He scowled. “I’m waiting.”
She counted to five to curb her sarcasm but thought it all the same.Waiting for a thought to pop into that stubborn head? Waiting for a modicum of dignity? Waiting for divine inspiration to pull your head out of your a?—
“Jane. What. Do. You. Want?”
She let her breath out and focused. “I found a connection.”
His gaze sharpened. “Tell me.”
She showed him a picture of the torched car. “This is the vehicle our unsub used then ditched. It’s in an abandoned warehouse in Tacoma.”
“Right.”
“Which happens to be located in the new Mazzuca crime family’s territory. They picked up and left Seattle overnight after killing DEA agent Dan Simmons, my old teammate.”
“Right. Your investigation in Seattle.” His gaze shot to hers. “You’re thinking our unsub may be part of the Mazzuca organization?”
“I don’t know. But I don’t believe in coincidences.” Like trailing Agent Scott and nearly getting rundown after. She forced herself to avoid touching her cheek. “I’m too close to this, I know. Maybe if you look at it, you can corroborate. Tell me I’m not making unwarranted connections.”
“Right. Let’s share this with the team.”
A safe bet, because his team had nothing to do with investigating an organized crime family.
Or did it? Because, as she well knew, the Mazzucas had a very long reach.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Everyone agreedthat there were no coincidences in law enforcement. Diego announced he’d dig into the Mazzucas without leaving a footprint, probably by accessing Agency files he shouldn’t have had access to.
Jane wanted to ask how, but a glance at Rapp made her keep her questions to herself. Don’t ask, don’t tell would keep them all safer.
And if it didn’t, Rapp could handle it. She just wanted answers. Dan Simmons deserved them.
The connection between her old case and the new case might not be that farfetched. The Mazzucas had dipped their hands into a lot of businesses across the country since making a name for themselves in Philadelphia a few years ago.
Like amoebas, the organization branched out, surrounded, then devoured unprotected communities.
Despite that, the Seattle task force had no plans to let them destroy the Pacific Northwest.
At lunch, she headed for the food cart down the block to grab sandwiches for the crew since it was her turn. Remembering the incident in the parking lot, she kept her guard up.
Despite the cold, the sun shone. She might have enjoyed the walk, but she felt eyes on her. Paranoia? Maybe. She stopped a few times at storefront windows, checking for a follower.
No one. Pulling out her phone, she pretended to text someone as she walked. She kept up the ruse by stopping a few times out of the way of passersby, keeping a side-eye on those nearby.
Her plan paid off. A figure in a large, puffy coat stopped when she did. After a pause, they continued toward her.
They could be anyone.
Maybe even the Code Blue Killer.
Even if it was the killer, how could they possibly know about Jane? Did Rapp’s team also have someone on the inside?
Or maybe I’m too suspicious that everyone has a vendetta.
As the individual drew closer, Jane gripped her cellphone, prepared to defend herself. She continued to look down at it, as if engrossed in her phone.
“Excuse me,” said a man in a deep voice.
