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  “This is above your pay grade, Walton. There is no place in this scenario for guilty feelings. Just keep your mouth shut; I’m not falling on my sword for her. She refused to counsel about her undercover role. Ian Chase calls her during my meeting. He can have the broken pieces—if she lives, her body is a fucking jigsaw puzzle. She’ll probably need a drool cup. Let him deal with that shit.

  “The deal is she disrespected me during the briefing. She disregarded a direct order to stand down when she took out that wife beater. Gun or no gun, she was insubordinate. She turned her com off while she almost screwed Whitman and Chase on the dance floor. She’s a loose cannon. There’s no place for that in the Bureau—no one is gonna miss her.

  “Who’s not gonna believe she turned it off when she took a piss? You know girls and the bathroom. I have the tapes, and I have her earbud. No one but us has to know that room was a dead zone. And no one has to know we let her go without contact for more than fifteen minutes. After she was stabbed, it was chaos. There were so many people to safeguard. It won’t be an issue to lose the recordings. Screw her. She should have fucked Ames instead of fighting him off. If she did, maybe he wouldn’t have stabbed her.”

  As the recording continued to play, Ian grabbed the edge of the table, turning his knuckles white.

  “Greg, you’re a bastard. Cassie did her job in spite of the shit you dumped on her. She planned to out you in the morning—and I promised to go with her. I can’t speak for anyone else here, but I can’t live with it anymore. Fidelity, bravery, and integrity—I sure didn’t live up to that.”

  “Walton, this could mean your job. Without her, it’s ‘he said, she said.’”

  “With the way I feel now, that would be fine. I watched her work her butt off at Quantico—always helped everyone without a second thought. Never left anyone behind. Was better than ninety-five percent of our class—male or female. Can you tell me what she did to you to deserve your crap? That woman was born into that role. Is it because she wouldn’t sleep with you? I overheard her tell Sophie Garland what you pulled at her apartment. You were lucky she didn’t call the police or put a bullet in your head. Is that why we’ve lost every female agent on our team?” Brice’s voice rose.

  “Or is this because she dropped you like a rock in the conference room?” Preston Galloway asked.

  Ian bit the inside of his cheek. That’s my girl.

  “Galloway, she’d spread her legs for me if I told her to do so. In fact, all you bleeding hearts, we had plans to go back to her room after the shift was over. She’s not so angelic after all,” Wilds preened.

  “You’re full of it. Cassie wouldn’t let you near her,” Villanueva added.

  “Remember, if I go down for this, so do all of you. Are you ready to take the hit? Naughton is on his way back from Seattle. He’s been her partner since she was assigned to the artsy-fartsy Bureau. Yates is on his way back from London. That SOB, Ian Chase, is already too nosy, and she’s Luke Paulsen’s ward. I’ve also got that Metro detective up my ass, talking about her like she’s his personal crusade. He wants to know what I said to cause Chase to swing. We need to get our stories together. I’ll say she was out of our sight for three minutes to take a piss. You all know we had no idea Ames was waiting in the can. We got there as soon as we could.”

  Quinn Marcus joined the conversation. “Why can’t we just tell the truth? We let her down. You just don’t want anyone to hear how you talked to her all night. I want nothing to do with you, and if that means taking a hit, I will. I need to be able to look at my wife and daughters.”

  Lincoln switched files. “This was picked up this afternoon.”

  “They took her to the operating room again. Paulsen said the doctor told him it was bad. Hopefully, she’ll die—and we can tie this up without a hiccup,” Wilds said.

  “You’re a piece of shit, Wilds. How could you wish that on her? I’m still having nightmares about all that blood,” Vincent Cruz said.

  “Yeah, but I’m calling the shots here,” Wilds said.

  Lincoln pushed stop, and Ian stood, his eyes filled with flames. “I want Wilds’ head on a spike. I want a name matched to every voice with surety. Then I want interviews with each of them.”

  “Ian, calm down.” Kieran positioned himself between his brother and the door. “Think, man. You can’t go shoot Greg Wilds. It will not help Cassie. Jason reported he’s never seen you this unpredictable. He deserves a bonus if you keep running in every direction like this. Treat it like a mission: define the objective, define the end game, plan, and execute.

