The Chaos Kind (John Rain #11)(23)

“I’m sure. I’m looking at them. I don’t know what happened. There’s blood on the ground. Lots of it.”

“Are you in danger?”

She remembered what the man had said: You need to watch your back. I think it’s about that big case of yours.

“I don’t . . . I don’t think so. I don’t think anyone else is here.”

“Okay. We’re sending a patrol car now. Wait for them, but only if you’re sure you’re safe.”

“I’m fine. Just . . . please, hurry.”

She clicked off and stared again at the bodies and the blood, still trying to convince herself she was seeing something other than what it obviously was. Were those guns on the ground? Yes. She’d been right. A gunfight. A big one. Gangs? Seattle had its share. But as soon as she considered it, she knew it was her mind, looking for another way to deny what she didn’t want to accept.

You need to stay clear of that park. And anywhere else people might expect you.

On impulse, she speed-dialed Livia. Her hands were still shaking. But her mind was suddenly clear.

I’m coming for you, Schrader, she thought. You just fucked with the wrong prosecutor.





chapter

eighteen





RISPEL


Devereaux was shouting so loudly that Rispel had to hold the secure-line receiver away from her ear.

“This was not a complicated op!” he barked. “You couldn’t have had more complete intel. How could you have fucked this up?”

Rispel deliberately glanced around her office: one wall, a second, a third. It was a technique she used when she needed to slow things down. Absent that discipline, she might have felt too keenly her shock at the indignity of Devereaux addressing her as though she were some green recruit. She might have given in to the temptation to shout back.

But if there was one thing she had learned in this man’s world, it was the danger of doing anything that could be disparaged as “emotional.” Men could shout, they could rant, they could even cry, and they were just being assertive, or passionate, or caring. But for women, the same behaviors were bitchy. Or unhinged. Or worst of all, weak.

“The intel wasn’t complete,” she said. “It was—”

“I didn’t say it was complete! Intel is never complete. I said it couldn’t have been more complete.”

Along with the shock, she felt irritation now, struggling to get a foothold. The interruption. The pedanticism. And the condescension.

“Which is why I used two teams,” she said. “We couldn’t be sure—”

“Does Diaz suspect? How could she not? She was on her way to the park for her morning jog and two teams of operators get wiped out there?”

Her irritation secured the foothold it had been trying for. She knew she should try to dislodge it. But she was beginning to not want to.

“She wasn’t there when it happened,” she said, managing not to raise her voice. “And the team was sterile, of course. Even their fingerprints were wiped from military databases. There’s no way anyone can connect them to anyone.”

“Jesus Christ, Lisa, do you really not understand? They might as well have been carrying business cards saying ‘Private Military Contractor’! Fine, no one can prove who they were, but what do you think Diaz is going to guess? And if she winds up with additional security as a result, or she moves up the indictment against Schrader, or who the hell knows what, what excuses are you going to come up with then?”

She’d heard Devereaux talk this way to subordinates before. He was known, after all, for kissing up and kicking down. But during all the years he had mentored her, he’d always treated her like a favored child. And to have him turn on her like this . . . She was surprised at how much it hurt.

Surprised, and angry.

“I’m not offering excuses,” she said. “I’m trying to engage in a constructive conversation intended to redress the matter at hand. But if that’s less important to you than berating me, by all means, go right ahead.”

That shut him the hell up. Which felt so good she realized it had been what she was after.

Don’t let him make you stupid.

“I’m not interested in a conversation,” he said after a moment. “I’m interested in hearing you tell me exactly how you’re going to rectify the most grievous personal fuckup I’ve witnessed in thirty years in intelligence. And I hope you have something compelling to tell me, Lisa. I really do. Because if this thing doesn’t get unfucked, and fast, you are going to be facing a long line of people, all with pay grades even higher than mine, looking to take your scalp.”

Did he not understand she would recognize the framing? They were taught as recruits never to threaten openly. Instead, they were taught to pose as the target’s protector and ally. Even if the target understands the subterfuge, the training went, he’ll still feel respected that you offered a fig leaf rather than a naked display of your power over him.

And then she realized: Of course he understands.

The shock, and hurt, and anger, were all suddenly underscored with fear. Had Devereaux really . . . turned on her like this? So quickly? So decisively?

“Help me,” he went on. “Help me help you. Because I don’t know who else is going to.”