He stared at him like he was the one who was crazy.
“Didn’t you tell me to send them to the agent’s home to get trace since it was wrecked and it might be the place he was grabbed?”
Shit.
He had.
“How long…?” he began, but was shut down.
“As long as it takes, Agent. I don’t follow the techs around and make them work at a speed in which they can’t do their job. I’ll email you the trace results, if we have them. They’ll get on the car trace as soon as they get back.”
Well, they’d have to let them do their work. It wasn’t like staring at them would make it go any faster.
UNFORTUNATELY.
This felt like everything was working against them, and Gene didn’t like it.
Not.
At.
All.
As for the timing, it was already heading toward five, and they had plans to hit up a specific club.
“We’re heading back upstairs, and then, we’ll be heading out,” he stated, thinking about their plans for the evening. “You can reach me by text,” he said, since he’d given him his phone number.
That was quicker.
“If you find anything out of the ordinary in the trace, or anyone’s DNA that might be in CODIS, like a cop, let me know.”
His eyebrow went up.
“Do you think this might be a cop?” Ben asked, sounding horrified.
Gene shrugged.
“We don’t know, Doc. That’s what we need that trace for to make sure we aren’t being led around by our noses. Someone is good at playing games, and I don’t like risking my life when someone is close enough to stab me in the back.”
Ben got it.
“I’ll be in touch, Agents.”
With that, Gene and Ethan headed out of the morgue, and neither one was happy.
“I don’t like how this is going back and forth between a cop who knows how to set a scene to tie us up with work, and a mob man who is smart enough to con the law,” Gene admitted.
On this, Ethan agreed.
This felt like a quagmire.
And nothing good ever happened when you went into one of those.
Blindly.
* * * Blackhawk & Cantrell * * *
FBI Office