  “We have the names of the men working the hotel that night, and we’ll get statements from them. We have the names of the personnel from the art theft division and will interview them. We’ll get whoever is involved by the book.” Kieran placed calming hands on his shoulders.

  Ian dropped his head. “Call a meeting—including Hunt. Notify our people at the hospital. I don’t trust Wilds—he would benefit from her death. No one crosses the room threshold without an escort. One hour.” He stormed out of the room.

  Brett Collins, looking like a rumpled bed, wheeled through the doorway. “Collins, what do you have?”

  “Two things. Prints on the glass match Cassie and Ames. The toxicology screen on the material in the glass showed a combination of Rohypnol and scopolamine. The concentration would definitely impair a large adult, but it hadn’t dissolved fully. The lab says the Rohypnol takes away memory. Scopolamine removes all willpower.”

  He handed his boss a flash drive. “I did some backtracking to fill in those gaps in her life story. Whoever sanitized her history failed to take into account 911 recordings are maintained in a separate facility from police reports. I checked recordings from the night of her admission to Franklin. There was an emergency call made from Cassie’s former apartment. It may give you a clue.”

  Ian cued the recording.

  “911—what is your emergency?”

  “I need an ambulance. My daughter…she’s unconscious in the bathtub. She’s bleeding. Send the police. Someone hurt her. Please hurry.” Ian recognized Rachel’s voice.

  “Ma’am, is she breathing?”

  “Yes, but they’re shallow and slow.”

  “Keep her head above the water. Can you see where the blood is coming from?” the operator asked.

  “No, the water is red—and she’s covered in flower petals.”

  “The police and an ambulance are on the way. Don’t move her. I will stay on the line until first responders arrive.”

  Ian pressed his lips together. “Good work, Brett. Identify and find the cops and EMTs who worked that call.”

  “Already on it, boss.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  It was bright and sunny when the three o’clock shift came on duty at the hospital. Dave Newman wheeled the stainless-steel cart with supplies for each unit and whistled a tune. He exchanged small talk and pleasantries with the nurses and clerks at every station. In the intensive care unit, he noticed two familiar men taking care of a patient, both in constant motion. Machines and pumps surrounded the bed.

  "What are they doing up here? They usually work in the ED." Dave dropped off two cases of dialysis replacement fluids while getting the 411 on Tucker and Pete.

  “They’re doing private duty. They’re nice guys. Supposedly, she’s related to a bigwig around here. I think someone screwed up. The nurses say the family is going after Dr. Maddox.” The clerk signed for the fluids. One case was earmarked for Jerry Stevens, and the other was for Cassie Modine.

  Tucker grabbed the two cases. Always the gentlemen, he dropped off the case for the other patient. “Thanks.” The pretty brunette taking care of the patient took the fluids from him.

  “Never a problem to help. How’s he doing?”

  She frowned. “Mr. Stevens is expectant, but the family still wants everything possible done. How’s Cassie? Kelly left in tears before the end of her shift yesterday. She feels guilty. We heard about the sp
onge.”

  Tucker leaned against the door. “Tell her it’s not her fault. If anyone is to blame, it’s your nurse manager, Barbara. Cassie’s very sick, but she’s fighting.” With a tip of his head, he returned to his patient.

  Kieran’s entire tactical team, the fifteen men who founded Chase Security with him, and Ian assembled in the planning room. This afternoon, there was no playful camaraderie. Taking the hint from Ian’s demeanor, everyone sat in silence as a picture of Cassie filled the giant overhead screen. Her face was full of life, her brilliant smile warming the room.

  “I want to thank everyone for coming in so soon after Louisiana. I promise you’ll get your downtime when we put this case to bed.” Kieran passed a folder to each of the operators in the room. Three tech analysts sat with their laptops at the ready. “Monique, give us the basics on our client.”

