Cold Silence Page 4

  “You okay?” Laura asked.

  Yael nodded. Walked to the sink where she washed her face and tried not to remember staring into that monster’s eyes glistening behind his stupid mask. She had protections on her system. Solid protections. How had he gotten past them? What had she missed?

  She grabbed a paper towel. Dried her face. Forced herself to speak. “You?”

  “Hell, no.” Laura swallowed audibly. “That was messed up. How did he manage to get into your computer?”

  Yael’s eyes smarted. “He must have set a trap and I fell right into it.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Laura protested.

  “Some of it was.”

  “Hey, it could have happened to any one of us. We were all so focused on stopping him from hurting that girl…” Laura crossed her arms tightly against her chest, as if warding off the memories of what he’d done.

  If only it was that easy.

  Laura stared at the floor. “Alex wants us all to help check the systems.”

  Yael nodded. It would take time and concentration and she already felt wiped. “I need some coffee first.”

  She turned the faucet back on and washed her hands again, using too much soap and too hot water. No matter how hard she scrubbed she couldn’t get the image of blood and gore out of her mind.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Laura came to stand beside her and put a hand on her back.

  Yael turned away as she dried her hands. She didn’t like to be touched.

  “No.” She glanced at Laura in the mirror, ignoring her own gaunt features. “I’m pissed and upset, but I’ll survive.” Unlike poor Anya Baker.

  Yael pushed out of the washroom with Laura on her heels. More HRT guys were streaming down the hallway, presumably heading to the crime scene or the hospital to be with their injured colleagues. FBI agents milled around. She went to her workstation and slumped heavily in the chair.

  Alex came over and sat on the table, watching her.

  “How did he know we were onto him?” she asked, feeling the weight of responsibility hanging around her neck.

  “I don’t know.” Alex shook his head and that scared her more than anything else had today. Alex knew everything. “Let’s get your machine to a secure room and then we can start checking the systems here to make sure he doesn’t plan to launch any more surprise attacks. You up for that?”

  She nodded. “Yeah. We need to catch this guy.”

  Alex’s mouth pinched. “We do. But we also need to make sure your identity isn’t compromised and that your personal security is sufficient.”

  She blinked.

  Did Alex know the truth? She was sure he did although he’d never mentioned it. The idea that the secrets she so carefully guarded could be exposed by this evil monster…

  “Why do I feel like I’m not about to like what you suggest?”

  Alex smiled humorlessly. “Because you have good instincts. The HRT operator was correct when he told you to follow them. I shouldn’t have ordered you to do something else. Next time I’ll trust your instincts too.”

  “You don’t think I messed up?”

  Alex’s eyes narrowed. “I think we all underestimated him, but what I really want to know is how the hell did he know we were onto him?”

  “You think we have a leak?”

  “Might not be a person on the task force. Could be a software vulnerability we or the FBI need to patch. But Evi1Geni-us knew we were here in Houston and part of me wonders if he didn’t plan to lure us here all along.”

  Shane didn’t register anything from the time he left the Houston Field Office to the time he arrived at the scene of the explosion. The agent riding shotgun had given him directions and then held on for the drive.

  Patrol cars and cops surrounded the warehouse, but Shane jogged right through them, making his way to an ambulance where a prone figure was being loaded into the back.

  He spotted Cowboy who had blood running down his face, and Nash who was being treated near the doorway.

  Shane caught the ambulance door with shaking hands as the EMT was about to close it. “I’m riding with you.”

  One look at his face and the paramedic jerked his head to tell him to get inside.

  Shane moved to sit near Scotty’s head while the medic worked on his friend’s injuries. Shane’s mouth turned to ash at the sight of mangled flesh of Scotty’s hands and arms. But it was the jagged piece of steel embedded in his best friend’s chest that had him seriously worried.

  “At least I won’t have to type up any 302s, huh.” Scotty’s voice was hoarse and flecks of blood bubbled out of the corner of his mouth.

  Shane reached out and gripped Scotty’s shoulder so tightly it had to hurt but he couldn’t relax his grip or let go.

