The wind tousled Rutherford’s blond hair, and he scoffed. “Not a chance.”
“Bull,” Angus returned instantly, reading the men. Oh, they were seasoned and pretty good, but he hadn’t lost all his abilities. “Try again.”
Fields shot a hand through his thick hair, making the gray stand up through the brown. “You know we can’t have you at HDD looking into a closed FBI case.”
Fair enough. “You could have me at HDD working on other cases while simultaneously pursuing this one.” Before either agent could deny him, Angus sweetened the pot. “I’ll compile a team, stay under the radar, and do what I need to do. Come on. You two look like tough negotiators. I’m sure we can come to an agreement without my having to call the media.”
“Lassiter is dead,” Rutherford gritted out between perfect teeth.
Angus shrugged. “Then you have nothing to lose. You do, however, have everything to gain, and I’ll do my best to toe the line.” There was no doubt the HDD would try to get rid of him the second he set foot in an HDD office. Even so, he couldn’t give this up. He looked down at the dog. “Wanna go back to work, boy?”
Chapter One
One year later
The swirl of red and blue lights exposed the taut crime scene tape in a back alley outside of DC. Rain blasted down, pinging off battered metal garbage bins at the rear of businesses long since closed for the night. The bastard had dumped the victim near a pile of litter the rain had mangled into a sopping mess of paper and take-out cartons.
Angus kept his face stoic as he ducked under the tape and flashed his badge to the uniformed officer blocking access. It felt good to show the badge, even though he worked better without it, apparently.
It would be the only good feeling of the night, without question.
HDD Special Agent Kurt Fields was the first one to reach him, skirting several numbered yellow evidence markers placed on the wet asphalt. The guy was pale and had grown even grizzlier in the year they’d worked together. Kind of worked together. “I heard the call go out, got the details, and figured you’d be here on this fine Monday night.” His T-shirt was wrinkled and his brown shoes scuffed. He grimaced. As an HDD handler, he wasn’t bad. “The locals don’t want us at the scene, just so you know.”
“The FBI will take over soon enough.” Unless there was a way HDD could force itself in, which didn’t seem possible. Federal agencies rarely played well together, regardless of the party line. Force straightened, acutely aware of his men at his back. West and Wolfe had both seen some rough shit in their time, but this was something new. He needed West’s mind clear to run the office for now, but when he turned his head to issue an order, West was already shaking his head at him, his gaze direct. No way would he be left behind.
The guy would make a good profiler. Angus had never known an undercover operative who could inhabit another identity as completely as West.
Angus turned back around and started to focus, speaking as much to himself as to his team. “Everything is relevant. Anything out of place on a piece of garbage, any scratch on a building, any glint of something shiny.”
Agent Fields shook his head, sliding to the side and putting his barrel of a body between Angus and the scene. “You’re not understanding me. This is not your case. Hell, it isn’t evenourcase. Never will be.”
Fire ripped through Angus so quickly, his ears burned like he’d been touched with a poker. “Lassiter killed this woman, which makes this my case. Period.” He had to get to the body to make sure, but his gut never lied.
Special Agent Tom Rutherford, his blond hair mussed for the first time, reached them next. For once Force’s partner was not impeccably put together, although his too-blue eyes were as pissy as ever. “You’re not supposed to be here. Neither are we.”
“I still have some sources in law enforcement and was contacted immediately about the crime,” Angus muttered, his hands itching for his gun. “Now get out of my way.”
Rutherford had light stubble at his chin—a very rare sight. “Don’t make me track down your source and fire them.”
Angus turned his focus to the HDD agent. He’d look good with two black eyes again. “I’m working this scene—this is Lassiter. He’s finally making a move.”
“You’re wrong. This scene isn’t the same as all the others,” Rutherford said, his eyes bloodshot.
Wolfe rocked back on massive boots. “What do you mean?”
Rutherford slid a manicured hand into the pocket of his perfectly creased dress pants. Who dressed up for a crime scene at midnight? “I’ve studied your old case files on Henry Wayne Lassiter. His MO was unique. This crime scene is different.”
Angus swallowed. “Where’s the note?” The psychopath had always left him a note.
“No note,” Fields said as the local techs moved around efficiently.
“Look again,” Angus said evenly, his gut aching so bad he wanted to bend over and puke.
Rutherford planted a broad hand on his shoulder. His law school class ring dug into Angus’s skin through his T-shirt. “Please leave before I have you escorted away.”
Wolfe shoved Rutherford’s hand off before Angus could grab it and break a finger or two.
Angus probably owed Wolfe for that. “There are two options here. Either you get the hell out of our way so we can examine the scene, or we get in a fight, beat the shit out of the two of you, and then we go and examine the scene.” His voice had lowered to a hoarse threat. Once the FBI showed up, he was definitely going to be thrown out of the alley. His exit from the agency hadn’t been cordial.