  Monique spelled out Cassie’s history and current situation. “The Paulsens have five sons, all currently active-duty SEALs. Christian, a lieutenant commander, assigned out of the Silver Strand Training Complex, and Lieutenant Junior Grade Caleb, assigned to SEAL Team 3 arrived just after 1100 yesterday. Lieutenant Junior Grade Noah, Naval Special Warfare Development Group, is returning from the sandbox; Ensign Sean with SEAL Team 4 is coming back from a training exercise in Honduras, and Ensign Francis, SEAL Team 8, is en route from Turkey.”

  Murmurs filled the room. Someone said, “Overachievers.”

  Monique sipped a cup of herbal tea and continued reporting on the crash that killed Cassie’s family and her education.

  Amy, Chase Group’s technical analysis savant, spoke, “During graduate school, Cassie became engaged to lawyer and lobbyist, Garett Whitman. Mr. Collins identified a 911 call with an ambulance transport to the Franklin clinic the day after Ms. Ellis successfully defended her dissertation. If she was admitted or for how long is unknown. There are no electronic medical records. I’m trying to track down employee payroll records at the time and looking at billing records during that time.

  “The engagement was broken, and the wedding was canceled. I did find an interesting tidbit: at the time of Cassie’s admission to Franklin, it was declared in the news that the Whitman family made a five-million-dollar contribution to the National Coalition Against Rape and Domestic Violence in Cassiopeia Ellis’s name. A secondary check showed it came from a personal account belonging to Garett Whitman.”

  Ian coughed down the growing lump in his throat. Hush money.

  “Soon after, Cassie moved to San Diego into the apartment of Christian Paulsen. During her time there, she created Tommy’s House. Between the seed money Ms. Modine invested and annual donations, Tommy’s House is solvent and will remain so. To find any direct involvement, I had to look directly at the 401(c) records. Her name appears nowhere on the prospectus or letterhead.”

  The group took a pause. Tommy’s House was an anonymous haven for active-duty military and their families for counseling, emergency financial assistance, and excellent medical care—free of charge.

  Kip “Acrobat” Brennan raised his hand. “Could her attack have to do with someone who has it out for the Paulsen sons?”

  “Looking at the evidence, it appears doubtful—but until we know otherwise everything is on the table,” Kieran said, quieting the discussion.

  Amy continued her report, detailing Cassie’s FBI career as well as her assignments working with Interpol. “Paul Yates is her bureau chief. His direct contact number is also included. Steve Naughton, her partner, landed this morning and went straight to the hospital.”

  Tiki picked up the briefing, describing her finances and personal life. “No outstanding credit issues. Spending habits tame. She drives a Ford hybrid. Favors Friendship Heights for clothing. Her only spending you could call extravagant is on expensive shoes.”

  Ian smiled at the memory from their dinner together.

  “No romantic relationships. One close friend, Sophie Garland, an FBI analyst, still on assignment in London. Except for Sophie and the Paulsens, she leads a solitary life. So far, no links to Ames. A search of her recent emails and texts showed nothing unusual until Wednesday morning at 0318 when she emailed Lieutenant Junior Grade Caleb Paulsen.”

  * * *

  Hey Leb,

  Welcome back. Hope you’re staying out of trouble. I bumped into the infamous LC at Dad’s. You never said he was eye candy. He must be an exceptional man. Knight heisted my gun and ID as a present. Don’t find that funny, bro. When you come home, you need to retrain him. The bigger news is he didn’t make me want to run. LOL. He was trés gallant.

  Anyway, since it’s late, you’ll figure out this isn’t just social. I’m in trouble and need to talk through some stuff. I had my first panic attack in years. On Monday, I was in Pages and smelled Clive Christian and clove cigarettes. I bugged out on Sophie.

  The dreams are hitting hard again. I tried to talk to Dad, but you know how he gets. And forget Mom—she’ll just cry. You know what day Thursday is. Maybe it’s a combination of work wanting me to pull my Cassie Ellis persona out for a protection gig and a great meal with Ian.

  I'm not that girl anymore. God, Leb, I don’t know. It was so easy to be with him. For a while, I was happy. He kissed me, and I wasn’t scared. I felt safe. For a brief moment, I wanted to move forward. And there it is. My heart says to try, and my brain won’t turn off. Soiled goods. Please, could you let him know it wasn’t him? It was to protect him. You know what to say. I feel like such a fool for wanting more.