  He cleared his throat. “We’re taking bets on how quickly you’ll be back on the team.”

  Scotty’s eyes crinkled at the corners and then filled with calm purpose, silently telling Shane humor wouldn’t save either of them this time. “We both know I’m not gonna make it.”

  Pain scraped its way across Shane’s exposed heart. “That’s bullshit. You’re gonna be fine.”

  The medic flashed him a glance as he desperately tried to insert an IV.

  “Tell Grace I love her. And the kids.” Tears filled Scotty’s eyes and Shane suddenly couldn’t see for shit as his own vision blurred.

  “Tell her yourself.”

  Scotty started coughing and Shane froze at the rattle in the sound.

  When the guy finally hauled in a wheezing breath he said starkly, “I’m not stupid, Shane. My body’s fucked.”

  A wave of determination crashed over Shane. “Don’t you dare give up on me. The medics have got you. We’ll be at a trauma center in a couple minutes tops. They’ll fix you up. Just hang on, buddy.”

  Scotty’s gaze locked onto his. “Tell Grace I love her. I will always love her. And Jake and Katie and the baby. Watch out for her and help her out with the kids when you can. Tell her…” The grief etched onto his friend’s face killed him. “Tell her to move on when she’s ready. She deserves to be loved, even if it can’t be by me.”

  Shane couldn’t speak. This was not happening.

  “And kiss the baby for me.” Scotty’s gaze was fading away. “And catch this evil motherfucker and roast him alive.”

  The EKG was going crazy on the monitor.

  Shane turned to stare at the anguished-looking EMT. “Do something.”

  The man grabbed the defibrillator pads and attached them to Scotty’s chest.

  Shane removed his hands as the electricity jolted through his best friend’s body.

  Nothing.

  The medic braced himself as the ambulance took a sharp turn. “Clear.”

  The machine shocked Scotty again and Shane held his breath. Nothing.

  “Should we try compressions?” Shane asked, more desperate than he’d ever been in his life.

  The medic’s eyes trailed to the blood soaking the gurney. “He’s lost too much blood.”

  Shane snarled. “I’ll do it.”

  He pressed down on Scotty’s chest with his good hand as the medic used a device to blow air into Scotty’s lungs—but his friend’s chest didn’t inflate. His heart didn’t miraculously restart.

  As they pulled up outside the hospital, Shane followed Scotty as he was wheeled into a cubicle where more doctors frantically worked on his best friend. Shane knew it was hopeless when they kept shooting him glances filled with abject pity.

  But miracles happened…

  After another five minutes of frenzied activity, they suddenly stopped working and stepped back. One of the doctors called time of death and Shane stared at them frozen in shock.

  As they turned away, he went over to his friend and slipped his good arm under Scotty’s shoulders, raising him up as he sobbed against his chest.

  Slowly he became aware of others coming into the room. Cowboy, Keeme, Hopper, Nash, Demarco, Hersh. Novak walked i
n, expression dialed way beyond bleak.

  Shane slowly laid his friend back on the table aware he was covered in Scotty’s blood. Shane closed his eyes. “I need to get to Grace.”

  Novak nodded. “We’re on the next flight out.”

  “He’s coming too.” Shane indicated Scotty with his chin.

  Novak hesitated only briefly. “We won’t leave him behind.”

  Shane nodded. He wanted to lash out but these guys were hurting as much as he was. “Did we at least catch the motherfucker?”

  Novak shook his head and rage replaced Shane’s grief.

  “But we will.”

  Damn right they would. They’d get this guy if it was the last thing Shane ever did.

  Shane held Novak’s gaze calmly as if his heart hadn’t been put through a grinder. He pushed away and headed outside, ignoring the curious stares as people took in his blood-soaked form.

  Once outside, he stared up at the blue sky knowing nothing would ever be the same again. His best friend was dead and all because of a stupid broken arm and some twisted piece of shit.

