want to see this through.”

“Very well, I’ll authorize it. You and—” He looked at his notes. “—Agent Quiroz will be assigned to SSA Donnelly for the duration of this operation.”

“Thank you, Ritz,” AD Archer said. “I’ll personally keep your people in the loop.”

“Report directly to Juan Casilla, please,” Naygrow said. “These are his people, and his concerns. Juan will personally run the investigation into the attack on Agent Kincaid. I expect equal cooperation with all information your office has related to like crimes.”

“Yes, sir,” Archer said. “I’ve assigned an agent to focus on pulling relevant information, plus we have our tech working with Agent Proctor on the device found on Kincaid’s car.”

Naygrow turned to Juan. “I know you need to brief your people. I think we’re done here.”

“Thank you, sir,” Juan said formally and walked out.

Lucy followed the line of people. Outside Naygrow’s office, AD Archer came up to her. “Lucy? I wanted to introduce myself. I’m Sam Archer.” She pulled Brad over to them. “Brad says you’ve been an asset, and I want to tell you how sorry I am about what happened at your house.”

“I appreciate you letting me stay on the task force.”

“We’re really close, and Sanchez knows it,” she said. “I think Brad’s right in that this is our best chance to find out who he’s working for.”

The conversation Lucy had with Kane the night before came back to her, but she didn’t have a chance to comment before Ryan pulled her and Brad into the briefing room. Juan had already started, and she stood in the back with Brad.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I appreciate you going to bat for me.”

“Your boss isn’t happy. I’m sorry about that. If that changes your mind—”

She shook her head. “I’ll fix it.” She hoped she could.

The briefing went fast. After Juan, Brad gave the bullet points of the investigation to date, then assigned tasks.

Nate called out, “I thought I was sticking to Lucy like glue.”

“That’s now Ryan’s job. He’s been her partner in this op from the beginning. We don’t have time to fully brief you before they leave for McAllen.”

Juan was about to dismiss the group when Lucy raised her hand. “I have some new information.”

“The floor is yours.”

Lucy went to the front of the room and with Zach’s help brought up the images of the tattoo on Richard Diaz’s forearm and the one Bella drew. “I’ve been researching this symbol, along with Zach and the DEA. Until last night, we had no leads. I went to a source that has experience with these sorts of things, and he indicated that the mark is the brand of Vasco Trejo, an American expatriate living in Mexico. He’s a relatively new player, has brought in or destroyed smaller groups to build his base. Sanchez appears to be his primary American contact. He brands his couriers with this mark. Apparently, this is common—using young boys as drug couriers, similar to how gangs use them as killers. But what we’re still working out is how. Both Michael Rodriguez and Richard Diaz appeared to have run away, but in all likelihood were coerced into working for Jaime Sanchez. The fathers, both incarcerated, have a connection to Sanchez, and it may be that Sanchez used that connection to lure the boys away.”

There was silence. Lucy looked around and added, “This gives us a direct connection from Sanchez to one of the smaller cartels.”

Again, silence. Juan rose and said, “Dismissed.”