Killer Instinct (Instinct #2)(13)

“Any chance I can get in there for a few minutes this morning?” asked Elizabeth, nodding at Pritchard’s door. It was cracked open about an inch.

“Send her in!” came Pritchard’s booming voice. He sounded like James Earl Jones talking through a megaphone. “And if you want me dead, Gwen, you’re going to have to do it yourself.”

Gwen winked at Elizabeth. “Finally, something to live for,” she said. “He’s all yours.”

Elizabeth stepped inside Pritchard’s office. It was only the second time she’d been in there, the other being on her first day when he told her she needed to go to Boston. She hadn’t even been assigned her own desk yet.

“Is it good?” Pritchard asked immediately.

“Is what good?”

“Whatever it is you have for me, Needham, because you’re sure as hell not here just so I can thank you again for saving my life,” he said.

“No, once was enough,” said Elizabeth.

“All the same, thanks again,” he said. “You were heads-up out there, good under pressure. That’s the kind of people I need, that this unit needs. Now, what do you have for me?”

Elizabeth blinked a few times, trying to digest Pritchard’s flash of humanity. She wondered how much of his act was just that, an act. The guy was far from loved in law enforcement circles, but he was universally respected. Revered, even. Gwen’s kidding around about wanting him dead was exhibit A. She clearly thought the world of her boss.

“Earth to Needham,” said Pritchard.

“Yeah, sorry,” said Elizabeth, snapping out of it. She quickly got down to business, directing him to the file of Professor Darvish and the mystery woman returning with him to his hotel.

Pritchard paused the footage on his computer to stare at the white glow around the woman’s face. “Hmmm.”

“My first thought is that it’s either a glitch or someone tampered with it,” said Elizabeth.

“Yeah, we’ll have the geeks in the lab look at it,” he said.

“Who do I call for that?” she asked.

“No one.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m taking you off the case, Needham,” he said.





CHAPTER 16


“WHY?”

“Think about it,” said Pritchard.

“I am,” said Elizabeth. “I’m thinking about what you told me yesterday about trying to stop the next attack, that your agents are needed on all fronts.”

“They still are,” he said. “But you specifically are needed now on the attacks that happened yesterday.”

It was the way he said specifically.

“This wasn’t your decision, was it?” she asked.

“As I said, think about it.”

Elizabeth winced, realizing. “The mayor?”

“I suppose I couldn’t really blame him,” said Pritchard. “As much as I hate politics, the optics for him are too good to ignore. He’ll let it leak that he got you assigned here. In other words, he’s the one who saved my life yesterday.”

“When did Deacon call you? If you want, I could—”

“Needham, I didn’t get where I am by waiting for the mayor to call me. As far as he knows, you were always on the case.”

Elizabeth nodded. She knew what he meant. Mainly, because she knew Mayor Deacon. All too well. His pretty protégée was now the poster girl of bravery for what the press was calling the Times Square Massacre. If Deacon found out that she wasn’t actually working to catch the masterminds behind it, he sure as hell was going to pick up the phone and call Pritchard.

As much as Pritchard hated politics, he was keenly aware of one of its first rules: always get out in front of any potential problem. In other words, anticipate. Just the sort of thing you want to be good at when your job is preventing terrorism.

It all made sense to Elizabeth.

Still, there was this little something kicking around inside her head. An image. It took all of a split second, quicker than quick. It was the look that flashed across Pritchard’s face while he was staring at the footage of Darvish and the woman. That glow obstructing her face wasn’t necessarily a mystery to him.

Or maybe Elizabeth was just imagining the whole thing.

Sure, that had to be it, she told herself. There was a 99 percent chance it was nothing, a figment of her imagination. Besides, it wasn’t as if she were in a position to ask him about it. If there was something Pritchard wanted to share with her about that glow, he would’ve shared it. Right?

“Okay, I’m off the Darvish case,” said Elizabeth, playing the good soldier. “Times Square. What would you like me to focus on?”

She’d barely finished the question when the answer came barging into Pritchard’s office. He was clearly an agent, but she hadn’t seen him before.

“We have an address,” the guy said.

“Where?” asked Pritchard.

“Jersey City.”

Pritchard nodded, rubbed his chin, and turned to Elizabeth. “Want to go for a ride, Needham?”





CHAPTER 17


MEN AND their toys …

Elizabeth stared wide-eyed at all the equipment, the endless gadgets being prepped and primed, during the half hour drive from lower Manhattan out to Jersey City in what was the back of a moving truck, or so it appeared to anyone seeing it from the outside. A1 SHLEPPERS, read the signage.