  “I’m coming for you, motherfucker. You’re going to wish you’d never started this, you murderous asshole.” If it took the rest of his life, he would make sure the so-called Evi1Geni-us paid for what he’d done, for the lives he’d destroyed.

  Then Shane went back inside and helped Novak and the others get their brother home.

  3

  He sat in the secret secure room he had refurbished inside his modest home, eating a chocolate bar and drinking a soda. He’d spent an hour playing a video game but his appetite for pretend had faded because it didn’t compare to the adrenaline rush he got from causing real harm to real people.

  He went over to his PC and booted it up.

  He had an outside source of air he could control plus a high-grade filtration system. He had backup power sources and enough dried food and water to keep him alive for months. It was a survival bunker but he wasn’t prepping for the apocalypse.

  It was more secure than most bank vaults, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t freaked out when he occasionally closed the door and locked himself inside. It was too reminiscent of another small room he’d once occupied. One where no-one ever heard him scream. Where people had died and others, who should have cared, barely raised an eyebrow.

  His teeth fused with remembered rage. He’d paid back some of the players involved. Not all of them. Not yet. Let them figure out he was coming for them and then let them sweat in fear. Let their nightmares be fueled by memories of the wrongs they’d committed.

  They’d always said he was too puny to fight back but brute strength only took a person so far. He worked out now, though. No one called him their bitch any longer.

  He pulled up an image on his private phone. Smiled at the memory of making a fat man consume his own testicles. Tension fell away from his shoulders in a wave of relief.

  Sometimes life felt very, very good.

  He yawned and rolled his shoulders. He was tired but he was about to take a long vacation. He’d earned it along with the fifty million in crypto he’d saved for his upcoming retirement. Another reason for owning his own secure vault.

  He pulled up the screen capture he’d taken of Sphinx who’d been attempting to get into his machine a few days ago. If he hadn’t been waiting for her, watching for her, she might have found a weakness to exploit and found him. As it stood, he’d been the one doing the exploiting, not that it had gotten him very far. Yet.

  She was really very pretty.

  He’d run reverse image searches and facial recognition programs. She hadn’t turned up anywhere. It was almost as if she had something to hide too and that intrigued him more than anything had in months.

  Setting up the Feds had been a lot of fun and had given him the information he needed—so sad that Special Agent Monteith had died in the line of duty. A smile curled his lips. Maybe he’d go after the widow next…except she was pregnant and he didn’t ever touch children. That was the only line he wouldn’t cross.

  He turned everything off and decided to hit the sack. He had a few loose ends to tie up. And, for that, he needed a weapon.

  He wasn’t a big fan of guns. Guns made heroes out of idiots. Made people feel like bad-asses whereas the thought of running a knife over flesh made them piss their pants. It was easy to dissociate from the act of murder when you simply pulled a trigger or lit a fuse. Skin on skin killing took a lot more balls and was a lot more satisfying.

  Unfortunately, this time, he didn’t think he had a lot of choice. He’d have to settle for a bullet.

  4

  A week after the disastrous operation in Houston, Shane was still trying to get the image of his friend’s dead face out of his mind, but every time he closed his eyes, even to blink, he saw Scotty’s blood-soaked corpse. Past experience told him the flashbacks would fade eventually, but Shane wasn’t so sure about the guilt or the rage that consumed him from the inside out.

  Scotty had died doing Shane’s job and Shane would give anything in the entire universe to go back in time and change that, even if it meant sacrificing the victim in the courthouse to a fall that could easily have broken her neck. Even if it meant Shane dying in Scotty’s place.

  His eyes burned, but there was no moisture left for tears.

  Yesterday morning, they’d buried David Andrew “Scotty” Monteith. Scotty had belonged to the US Coast Guard before he’d joined the Bureau. Telling Grace that Dave was dead had been the single hardest thing Shane had ever done. Special Forces training and HRT selection were nothing compared to uttering the words that had destroyed her life. To put a cherry on top of a shit sandwich, Grace was six months pregnant with child number three.