  As if it can’t get any worse, Ian knows my temporary boss. And from their vibe, neither man likes the other. Greg Wilds is harassing me to death. Bad choice of words, but I guess almost dying twice, I can joke about death. I wish it were just harassment. He showed up at the house last week, and—don’t tell anyone—he got physical. He saw the scars. Can you believe they saved me? Isn’t that a sick twist? They grossed him out. I was able to pull my gun.

  What do I tell Dad? Wilds threatened my career. Then, I forgot to turn my phone off in a briefing. Ian called to ask me out, and Wilds answered my phone and recognized his voice. Wilds won’t even use my name—he calls me Princess. Damn him—anything but Princess. I lost my cool and decked him in front of my whole team. Not my brightest move. I hate this double standard. If I say something about the harassment, I’m a pariah. If I don’t, he wins. Argh! I’m so confused. I promise after this TA is done; I’ll do something about this.

  I know Christian is in the middle of a hell week, and the other boys are out of town. Stephanie doesn’t have an extra slot until Monday. She’s in New York for a wedding. Yes, I called. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t bother you with this. You just got back, but I need to get it together. You would be mad if I didn’t say anything and something happened.

  Call me when you get this, no matter the time. I’m not sleeping anyway. I’m sorry I’m rambling. I hate feeling so out of balance. I’m gonna try a run to see if it will help.

  * * *

  Love you,

  Cass.

  * * *

  “Caleb didn’t return stateside until 1100 Wednesday morning. He didn’t open the email until after she was attacked,” Amy said.

  “Find out who Stephanie is. Fill in those three missing months. I see the month and day she was transported to Franklin is the same month and day she was stabbed. Find out the date of the patron gala at the National Gallery from six years ago where they gave a tour of the Mellon 21. I need those details yesterday. Work with Brett about the 911 recording he found. I also need a deep background check on the Whitman family,” Ian ordered, making Amy jump.

  Kieran praised Amy for her work, then opened a file on the plasma screen. “Ian, I need you to promise me you won’t shoot the messenger.” Ian’s face turned alert. “Martin and Julian were interrupted by two FEEBs at her place. Tate and I, uh, were able to gloss over the issues with Metro Police. Our guys did have the keys, but I suspect we’ll get another call from Andy Blake. And Wilds.”

  “When wer
e you going to let me know?” Ian glared.

  “Now.” Kieran met Ian’s angry gaze.

  Martin started the slide show. “Her place was trashed. Everything was destroyed except for the master bed. A message was written on the bathroom mirror in her lipstick.” He slowed the presentation for the bathroom mirror and master bed.

  “The animal also left a personal gift.” He handed Ian the card in a protective envelope. “Once PD was gone, a team went in looking for footprints. She has marble in the bathrooms and natural stone tile in the kitchen—maybe we’ll get a hit. I asked tech to pull the surveillance tapes from the area from just before the stabbing until last night. It wasn’t just about the violent destruction of her home. It was a search. Julian and I found a hole in her closet.” Martin handed him the infant’s cap in a paper evidence bag. “This was stuck inside.”

  Ian fingered it, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his breath stalled in his chest. He stood, looking like a cobra about to strike. “Damn it.”

  He slapped the table with his open palm. The last slide was taken in front of Cassie’s fireplace, showing the destroyed bouquet of flowers and the torn picture of her with her family on the floor.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Pete replaced the empty bag of renal replacement solution and inserted a syringe into one of the IV ports. “I’m bolusing with Heparin.”

  He and Tucker spent the shift taking care of Cassie’s needs. Every move they made stressed her. They washed the remaining blood from her hair and back and changed her sweat-soaked bedding and gown. Because of her fever, they sandwiched her body between cooling blankets with care in a way to prevent bedsores.

  Sunlight streamed in through the window, casting a golden sheen over her fevered skin. Tucker rolled her to the side to retake her core temperature. Pete’s eye caught a rainbow prism reflecting off a drop on the outside of the bag of her swaying fluids. His stomach lurched. “Tuck, something’s wrong.” He grabbed the bag and tossed it to the floor, disconnecting it.