“I’m just saying I’d be taking steps to rectify the situation, not hiding out at home.”
“I’m doing what needs to be done.”
“Yeah, see. That’s what I should do. Rectify a few things.” Raine muttered something else then added, “I’ve gotta go. Tell the guys I miss them. Now pull on your big girl panties and make things right. Later, slacker.”
Raine disconnected before Jane could yell back at her.
What did her cousin know? Nothing about the situation. Even if Uncle Chris had shared—which he obviously had—he knew less than she did. And Grace hadn’t come up with any viable suspects from the home office, which to be honest, relieved Jane.
She didn’t want to believe anyone she worked with might be dirty. But unlike her cousin, she knew making a big production out of pointing fingers without proof would get her nowhere. It would only help alert the Mazzucas that she continued to investigate, which would clue in her SSA, and then the jerk would likely write her up for insubordination and finally figure a way to stick Simmons’ death on her for good.
Jane thought several steps ahead, playing the long game if not the most satisfying game. She glared at her phone.Some of us prefer to play it safe.
Still fuming, she found her uncle’s traditional Christmas movie and hit play then as quickly hit pause, unable to watch John McClane duke it out with Hans Gruber all by herself. Some traditions deserved to be followed, and a viewing ofDie Hardwithout Team Ten didn’t bear consideration.
Grumbling, she tuned in toIt’s a Wonderful Lifeinstead, wondering what life might be like without her cousin to screw up the holidays.
CHAPTER SIX
Another day passed,and Jane wondered how much trouble she’d get into if she happened to hang around the Seattle office andaccidentallybump into her friends to pump them for information.
Joe and Hal were out doing a favor for somebody. The fewer questions she asked the better, because the conversation before they’d left had been hushed, the legality of the matter no doubt up for debate.
Flipping through channels on the TV, she noted that the police had caught the shooter who’d taken out that poor couple before the holiday. Not a Mazzuca killing, apparently, but some random tweaker on a rant. A second later, in the same tone, the newscaster informed her that shopping had been better than expected over the holiday season, pleasing economists hoping for a better fourth quarter. To top it all off, the Seahawks had won by twelve points, and the stormfront everyone had been expecting moved north instead, giving those poor Canadians more snow to deal with.
And none of that made Jane’s life any less boring.
Annoyed with life, Jane turned off the television and grabbed her car keys.
Two hours later, she left one of her favorite downtown Seattle lunch stops with a full belly, stuffed on an English cheese, tomato, and pesto crumpet.
Her phone rang, and she jumped on it, despite seeing the caller ID. “Hey, Uncle Chris. A day late, but Merry Christmas.”
“Yeah, to you too. Look, I need a favor.”
Trust her uncle to get straight to the point. “Hit me. Unfortunately, I’m swimming in circles. I’ve got nothing on anyone in the office who might have set me up. I’m twiddling my thumbs while life goes on.”And I’m no closer to finding out who killed Dan Simmons.
“Exactly. You need to get your butt back in the field. I know you’re benched until OPR clears you, but that doesn’t mean you can’t do some investigative services for a friend of mine.”
“Say again?”
“A friend of mine needs help with something that’s looking like it’s a lot more involved than it should be. I’ll let him read you in. Throw on something super casual. Don’t look like a federal agent and meet him at the address I just texted you.” He disconnected the call, then an address popped up via text.
She glanced down at her jeans and hoodie sweatshirt under a dark jacket. Super casual, check. Though most agents she worked with wore “outdoor casual” on the daily. Comfort, practicality, and maybe a nice sweater to go with the cargo pants and boots.
After plugging the address into her phone, she entered her car and blasted the heat, pleased she’d taken the initiative to head into the city in the first place. If she’d been in Bainbridge and had to wait on a ferry, she might not have been able to get to the place for another few hours.
As it was, she had to maneuver around Seattle traffic before finding the street cordoned off by police cars, barricades, and yellow barricade tape. She’d happened upon a fresh scene,apparently. After parking several blocks away, she returned to survey the area.
Lights flashed, and an ambulance sat sideways in the middle of the street with parked cars lining the roadway in front of several small businesses and residential buildings. Shattered glass covered the area around one of the ambulances. Two bloodied and unmoving bodies lay close by as well.
The tires on one ambulance appeared to be flat, likely from a gunshot, which would also explain the shattered windshield. She didn’t notice bullet holes anywhere else, not in the cars parked along the sides of the street or the doors and walls of the nearby businesses.
Not a drive-by then.
She read her text again. Under the directions, her uncle had provided a description of the person to contact. Glancing up, she looked for a man in a long, navy trench coat and gold scarf. Not exactly nondescript. Interesting fashion choice. But he pulled it off, appearing elegant in a standoffish way.
He stood away from the central action near a police car, in deep discussion with two officers. An older guy with short silver hair, a pale complexion, and dark eyes that didn’t look surprised at the sight of death so near.