  Shane had barely been able to look her in the eye at the service yesterday, but damned if she hadn’t grabbed him and held him like a baby while he’d broken down and sobbed all over her.

  Tears smarted in his eyes again but he blinked them away. So much for being done with crying.

  Fucking loser.

  Grace was the one who needed comforting and support. He needed to put the sick murdering fucker who’d killed Scotty and Anya Baker into a prison cell or a hole in the ground. He would prefer the latter but as a law enforcement officer, he knew how to follow the rules. Prison would be hell for the shitbag—he’d guarantee it.

  He couldn’t sleep so instead he was at work at HRT’s compound situated in the heart of the US Marine Base in Quantico. He’d already put two hundred rounds into targets that morning, honing his skills so that when he met that motherfucker face-to-face, he’d be ready. Shane worked on his marksmanship every single day. Screw his broken arm.

  Gold team had had a call out yesterday afternoon after the funeral, to help serve a fugitive arrest warrant. Everyone in the team had felt good about putting a wanted murderer in jail where he belonged. Scotty would have been pleased. Shane would spend the rest of his life doing things that Scotty would have liked—firstly catching the motherfucker who’d killed him.

  Now it was only seven in the morning and Shane sat in the equipment cage he’d shared with Scotty, cleaning his custom-made SIG Sauer P226 Mk 25 and backup Glock 22.

  The familiar smell of G96 gun oil rose up around him, but today it failed to raise his spirits. The room was quiet. He was alone, which suited him fine. Everyone would assemble shortly for the daily 0800 team briefing in HRT’s main classroom.

  He heard footsteps in the corridor and pressed his lips together.

  Dammit. Not so alone.

  “Livingstone?” Payne Novak called loudly as he walked into the room with three figures trailing behind him.

  “Here.” Shane stared at Novak, who looked as pale and exhausted as he felt. Instinctively, Shane knew he didn’t want to hear whatever the guy had to say.

  “I saw your truck in the parking lot.”

  Shane raised his brow in question.

  “Everything okay?” Novak asked.

  It was th
e wrong thing to ask, especially in front of the new recruits.

  Shane looked away, swallowing hard.

  Novak exhaled sharply. “Look, Shane, I know you’re upset—”

  “I am way beyond upset, boss.” Upset was when you lost your keys or were dumped by a woman you liked. This feeling of utter devastation was like acid corroding his bones and making him feel raw and achy. But he couldn’t afford to show how badly Scotty’s death had affected him. He didn’t want to jeopardize his career. He wasn’t ready to quit HRT, not by a long shot, nor did he like sitting on the sidelines. He needed to help catch this guy. He gritted his teeth and forced out, “I’m dealing with it.”

  Novak quietly appraised him. Payne Novak was a man who didn’t say a lot and, until about a month or so ago, hadn’t tended to smile much either. Not that they’d had much to smile about in the last week. But when Novak spoke people tended to listen, which was why he’d been promoted to temporary leader of Gold team while their actual team leader was on some super-secret mission to who the hell knew where.

  “You remember Will Griffin, Hunt Kincaid and Meghan Donnelly.” Novak introduced the people at his side. Shane recognized them all from Selection and New Operator Training School—NOTS.

  The three HRT teams—Blue, Red, and Gold—were each comprised of two seven-person assaulter units and one eight-man sniper unit, plus support personnel. Each selection cycle, the teams had different requirements that needed to be filled by new operators after people aged out, moved up the ranks or headed into other sections of the FBI. Or because of injuries…or death.

  HRT had never lost a man during an active response. Until Scotty.

  Like all the operators, Shane had a say in choosing who he wanted on his squad. Griffin and Kincaid had both helped thwart a major biological weapons threat last spring and—showing immense bravery—had saved thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of lives. Meghan Donnelly had proven herself a team player. Otherwise she wouldn’t even be here, and she was just so fucking good at everything and never stopped, no matter what they’d thrown at her. The fact a woman had passed Selection and successfully graduated NOTS was an historic moment for HRT, but right now nobody wanted to celebrate.